Page 95 of Citius

Montreal. The word swirled through my mind, spinning faster and faster until everything clicked into place with dizzying clarity.

Morgan’s accident happened in Montreal.

When I’d mentioned Wyatt to her for the first time, she’d turned distant, polite at best, before going ice-cold for the rest of the football game.

I turned my gaze to Wyatt and looked at him—really looked at him—and the guilt dripping off his forehead like cold sweat. How had I missed it before?

He’d reacted weirdly to Kelsey’s scent in the living room because he didn’t have the guts to face Morgan’s sister. And whoever Ethan was, Wyatt was even more afraid of him.

“You dumped her,” I said, my words biting, almost accusatory, jabbing my finger across the hall, anger bubbling under my skin. “You dumpedher—dumped Morgan?”

“Yeah,” Cal said, leaning forward. The single word landed like a gavel strike, heavy with condemnation. Somehow, his large frame seemed even more massive. “I’m going to need you to explain that.”

Wyatt snorted, his pheromones spiking again. “Fuck off, Cal. I already know she turned you down.”

Another puzzle piece slid home. “The liqueur scent in the hallway…Thatwas you.”

“God damn. Knew I’d smelled that sad, sticky syrup before, but I couldn’t place it.” Joaquin flashed a devilish grin at Cal—but the depths of his eyes were cold. “Aren’t you basically her boss?”

“I’m well-versed in professional ethics, thank you.” Cal’s voice was as calm as ever, but he didn’t deny anything. “My visit wasn’t personal. We had something to discuss, and it couldn’t wait.”

“Look, babe.” Joaquin rested his head against mine, wickedly amusedas he gestured toward Wyatt. “One slippery fucker.” Then he flicked his finger at Cal. “Two slippery fuckers.”

I tugged on his arm. “Don’t be rude—”

“No,” Wyatt cut in, “Joaquin’s right. I’ve been keeping shit from you. But so has he.” A frigid gaze locked onto Cal. “You’ve been over there at least twice.”

Cal leaned back slightly, narrowing his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“Oh? Then why did I pick up your pheromones in the hallway about a month ago? Friday night, around ten o’clock.”

“This is only my second time inside this building, whether you want to believe it or not.” Cal’s words might have sounded convincing, but the red flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“What, did you pheromone bomb her like some kind of horny teenage asshole?” Joaquin quipped—and Cal’s flush only deepened. A sting of genuine disappointment undercut Joaquin’s ribbing. “Fuck, man, and I thought Wyatt had it bad.”

Wyatt’s dense shoulders tightened, the tendons in his neck straining against the collar of his shirt. He was mere seconds away from unloading on Joaquin…who, admittedly, deserved it—just a little.

“You—”

But before he could erupt, Joaquin went on the defense, blindsiding me in the process.

“Oh, relax. Alijah’s hooked on her, too.” He ran a hand through his hair, wearing a devil-may-care expression, as if daring anyone to interrupt. “And since we’re beinghonest… So am I.”

Wyatt and Cal both turned their heads sharply to stare at my mate. They didn’t seem angry. More surprised than anything.

Only Owen remained unfazed—at least at first glance. His phone had been set aside in favor of resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, tight lips pressed against his steepled fingers, watching us like a hawk.

“In fact…” Joaquin’s suggestive gaze moved steadily around the room, studying each of us in turn. “Is there anyone here who isn’t interested in Morgan?”

Owen’s dominance hit like a thunderclap, suppressing us with its sheer magnitude—demanding obedience. Joaquin’s protective layer of pheromones evaporated instantly. He grunted as Owen’s influence hit him square in the gut. I choked. Wyatt white-knuckled the banister. Even Cal had to dig a hand into the couch to steady himself.

“This embarrassment of a discussion ends here.” Owen’s voice was as merciless as his gaze. “Wyatt, go with Cal. Alijah, reheat dinner. Joaquin, scent cancellation. Now.”

The oppressive weight of Owen’s dominance receded as he left the room.

We all needed a moment to collect ourselves, and then Wyatt marched upstairs, fuming as he stomped across the walkway to his room. Cal lingered on the couch for a few more breaths, then grabbed his medical bag and followed suit.

Joaquin rose slowly, extending his hand to me. His grip was firm, keeping me steady as I got to my feet, still shaking slightly from the lingering aftereffects of alpha exposure.

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