Page 81 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

At least I had my trusty sunglasses. Wyatt’s shoulder was an excellent pillow. And whoever packed my pills for the weekend included the good pain meds.

“We should always fly like this,” Wyatt said, toying with our entwined fingers as we taxied toward our gate.

“Like what—first class?”

“No. Mated.”

I gave him a flat stare. “Isn’t that something of a foregone conclusion?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” he said, digging his thumb into the back of my hand. “What I mean is that I much prefer being with you on a flight—talking, touching—instead of how we were the last time we flew into Northport together. You know, when you barely looked at me.”

“You’re the one who only wanted to talk about sports.”

“Because I had no idea what to say to you!”

“And I’m a master of small talk, without an ounce of social awkwardness?”

“Fine, fine, rub it in. I’m the dumb one.” Wyatt dropped my hand, busying himself with gathering our belongings.

Leaning back in my seat, I admired the flex of his muscled forearms and the casual charm of his long hair.

“Only you would have dared take me to Montreal, Wyatt. To turn a bad ending into a new beginning. That’s your brilliance. How thoughtful you are. You’re more perceptive than you give yourself credit for.”

He shot a bashful glance over his shoulder. Red cheeks intensified the blue of his eyes. “Shit, baby. I was aiming for an ‘I love you,’ not… Not all that.”

If Wyatt needed to hear how I felt about him, did that mean he couldn’t sense it through the bond?

“I do love you,” I said, sending him a strong but slightly worried pulse of affection through our tenuous connection. “Can’t you tell?”

From how his brows softened and his shoulders relaxed, I realized that not only had my feelings reached him, but that I’d been unconsciously tamping down on my end of our bond the entire flight.

Poor Wyatt. He’d probably been hiding his nerves for hours, waiting for me to say I regretted mating him.

As the plane stopped at the gate and they started unlocking the door, I wrapped my arms around my mate and held him tight. “I love you, Wyatt. Never doubt that.”

All but crushing me in his massive arms, Wyatt kissed the side of my aching head. “I know, baby. I know. Just like hearing you say it, that’s all.”

What a straightforward, easy-to-please man.

Just tell him you love him on a regular basis—and cure his waning syndrome before your bond disintegrates into ether.

Our waning syndrome.

Simple. No problem at all.

***

The elevator could not reach the sixth floor fast enough.

Cal, Cal, Cal —his name was my every thought, echoing in each frightened beat of my heart.

My boyfriend would know what to do. How to correct the mistake I’d made by one-sidedly bonding my scent match, suffering from waning syndrome, outside of a heat.

Cal was a world-class expert in designation science. The pheromone stud. And my staunchest source of support. Whose presence had subtly replaced Kelsey’s as my go-to in trying times.

My ruggedly handsome rock.

Rushing down the hall, chased by Wyatt’s laughter, rolling suitcase clipping at my heels, I was desperate for Cal to give me one of his lazy smiles and tell me everything would be all right.

It took two swipes of my thumb to unlock the front door. I charged inside, dropping my luggage in the foyer and sidestepping Tenny, our furry welcoming committee.

The lack of movers and boxes didn’t register. Nor did the silence.

All I saw was the open door to the primary suite—and the vast, empty space beyond.

Nothing. There was nothing.

Not a single lingering trace that the room had once housed my sister’s business.

Or of my absent lover, who was supposed to be setting up his bed and home office right here, at this very moment.

Where was Cal?

“The hell?” Wyatt’s voice echoed through the barren room.

I turned, finding him standing in the doorway behind me, with Tenny rubbing at his ankles.

We stared at one another in confusion.

“Did something happen?” I asked. “Something you agreed not to tell me?”

“No. I didn’t hear from Cal all weekend. Just some texts from Alijah and Joaquin, but they were totally normal. Wanted to know how things were going, if you were happy, that sort of thing.”

Messages.

That’s right. Cal hadn’t texted me anything either. Not even a packing update or to let me know the movers had arrived. I’d been too overwhelmed by Rory’s texts to notice.

Ducking past Wyatt, I rushed back into the foyer to grab my bag. I’d just pulled out my phone when the front door beeped, and the deadbolt slid back.

Turning, I expected to see unkempt sandy hair and circular glasses. Not cropped black hair with silver at the temples and sleek wireframes.

Something about Owen’s demeanor sent a chill through me.

He didn’t look any different than usual, wearing well-pressed suit pants and a crisp black dress shirt, but there was a heaviness in his gaze that made it feel leaden, almost tinged with dread.

“What happened?” Wyatt asked, slipping an arm around my waist.

Owen’s mouth flattened into a disapproving line. He straightened his glasses before speaking.

“It’s a temporary delay,” he said. “Kept private, per his request, until you returned. He didn’t want to ruin the weekend.”

My pulse began to race, overloaded veins pressing against the too-tight confines of my skull.

I already knew what Owen was going to say—but I didn’t want to hear it. Because it would change everything. I was already reeling.

And I wanted to spare Cal any more heartbreak.

Owen was never one to pull his punches.

“Charles the First passed away Friday evening.”