Page 129 of Citius

“Tyler didn’t report his injury when it happened,” I explained, “so I checked his PheroPass data. I found it all right—elevated heart rate, increased respiration, all the usual signs of pain yesterday afternoon—but I also discovered that he was on thereceivingend of a pheromone surge when it happened.”

“Moderate spikes happen all the time during weight training and practice,” Cal said, offering a gentle counterargument. The players gave their all because they wanted to win. Emotional intensity was normal.

“I know,” I said with a nod. “It’s nothing taken in isolation—but it wasn’t just one spike.”

“What do you mean?”

I closed out of Tyler’s screenshots and navigated up a level, showing Cal the bigger picture. Every member of the starting defensive line had been hit with consistent, significantly pronounced pheromone surges over the past few weeks—like they were being targeted.

I opened a trend graph I’d compiled and pointed to the sharp rise in activity. “The spikes are only getting stronger and more frequent. Now, they’re filled with enough negative intent that Tyler broke a bone.”

Cal methodically studied each of my findings, his expression turning solemn. His fingers drummed an uneasy rhythm against the back of the tablet. “Do you know who did it?”

“That’s therealproblem,” I admitted, picking at the seams of my leggings. “I’ve been cross-referencing timestamps for hours now. I can’t find a single player with a pheromone emittance reading anywhere near these levels.”

“Did you look at the other lines?”

“Of course. I checked everyone, even the injured list and the redshirtfreshmen.”

“So, we’re likely looking for a coach or a staff member.” Cal’s pensive frown settled into something heavier, more immovable—a protective shield. “Garvey?”

“I suspected him, too, but the dates don’t quite match. This started while he was on leave,” I said with a flash of annoyance. Trying to pin this on Garvey would be satisfying but unfair. “There’s not enough evidence to suspect anyone.”

“You’re right. Garvey’s just one possibility based on past behavior. And it might not even be malicious. It could simply be someone with poor pheromone control heading into a rut.” Cal paused. “But there’s still a chance someone is doing this on purpose. Maybe they’re trying to sabotage the team’s winning streak.”

“None of the options are good.” After a moment’s hesitation, I voiced what had been bothering me for most of the night. “My clinical observation report is due on Friday. I want to include this, but it could cause major problems.”

“Do it.” Cal handed back my tablet, his tone steady and sure. “I’ll handle the fall-out.” He shifted closer, pressing our sides together, his hand settling on my knee. “Would you mind if my team took the lead in monitoring this?”

“Be my guest,” I said, exhaling some tension. “I’m swamped as it is, and if Garvey is involved…”

“It keeps you protected,” Cal finished, pressing a kiss to my temple, his scruff softly rasping against my cheek.

Setting my tablet aside for good, I turned and claimed a proper kiss—slow and indulgent, just like the flames dancing in the fireplace.

But before things could go further, Cal pulled back just enough to meet my gaze. “Speaking of Garvey… Got an interesting text from Joaquin. He wants to know if you’re having issues with the other coaches.”

I sighed, sinking lower against the reading wedge, which caused Cal’s hand to slide higher up my thigh. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. Wanted to talk to you first.”

“I don’t want this to be athing, Cal.” Watching the shadows dancing on the ceiling, I toyed with the cuff of his sweater and said softly, “Not trying to whitewash Garvey’s behavior, but this isn’t the first time something like this has happened to me. There’s a reason so many omega physicians only practice omega medicine.”

Cal shifted onto his side, displacing a pillow that inadvertently bumped into the curtain—where Tenny was hiding, staging yet anothersilent protest at being squeezed out of the nest. He let out an indignant yowl.

“Sorry, dude,” Cal said, raising his hands in apology.

I tried my hardest not to laugh. “Poor baby just wants to snuggle.”

“So greedy.” Cal glanced at the sullen lump before wrapping his arms around me and pulling us both lower onto the upholstered surface of the nest. His lips trailed down the length of my neck. “Which is too bad—because so am I.”

Oh, how far we’d come from his days of leaving courtesy cracks in meeting room doors.

“Do you want to come to my place Friday night?” he asked between kisses. “We could get sushi takeout.”

“Sorry, I can’t,” I said, threading my fingers through his hair. “Family invasion for the marathon.”

“That’s this weekend?”

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