Page 44 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

"Easy there, brother," I said, clapping him on the shoulders as he swiped a sleeve across his damp mouth. The beer foam left a temporary mustache above his real one, making him look momentarily boyish despite the hard angles of his face. "Night's still young."

Mac raised an eyebrow but didn't comment as he refilled Wyatt's stein and poured a fresh shot. In a town this size, bartenders knew everything about everyone, but the good ones knew when to keep their observations to themselves. And Mac was one of the best.

"I've been taking it easy," Wyatt grumbled, his voice low enough that only I could hear it over the country music blaring from the jukebox. He dropped the second shot into the fresh beer and turned to survey the room, his eyes darker than usual under the brim of his hat. "Tonight, I’m taking it hard."

His voice sent a chill down my spine. This wasn't Wyatt's normal bravado, not the typical Alpha posturing. This was something rawer, something more dangerous. It was the result of waiting for a curative. Of waiting for our Omega, while our hope faded daily. We were falling down the ferality rabbit hole. The only direction now, was to fall deeper. Stage one. Stage two. Stage three. We’d lose our minds, baser instincts overtaking us.

I sipped my own beer slowly, foam tickling my upper lip as I studied my twin over the rim of my glass. His scent had taken on an edge of restless energy that could easily tip into aggression if channeled wrong. I couldn’t let him drink too much. I needed to find the healthier outlet before things devolved into a bloody barfight. Usually, we’d part ways when we found our night’s flavor. With bone-deep certainty, I knew I needed to stay close to my twin tonight. I needed to make sure Wyatt didn't do something he'd regret come morning light.

Nursing the beer, refusing even the slightest buzz, I watched my twin's gaze rove over the bar like a predator selecting its prey. His eyes were sharp, calculating beneath the shadow of his hat’s brim, taking inventory of every person in the crowded space. The rigid set of his shoulders, the barely perceptible flare of his nostrils as he scented the air, the white-knuckled grip on his beer glass, were all warning signs of an Alpha wound too tight.

His eyes finally locked on two leggy blonde Betas playing pool in the far corner of the bar. They were leaning over the green felt, poised with practiced precision, laughing at some private joke between shots. The taller of the two Betas glanced up, catching his stare across the room. She didn't look away—held his gaze for a beat longer than politeness required before a slow smile spread across her lips. An invitation if I'd ever seen one.

Wyatt downed the second Boilermaker, slammed his glass down, and began prowling across the bar. I placed my nearly full stein next to his empty and handed Mac ten bucks before following. Mac gave me a look that said, ‘don’t let your brother fuck up my bar’. I nodded in recognition.

Wyatt was about fifteen paces ahead, beating me to the pool table. I watched as the women smiled at him, already falling for his charm. As I came closer, I could smell them. Their scents were pleasant enough, artificial body washes and sprays without the complex pheromones that made Omegas so desirable. They’d abandoned their game, chatting with Wyatt and batting their lashes. They were clearly at the bar tonight for more than just a round of eight ball.

“Mind if my brother and I join you for a game?” Wyatt was saying as I came within earshot.

“Depends, you any good?” The slightly taller blonde challenged.

“I know how to use my stick,” he promised throatily.

“Lucky for you, I know exactly how to handle the balls,” she said, before biting her lower lip suggestively.

I entered the fray, and both Betas looked me up and down appreciatively.

“I’ve got a thing for twins,” the second woman teased, running her pointer finger up the line of Wyatt’s shirt buttons.

“We don’t perform as a duo,” Wyatt said in a low voice, full of heat.

Both women pouted.

“What a shame,” the taller woman sighed, “I was already picturing the possibilities.”

“Me too.” This from her friend, who locked eyes first with me, then Wyatt. “Sure, you boys won’t change your mind?”

“It’s a hard rule,” Wyatt suddenly gripped them both around the waist, tugging them against his body. They gave girlish squeals. “But you could always switch places to get a double taste.”

That made me raise my eyebrows. Don’t think we’d ever switched female partners in the same night. That was coming dangerously close to secondary brother fucking.

“Oh, now that’s an idea,” the shorter Beta crowed. “Same hotel room?”

“Connected,” Wyatt said firmly.

“Good enough for me,” the taller of the two, who’d clearly set her eyes on having Wyatt first, licked her lips.

The trio began heading towards the exit. I trailed behind like a lost puppy. Nearly to the door, I got a delicious whiff of nutmeg and coffee. I glanced over, finding a familiar Omega face. I gave her a nod, and she smiled back. Off limits though. Joey smelled good to me, but she’d noxiously clashed with Boone.

We didn't mess with the Omegas in town anymore, no matter how tempting they smelled, especially during their heats. None of them were the right fit, and it wasn't fair to any of us to fuck around when we already knew what we'd find out. Not scent matches, just dalliances that left both sides unfulfilled and sometimes bitter. The Omegas in Pinedale deserved better than to be temporary stand-ins. Staying clear of them was the right thing to do.

But single Betas were often game for a night with an Alpha. And they felt good in the heat of the moment, even if they didn't smell right and we couldn't knot them the way we desperately wanted to, not without hurting them physically that is. We could satisfy ourselves though, pull out and cum on their supple skin, or, better yet, explode inside their mouths.

They got their jollies too; we always made sure of that. The Sagebrush Ranch pack wasn’t made of selfish pricks.

The Pine Rest Motel off Main wasn’t half bad, a bit outdated but clean. Had an hourly rate too, though we always paid for the whole night. Would be rude to kick a woman out if she was tired. Wyatt made sure the two rooms were connected this time. The front desk receptionist raised his eyebrow, but said nothing, sliding the two key cards across the polished counter.

If my brother had been worried about fueling the rumor mill before strolling into Shorty’s, he sure as hell wasn’t concerned now. I’m sure by morning, the whole of Pinedale would know the Nelson twins got adjacent rooms. Eventually, someone would connect it to Shorty’s. And some busybody would say ‘I saw those boys leaving with two Beta girls. They joked about switching partners!’.