Page 6 of Unbonded (Pack’s Companion #3)

A sweet, alluring scent is something most omegas take for granted.

As soon as I presented in high school, I became known as the orange blossom omega, and guys who’d never paid me any attention before were suddenly taking note.

One of the first compliments Lee gave me was about my perfume, and even though my dark hair wasn’t particularly memorable, and my eyes were a washed-out gray, I always felt like the most beautiful omega in the world when he leaned in and took a deep sniff of my orange blossom fragrance.

Losing my scent – and having it replaced with something as repellent as bitter coffee – is one of the most devastating parts of my unbonding.

Since our perfume is strongest at our scent gland, the reminder hits me every time I look at the physical scar on my neck.

Not only is it an ugly mess, but it smells repellent, and that cuts deep into my omega psyche.

As for alpha scents, most of them barely register anymore.

Exposure, I guess, since I clean their rooms and fit their bonding suits, their pheromones always lingering in the air – or soaked into their bedsheets.

I’ve got used to tuning them out - in as much as you can when you’re measuring their inseam - and since I now wear a scent suppressant, the chalky scent coming off my own skin works as an additional buffer.

But now and then I’ll encounter a scent so potent, it brushes up against me like a fingernail on a raw nerve.

As I stare at Corbus Janssen, I wait for my senses to shut down in panic.

His scent isn’t just intoxicating – it’s almost like it’s tailor-made for me – which means my body should be rejecting it before it can hit my hindbrain.

Self-preservation demands I get as far away from it as possible.

But instead of making my skin crawl and my stomach lurch, his pheromones caress me in a way that’s both exciting and familiar.

Familiar?

Why does it feel like this complete stranger is suddenly a safe haven?

It takes a moment for my overwhelmed brain to make sense of it, and then it clicks into place.

Cedarwood.

A warm, slightly spicy aroma, exactly like the hand-carved cabinets in my closet at home.

“Mr. Janssen…”

“Corbus,” he corrects me, and the next moment he’s drawing me towards the ballroom door, my hand somehow tucked in the crook of his arm.

I don’t know how it gets there, only that I can feel the ridges of muscle through the crisp fabric of his tuxedo jacket.

His body heat is startling – maybe from his panic about Dash – and I have to stop myself from rubbing against him.

It’s bad enough that I have to bite back a whimper, but all that does is lodge his cedarwood scent deep, deep in my lungs.

As my heart takes up a frantic beat, I’m suddenly grateful for the heavy fabric of my uniform.

If I was wearing a gossamer silk gown like so many women in the ballroom, I’d probably burst into flames.

I shake my addled head and try to focus on the security guard who’s a step ahead of us.

His broad shoulders are carving a path through the crowd, and all across the ballroom curious heads are turning our way.

Normally, I’d hate the attention, but I bite back a hysterical giggle at our strange procession.

With the giant alpha out front and the specter of Mrs. Gladstone right on my heels, they must be wondering if I’m being escorted to dance or thrown out on my ear.

It's pretty clear how my supervisor views the situation.

“I’m so sorry she interrupted your evening, Mr. Janssen. I will get this matter cleared up immediately.”

Corbus doesn’t even glance back at her. “Thank you, but I’d prefer to hear it from her directly.” He turns as we exit the door, looking down at me with those impossibly blue eyes. “Are you Kate?”

“Yes.” It takes me a moment to realize he’s looking at the name stitched on my breast pocket, not checking out the curves under my uniform.

If my stomach swoops with disappointment, at least I manage to keep the evidence off my face.

“Mr. Devereux is up in one of the junior suites. I think he’s alright now, but he slipped in the bathroom and hurt himself… ”

Corbus mutters something in another language, his handsome face stark with worry. “Sorry for cursing, Ms. Valentine, but I should’ve sensed that something was wrong. I got pulled into a discussion with the mayor-.”

He stops abruptly and I give him a sympathetic look. “Let me show you up to his room.”

Corbus nods, but Mrs. Gladstone jerks on the edge of my uniform, stopping me from taking a step. “I think you’ve done enough here, Ms. Valentine. Please return to your duties and I’ll show the gentlemen up to the suite. Which room number is it?”

I expect Corbus to fall into step with my boss, but his entire body stiffens, his musical voice dropping to a growl. “Right now, Kate is the only thing standing between your employers and a potential lawsuit. If you want to help here, I suggest you return to your duties and let her come with us.”

I peek around him in time to see Mrs. Gladstone take a sharp step back.

I don’t know whether to cackle at her shocked face or leap for joy, because my scent match is sticking up for me .

Never once did Lee growl in my defense, but this stranger with the hypnotic voice sounds like an approaching thunderstorm.

I’m still staring up at him in shock when he sweeps a hand ahead of us, inviting me to lead the way.

Is this the scent match at work, or is this just him?

I don’t know which answer I want more, but every inch of my body tingles with awareness as we walk towards the elevators, his arm casually brushing mine.

The security guard gets there first, talking into his cell as he holds the doors open.

Mrs. Gladstone has trailed us this far, but he now lifts a hand, blocking her way.

“I’ve just spoken to the operations manager.

He’s informed of the situation, so we won’t need anything further from you. ”

Mrs. Gladstone’s parting look tells me she’s already thinking of all the ways she’ll make me pay for this later, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

When the doors have closed, I press the button to the correct floor and look at the big alpha curiously. “Did you really speak to Mr. Richards?”

“His boss, actually.”

Corbus gives a low hum of approval, but my mouth falls open. “Mr. Richards reports directly to the hotel’s owner, Mr. Friedman.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his hard face, like he knows how much pleasure I’m taking from seeing Mrs. Gladstone sent off with a bee in her ear. But all he says is, “Can you tell us how Dash was injured?”

“Just the little he told me.” I glance at Corbus, but he nods for me to go on. “When I arrived, he was already nursing a bloody nose. He said he wasn’t sure if he fainted or slipped in the bathroom. I helped him clean up and gave him some soup before I came looking for you.”

My gaze flicks back to Corbus, but he’s staring at the other alpha, and I realize this isn’t just some random security guard. The look they’re sharing is too intense… and Dash did say he was here with dates , plural. “Are you two…?”

I’m not sure how to phrase the rest of the question, but the bigger guy saves me by sticking out his hand. “I’m Bram Webber. Corbus and I are packmates.”

I nod, but as he swallows my hand in his massive one, I can’t help feeling disappointed.

Thinking about Dash with multiple mates was simple in the abstract, but now I’m facing his dates in the flesh.

And from the concern etched into their faces, I’m guessing this isn’t just a casual thing.

There’s a big difference between dating and courting in pack terms, and these guys seem really invested.

Normally this would be none of my business, except for the fact that I’ve scent matched with the alpha next to me.

Unless…

As I let go of Bram’s hand, I turn to stare at my pale face in the polished doors. Could I have this whole thing wrong?

Dr. Green warned me that the closer I get to my heat, the more likely I’ll start experiencing some serious complications.

How did she put it again? That my hormones are going to run riot, and I’ll be driven to find a mate at any cost. I’d jokingly compared it to a nuclear event, but isn’t that exactly what finding your scent mate is?

Could my messed-up instincts be constructing this match in some last-ditch effort to land the perfect pack?

I shudder at the thought, but it makes sense in a sick kind of way.

Scent matches are rare and are usually only triggered when an omega is young and their perfume at its most potent.

Lee and I certainly weren’t matched that way, meeting in a campus bar and becoming friends before we were anything more.

I just assumed we were a match on a different level, and never really questioned it up until the moment he told me he was done with us.

My instincts had failed me in spectacular fashion, and not only because of the hurt and humiliation of unpicking our lives together.

The harder pill to swallow is that most omegas only get one chance at love, and mine is now as twisted and ugly as the scar on my throat.

God, is this whole situation just a pathetic case of wishful thinking?

As the elevator doors open, I fight the urge to fiddle with the Band-Aid over my scent gland.

If I’m wrong about this, the last thing I want is to draw attention to my unbonded status.

It would be bad enough if Corbus rejected our match because it was inconvenient – but it would cripple me if he decided to ignore it because I was some other alpha’s ‘spoiled goods.’

Get a grip, Kate, or your baggage is going to spill out all over this hotel hallway.