Page 70 of Citius

“Someone who deserves me, you mean,” he said with a pained smile, taking another cursed step closer, “because they can smell how much I want them, and you can’t?”

Too much. Cal always knew too much. But I wouldn’t admit it—not to him, not to anyone—no matter how true his words were.

Because Cal had that look on his face. The pinched, almost pitying expression that every other alpha put on for good measure when they swore it wasn’t a big deal. Pheromones weren’t everything. They could make it good for me.

Until their scent failed to inspire arousal. Right before they got angry.

I held out his jacket again, my arm surprisingly steady despite the fire raging inside. “You need to leave.”

Choking back his reluctance, Cal took the jacket and headed for the door. Kip trotted after him, still eager to play with his large new friend. I scooped him up before he could dart into the hallway.

“Shh,” I whispered to my squirming bundle, letting him half-climb onto my shoulder. Kip settled—sort of. His ears swiveled forward, eyes fixed on Cal, as if hoping he’d lob one of his dress shoes for him to chaseinstead of putting it back on.

“I didn’t intend for…” Cal gave a terse wave toward the dining room. “For that. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely and ate something. Took whatever it is you need for headaches.” A knowing expression—so typical, so infuriating—disarmed me. “You hide it well. But once you know what to look for…”

The door opened, allowing the harsh overhead lighting from the hallway to intrude. I recoiled, squinting at Cal rather than burying my face in Kip’s fur.

With a final tight smile, Cal slipped away. “Secret’s safe with me.”

I stood there, huffing into Kip’s side as I struggled to regulate my breathing, when Tenny’s solid form butted against my ankles, croaking out a series of grumbly mewls.

Laughter diffused the impending explosion.

“You’re right. Who the hell does the pheromone stud think he is?”

Twenty-One

Alijah

The men in my pack had more than their fair share of eccentricities.

Take Owen, for example. Friday morning, I bumped into him on my way to work, standing frozen in the hallway outside unit 601. His face was scrunched up like the door had offended him somehow. He wasn’t stretching before a run or waiting for the elevator. Just standing there, scowling into his coffee.

Sure, the hallway smelled a bit boozy, but hardly enough to warrant a full-on grudge match with a door. We hadn’t even met our neighbors yet, and judging someone based on pheromone leftovers was rude. Maybe their scent had a lovely fruit-related top note—like a tropical drink, promising a fun time with good company.

Not just bitter almonds and sticky alcohol residue.

One unusual morning was fine. But two weird mornings in a row? That was unprecedented behavior from Owen.

He sat across from me at the dining table, reading the financial news on his tablet between sips of the subpar mud he swore was coffee and bites of plain wheat toast. Neatly pressed and ready for business as ever, though his version of Saturday casual meant skipping the necktie and vest.

“Everything going smoothly for the housewarming?” he asked, not looking up from the screen.

“Absolutely,” I replied, my mouth half full of chocolate muffin. Not the most refined table manners, but I didn’t want to keep Owen waiting. “Tabitha’s assistant confirmed her availability yesterday, so the date’s set. Still working on the menu, but I’m leaning toward an appetizer buffet. Lots of articles say finger food is perfect for mingling and chatting. And I’ve convinced Joaquin not to grill a mountain of hot dogs.”

Owen nodded in acknowledgment rather than agreement, then reached for his wallet. The card he slid across the table wasn’t a mere piece of plastic—it was a pack credit card, a symbol of our combined financial stability. A mythical beast for a beta who grew up in foster care.

“Use this. Essentials only.”

“Got it.” I picked up the card with surreal reverence.

It would have been one thing if it had come from Joaquin. My mate was a giver, always ensuring I had what I neededandwanted. When we first started dating, he spent a lot of time explaining the distinction between the two, reminding me that it was okay to want another drink or buy a new pair of shoes without waiting for a sale.

Not everything in life had to be about necessity.

Rich coming from someone who mainly wore free shirts from the ballet. But eventually, I realized that Joaquin wanted better things for me than for himself—and far more than I’d ever allowed myself to want before.

But Owen was different.

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