Page 2 of Not an Assistant (Tales of the Dreggageggon #4)

The Scent That Changes Everything

A cheron

The first thing I notice is silence. Not the peaceful kind and not the kind that comes at the end of a long, satisfying day. No. This silence is heavy and thick with expectation.

I’m standing near the window of my office when it hits me. A wholly unexpected scent. Thick, sweet, spiced with heat and something that absolutely doesn’t belong in this sterile glass tower. Something feral .

My dragon jolts awake beneath my skin, and I stagger forward with a snarl, bracing a hand on the wall as the scent rips through me like wildfire. It crashes through my chest, sharp and unrelenting, sinking claws into my soul.

Mine.

The word detonates inside me with all the subtlety of a bomb.

“No,” I breathe, snarling as my dragon claws against my ribs.

He doesn’t stop. Because he knows.

Fated. Mine. Ours.

My fingers change into talons and dig into the marble window frame leaving deep gouges. I haven’t smelled anything like this in my entire life. It smells like lilies scorched in the sunlight mixed with wild magic that is barely restrained. It’s arousal, submission, and fire.

Turning around, I slam my hand against my oak desk before growling toward the intercom. “Get me security.”

My assistant, Greta, doesn’t reply but a moment later a deep voice answers, “Samuel speaking.”

“Who has been working on the executive floor?” I demand. “A cleaner or someone.”

“Just janitorial, sir. The evening rotation,” he replies with a clipped tone.

“I need to know who was in my office.” Desperation makes me even more impersonal than usual when speaking to my staff.

Silence. Then I hear the clack of the keys on a keyboard as Samuel retrieves the information I desperately need.

“Her name is Zahara Matthews. She isn’t a new hire, but she was recently promoted to the executive floor when the spot opened up.”

Zahara Matthews. The name brands itself into my skull.

“Pull up camera three.”

I don’t wait for a response before I end the call. I swipe open the security console on my screen, hands shaking with rage. No, not rage. This is something worse, something darker. This is a dangerous mix of lust and hunger.

I watch the screen for a moment before she finally appears.

She is petite with auburn hair twisted into a messy bun.

She is wearing an oversized dove gray hoodie and black leggings that cling to a body built for being bent.

She’s wiping down my desk with trembling hands.

Her cheeks are flushed and even through the screen I can tell her breathing is erratic.

And then she stops dead in her tracks. One hand is pressed tightly to her chest like she’s trying to keep her heart from exploding. Even from here I can see her rubbing her thighs together and my cock jerks in the confines of my navy-blue slacks.

My omega. My dragon howls, rattling my brain in my skull.

She must be feeling it too. The bond that shouldn’t be there. The impossible pull that shouldn’t exist. She probably doesn’t even know what it is, but her body does .

She leans forward, nose hovering above the polished wood, eyes closed. I clench my fists tightly and my talons rip through the skin of my palms, but I don’t feel any pain.

Take her. Claim her, my dragon demands lowly.

I’m breathing so hard I can hear the rasp of air through my clenched teeth.

Dark, depraved thoughts churn through me.

Zahara on her knees as I feed every inch of my painful erection down her throat.

Zaraha bent over my desk as I fuck her from behind.

Zaraha pinned beneath me as I knot her and brand her as mine in every way that counts.

Her screaming my name over and over as I rut into her like the beast I am.

My cock strains against my slacks, and I snarl in frustration, palming the hard length through the material.

For a moment I contemplate wrapping my hand around the appendage as I watch her before dismissing the thought.

The next time I come, I will be buried knot-deep in Zaraha’s perfect omega pussy.

I watch the screen as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and turns away.

Don’t go, my dragon begs as we track her every move.

She wheels her cart to the elevator, fingers slamming the button three times like she’s afraid she’ll collapse if she stands still any longer.

I lean in close to the screen, memorizing every curve, every tremor, every fucking breath she takes before she disappears into the elevator and from my view.

And me? I burn for her. Her scent clings to everything in this office. I can still taste her on the air. And it’s not just any scent. It’s mine. It belongs to me and so does she, she just doesn’t know it yet.

Fated mates don’t exist , I tell myself. None of this makes any sense. There are no scent matches and no female dragons. And a dragon can’t have a fated mate without another dragon—it simply cannot work.

But what if Zahara is the exception? Could I be lucky enough to find my fated mate? Could there be any truth about the old fairy tales mothers tell their daughters? Not that it matters to me. She is going to be mine, regardless.

She doesn’t know it yet, but the moment her scent filled this office, she became mine. And I’m going to make damn sure she never forgets it.

I’m still standing in front of the screen, breathing like I’ve just come out of a shift, when Greta buzzes in, pulling me from my inner musings.

“Sir. Your board meeting is in twenty minutes. Finance is already waiting in the hallway.”

“And they can stand in the hallway until their bones turn to dust.” I know I am being an asshole, but she should be used to it by now.

A long pause. “Yes, sir.” She doesn’t dare say anything else. Good. I’ve trained my staff well.

I shut the monitor down, the image of Zahara’s face burning behind my eyes. Wide green eyes. Soft, parted lips. She didn’t smile once, not even in passing. But she looked ... wrecked. Fragile. Frightened even.

And my dragon loved it.

Protect. Mate. Take. Breed.

My dragon chants on repeat in the back of my mind, making sure I know exactly what he wants. The words coil around me like a mantra I don’t want to hear. Not yet. Not when the blood is rushing to my cock and my sanity’s balancing on a knife’s edge.

But I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to sink my teeth into that slender neck and my cock into her heat. To hear her cry my name while my knot swells inside her and locks us together. Her scent coating me for days.

I want to bury myself so deep inside her she forgets who she was before me.

Fuck.

I pace my office, jaw tight, hands flexing into fists and releasing again.

My talons haven’t fully retracted. My dragon is prowling.

That shouldn’t happen. Not here. Not now.

I have control over my beast for many years but today .

.. today he may just burst through without permission.

Try as I might, the image of Zahara is seared into my mind.

The curve of her ass. The hesitation in her step.

The way her body leaned toward mine—toward the scent of me—without her realizing it.

I need to see her again. I need more . I need to see her in person.

I bring the monitor back to life again and rewind the feed even though there are people waiting just outside my office. I watch every second of her cleaning my space. Every stumble. Every flutter of her eyelashes. Every second her thighs press together like she’s trying to hold something back.

I zoom in on her face and freeze the frame. She is beautiful, even flushed and overwhelmed, she’s exquisite. And she will be mine. She doesn’t belong to anyone else. No scent markers. No mating claim. She’s unbound. Probably untouched.

I growl deep in my chest at just the mere thought, fists slamming against the arms of my chair. She will be touched. By me. And no one else.

I’ll find a reason to bring her back. A task. A fake complaint. A fabricated schedule adjustment. Anything. But one way or another, Zahara is coming back. And when she does, she won’t be leaving here without knowing who she belongs to.