Page 202 of Altius
Cal wrapped her in his arms. “Nice try, sweetheart. But you keep forgetting we can smell you’re upset.”
“Oh.” She blinked, exhaled deeply, and held out her phone, displaying an email.
Before I could decipher the jumble of text, Cal’s conciliatory purr echoed through the closet.
“It’s a rejection from Garroway Forest.”
“What?” I grabbed the phone, poking at the screen in disbelief, as if the blurred words would rearrange themselves into a job offer. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Morgan had been so excited about that interview. She would have been a perfect fit for their program.
She didn’t respond, just held Cal tighter while her scent grew increasingly bitter, taking on a sour undertone.
My pheromones poured out in a misguided attempt to soothe her, filling the room with the stench of decay.
Cal gave me a warning look.
“I can’t help it,” I protested.
“Help what?” Morgan asked, her voice muffled by Cal’s bulk.
“It’s time to up his scent blockers again.” Cal kissed the top of her head. “And start you on one.”
Morgan pulled away, openly pouting as she headed into her closet. “Great. More meds to add to my collection.”
She pulled off her Narwhals sweatshirt, exchanging it for a tank top and an oversized black flannel shirt that I’m pretty sure belonged to Joaquin.
“Look on the bright side,” Cal teased, admiring our girlfriend’s toned legs as she swapped her jogger scrubs for sweatpants. “You have carte blanche to tell Owen just how wrong he is about what an omega needs from a purr unit.”
Amber eyes flashing with renewed purpose, Morgan strode out of the closet, rising on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before giving me a quick peck in turn.
“Pill me,” she said. “Then let me at him.”
Cal and I exchanged a long look. There had to be something we could do about her job search. Sure, intellectually dominating my brother was fun and all, but it wouldn’t give Morgan the professional satisfaction she craved.
Maybe it was time to make a few calls.
***
As the days passed and the number of packing boxes increased, Morgan was…fine.
Suspiciously fine.
When Kelsey asked if she could take everything in the TV room upstairs? Not a problem.
Rory knocking the frosted lamp off the entryway table, shattering it into a million pieces? A simple accident.
The weekend that Ethan and his pack invaded, upping the volume by three thousand percent as they disassembled the stockroom shelves, while alternating between giving me shit and treating me like a beast of burden? That only prompted a stern look of warning before Morgan retreated to her library nest to review PheroPass data.
Her micro-expressions were always a bit tricky to read. But with her scent muted by blockers, interpreting them became even more important. And difficult.
Her smiles were rare and brief. More of a response than genuine emotion.
She continued her morning workouts with Owen and me. Allowed Alijah and Joaquin to woo her on Wednesdays. Put in her extra hours consulting for Redwing. Covered basketball games and popped in for the occasional gymnastics practice without issue.
Business as usual—or so it seemed until the Sunday before the move.
“So,” Rory asked, halfway through the lavish brunch Kelsey and Alijah had put together, “when are we tackling the kitchen?”
