Page 11 of Strawberry Moon

Hell, just walking into Grove House felt more like coming home than staying in Alexandria ever had, and I’d lived in that house for the better part of a year. Even after Ford looking like he wanted nothing more than to rend my flesh from my bones, Grove House was just... perfect.

Like everywhere in Grovetown, it smelled like apples, but unlike most places, it smelled like apple pie. Cinnamon and apples and warm, buttery crust... I took a deep breath of it as Skye led me in the front door, and my stomach instantly grumbled.

Skye laughed, grabbed my hand, and dragged me down a wide main hallway and into a brightly lit kitchen where a beautiful young man was working. He looked like a younger, smaller version of Linden, so I assumed he was a Grove. Well, and he seemed to live in Grove House.

“Hey, Ro,” Skye said, smiling and somehow upbeat, despite what had happened. “Baking pie?”

The man smiled back, waving to not just one, but three pies on the counter. “Just trying a few new methods. Always good to keep on your toes, or someone will outdo you. Want to try some?”

Dante climbed into one of the tall chairs that faced the counter, looking like he was a puppy and his tail was about to start wagging, nodding fast. Skye followed suit, dragging me with him into another chair.

I hadn’t eaten, of course. I’d lost the few pounds I’d always carried around my middle over the last six months—too busy, or too disinterested, or just too unhappy to eat. As a child, I’d eaten to fill the void left by my parents, and affection, and everything good.

After learning that the very food I’d grown up on had murdered so many people, it had lost a lot of its luster. Not to mention the sudden fear that the poison in question would now affect me, in my newfound omegahood.

Still, I accepted a plate with three slivers of pie on it, just as the others did. If Skye would eat it, it was surely fine, since he was the most careful person I knew.

They were all three delicious, in entirely different ways, and I couldn’t begin to give an opinion. Instead, I just devoured them one bite at a time as Skye talked to the man about maceration and spice blends and butter temperatures.

Like Dante, I was more at home in a lab, even if I’d never be the genius he was.

“Hey,” Skye’s voice cut into my peaceful pie consumption. “You know who you should talk to about testing your pheromone blends when you find some that work better?”

I lifted a brow at him, assuming the question to be rhetorical, and he proved me right quick enough.

He waved his fork in the direction of the young baker. An alpha? And in need of pheromone help? Ro had seemed like more of an omega to me, though he didn’t have any major outright scent like most omegas did.

“Rowan’s boyfriend, Cliff.” He turned back to Rowan, eyes bright, despite Dante biting his lip in concern, and explained to him, “Archer and Dante are trying to find a synthetic omega pheromone that would help alphas.”

Ro—Rowan, I supposed—let out a short breath and dropped the spatula he’d been using to stir a bowl of apple slices. He turned and stared at first Dante, then me. “Do you... do you really think you can? Do you think it’ll work?”

Rowan’s boyfriend, Cliff, Skye had said. Oh crap. The poor guy must be struggling with his instincts, and Rowan was either not an omega, or didn’t produce the omega pheromones that soothed the savage beast, so to speak. I wondered if there was some hormone therapy that might help with that, but I was a chemist, not a biologist or a doctor.

So instead, I met Rowan’s eye and inclined my head. “We haven’t figured it out yet, but if it’s possible, we’re going to do it.”

“Please,” he whispered. “Talk to Cliff. He’d... he wants to figure things out for himself, but he’s been struggling for so long.”

I nodded to him. It was a good idea, as much as I didn’t want to get his hopes up only to dash them if we failed. Testing them on Linden and Dante could only go so far, since neither alpha had any real struggle with their feral sides.

That was how, three days later, after running back to Alexandria to sedate myself for the full moon, then spending days recovering from the strain of it, I found myself back in Grovetown, at the hardware store at nine in the morning.

The man at the counter was traditional alpha. He smelled of wood stain and sawdust and alpha musk, and looked like he spent every free second in a gym. It was that casually perfect thing alphas did, like Linden and all his giant muscles even though I doubted he lifted anything heavier than his medical bag on a regular basis.

This guy, working at a hardware store, probably did more physical labor, but he was also even more big and buff.

“Cliff Reynolds?” I asked, standing just inside the door.

He looked up at me and offered a kind smile, and I was bolstered, taking a half step toward him. But no, best to get the hard part out of the way in case he growled like Ford had, and I needed to make a run for my car.

Why hadn’t I let Dante do this?

I shook that off and took a deep breath. “Hi. I’m Archer Sterling.”

He did not glare or growl. No, he brightened. “Dante’s friend Archer Sterling? Who’s helping him in the lab?”

I nodded and took another half step closer. “Yes, that Archer Sterling.” I stressed my last name, like I wanted him to know and reject me.

Maybe I did.

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