Page 39 of Feral Alphas

The little voice in the back of my head that’s so used to disappointment asks what I’ll do if I’m wrong. I drive my knife savagely through a chicken kiev, watching as garlic butter leaks across the plate.

I can’t be wrong. It can’t have been a result of being rescued and grateful to the man who wound back my self-implosion.

In the day and a half I’ve been here, I’ve been assessed by a psychologist, and done a full health check. Plus met dozens of other omegas who’ve assured me this place is legit. Now it’s time for scent matching.

I stare at the strange glass case in the middle of the room. A stool topped with a fluffy white pad sits in front of the big glass box with rubber arm holes and a round window big enough for my face in the middle. Looks like something out of a medical research lab.

Leslie waves me closer and flashes me her trademark encouraging smile. “This is the sample box. Omega scents are unattractive to each other, so it’s important you don’t get your own scent on the pages, hence all the security.”

She gently pressures my shoulders until I sit down on the stool. “Slip your arms in and turn the pages. If you find a match, write thenumber down on the pad. There’s also a bowl of coffee beans here if you want to refresh your palette and take a break any time you get tired. I’ll be in the corner if you need me.”

I lick my dry lips. “And you’re sure I’ll recognize a scent match?”

“I can’t guarantee there’s one for you in there, but if there is, you’ll feel like slathering it all over your skin. You might also get some physical responses in your body. Most alphas register their scent, but not everyone does. Still, it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

Like the feral alphas. No one gave them the chance to submit a sample and find their mates.

I nod. Somewhere in here has to be Agent Colt’s scent, right? The rubber feels weird against my skin as I slide my arms into the bubbly hoses and press my face to the hole in the glass, kind of like a teller window.

I blink as I open the first page and a myriad of scents hit me. Licorice mixed with car fuel beside banana smoothie and a thousand other things I can’t even identify crawl up into my senses and I turn my face away to sneeze.

Leslie grins and then settles into an armchair at the side of the room and folds the reading light arm to a better position before opening a book.

Nurse Leslie’s been at my side every step of the way, reassuring me and patiently answering my questions. I’m pissed Colt hasn’t been back yet, but at least I’m now approved to begin the scent match process. If he won’t come to me, I’ll go to him.

I turn the pages using a little tool attached to the gloves. It takes me a few goes to figure out how it works, but then it’s easy enough. Each page contains eight squares of white cotton with a number beside them inside a rectangle frame.

As I flip the pages, the uniqueness of each scent presents itself, and I sit awed by the wonder of so many alphas, as well as my body’s ability to identify them. The sense of smell really is a wonder of creation.

I’m a third of the way through the book when I flip a page and suddenly the heady aroma of smoky citrus hits me and I whine. Angling the gloves under the heavy book, I lift it as close to the edge of the glass as possible, sucking in that dominating scent that instantly heats my pussy. It’s him, the man who rescued me. The hard lump of worry in my chest that I might not recognize his scent disintegrates.

“Found something?” Leslie asks, beaming at me.

“Yes,” I reply, wriggling on the chair as my lady bits remember the amazing work-over the owner of this particular scent gave me. I want more, and I want to wake up with him still in my arms. I won’t tell her it’s Agent Colt or she might think I’m making up this hunger.

“Write the number down on your notepad.” She comes over and adds my name and ID number at the top. “This is a deeply personal question, but can you please tell me what you feel in your body?”

Another whine vibrates in my throat and heat rises in my cheeks. “Like I want to drag this book back to my room and pleasure myself with that scent sample.”

“That’s a perfectly normal response.” She presses her lips together to fight back a smile as she jots some sort of code beside the number I wrote. I lick my lips, thinking I might need some private time in my room after this.

“Is that it?” I ask.

“Why don’t you keep looking, in case there’s more?”

I stare at her. “But what happens if they’re from different packs?”

Leslie rests a hand gently on my shoulder. “If they’re willing, you’ll meet anyone you scent match with. You can then choose who you want to go with based on what you like about the group or their home.”

My brows jump. “Like window shopping for a pack?”

She laughs. “Yeah, kinda.”

What a strange idea. I thought omegas got one scent match and that was it. Having to choose between multiple packs might be the worst kind of choice a woman like me could face. I consider refusing to turn another page, but in the end, curiosity gets the better of me. If there’s any chance there’s another scent that good in here, I don’t want to miss it.

I flip pages until my arms ache and I’m yawning against the glass. Leslie reminds me several times I can take a break whenever I want, but it’s actually quite fascinating picking out the individual scents. Some I hate, and some I find pleasant. I even make a game of trying to find something to relate the scent to, which since I’ve had almost zero time outdoors, means it’s mostly food.

“Shall we go to dinner now?” Leslie asks patiently as I yawn for the tenth time. “You can come back tomorrow.”

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