Page 14 of Strawberry Moon

Ford scowled at Cliff. “What if they’re poison and I die?”

Cliff’s face turned thunderous, and as much as I appreciated his defense, it wasn’t going to help things. By Ford’s own admission, the two of them were both alphas on edge, and the last thing they needed was to fight about whether or not I was allowed to help people.

“We’ll just run them by Ford first, and when he doesn’t get sick, I can have Dante bring them to you, Cliff. Would that be okay? So there’s even less worry about my scent confusing the results.” Despite the fact that I was talking to Cliff, I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes off Ford. He was staring at me too, but more in the “I’m going to break you in half and dance on your corpse” way, rather than the pathetic longing I was shooting at him in return.

Clearly, I needed to get Dante to bring him the samples too.

I didn’t know what I’d been thinking, trying to do it myself. Being an omega interfered with the purpose of the things anyway.

“So I’ll just leave those with you,” I said to Ford, making a wide half circle around him, scooting sideways, step by crab-like step, back toward the front door. “And you can call Dante down at the clinic to—”

Ford destroyed all my hard work avoiding him when he strode right up and past me, opening the door and holding it that way. When I just stood there, he tapped his foot impatiently. “You coming?”

“No?”

He rolled his eyes, and I could almost feel his frustration flooding me. “How am I supposed to know what these are if you aren’t there to tell me?”

“You can—there are numbers. I taped numbers to them so you could tell them apart. You can just, I don’t know, write down what you think of each one, and call and tell Dante.”

“Sure,” he agreed, lips pulled down in a dubious scowl. “So when your poison hits me, I’ll be all alone. Dead before anyone can say Sterling strikes again.”

And that... that got my damned hackles up.

“Look here, I’ve never hurt anyone, and even if you’re a giant fucking insufferable ass, I’m not going to start with you.” Then I remembered: “Plus I didn’t even bring those for you, I brought them for Cliff, and he’s a nice guy. Ilikehim.”

For some reason, that, of all the irritated, irritating things I could have said, made Ford smile. “You should,” he said after a quiet moment. “Cliff’s a good guy. I’ll make sure to watch the next batch closer for poison. Now come on.”

And he just stood there, holding the door open for me till I had no choice but to follow.

Then, he proceeded to hop up and plant his ass on the tailgate of an old, well-used pickup truck. He laid the vials out on his lap and looked them over, one by one, examining their contents and numbers while they were still closed. “So what are they supposed to be? Do?”

“I’m trying to recreate the soothing pheromones that omegas give off when they’re trying to make you feel better.” My voice was terse, and my stance even more so—arms crossed over my chest, eyes narrowed in his direction, and legs spread as though I might need to brace myself for impact.

He took the first vial—specifically choosing number one—and looked up at me as he fiddled with the cap. “So what you’re doing right now, those pheromones you’re giving off. You trying to counteract the soothing of your fake stuff?”

I just scowled even harder, glaring at him, and he chuckled and pulled out the stopper.

Number one was one of the florals, and from the way he jerked his head back and made a face like he’d just dug up a sewer line on accident, I guessed those were a no-go for him as much as Linden.

He shoved the little plastic stopper right back in and thrust the thing in my direction. “Smells like a funeral. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, coming from a Sterling.”

“For your information, that’s synthetic jasmine. No one buys jasmine for funerals. It’s not that kind of flower.” I waved for him to set it down, not wanting to invade his space as he sniffed.

I mean, I didn’t want the smell of me to interfere, but also... the guy was still all alpha, and freaking terrifying. Plus, you know, he hated me.

He stoppered the vial and picked up the next one and sniffed it. “Wet asphalt. Not the most disgusting thing out there, but nothing nice.”

I pulled out my phone and started making notes.

Synthetic scents tended to get different reactions from everyone, but strangely enough, Ford’s comments were... helpful. I’d been expecting all anger and bitterness hidden in insults for my attempt to help, but neutrality on the second try? It was better than we’d done with either Dante or Linden, whose best reaction to any option had been “hey, this one isn’t gross.”

Thanks, Dante.

Another no on the flowers. A maybe on the petrichor. I didn’t have high hopes for any of the options he was going through, but once we found a combination that worked, that both made the alphas want to inhale, and then worked with the pheromones beneath and actually calmed them when they did smell them?

Then we changed the world.

11

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