Page 74 of Altius
She’d spent months trapped in a sterile environment, taking a crash course in basic functions, unable to remember what she ate for breakfast that morning, without being able to smell a single comforting, familiar scent.
I glanced at the palliative atomizer on the other side of the bed. It was Owen’s first big success at Redwing. The mist was laced with synthetic lavender pheromones, reminiscent of my late omega grandmother’s, which helped to keep my grandfather in a relaxed state. It also lessened his need for pain medication.
Would I ever fully understand what it was like for Morgan to live in a world dominated by pheromones, but isolated from her basest instincts through no fault of her own?
A nurse walked in with Grandfather’s afternoon medications.
“See you soon,” I promised, giving his hand a final gentle squeeze and heading to the central lounge area.
Spencer, my alpha nephew, was perched on the edge of a sofa, knees bouncing, waiting for his turn. He shot up when he spotted me.
Despite being a few inches shorter than me, Spencer’s looks more than made up for it. He’d inherited all the best parts of his mother and grandmother—the light tan complexion, thick black hair, grey-green eyes, the Carling intelligence, and the Sethi determination.
“Did he recognize you? Or try to talk?” he asked, glancing uncertainly through the doorway.
I gave his shoulder a reassuring rub. “No, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hear us.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “Nani already told me.”
Now, it was my turn to look around with a touch of wariness. “Is she here?”
Spencer nodded, pointing to the adjacent office space. “In there. Wants to talk to you if you have a minute.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder again and heading for the doorway. I knocked, not waiting for Anya to respond before walking in. “You wanted to see me?”
She sat perched on the edge of the desk, wearing a cobalt blue power suit, the diamonds stacked on her left ring finger sparkling as she scrolled through her phone.
Would Morgan want a mating ring? She’d never wear it regularly, but it might be nice to break it out for special occasions.
I wanted one.
Mating bites were too easy to hide, and I was eager to rub my happiness in everyone’s face. My girl was the best. And they couldn’t have her—insert caveat about Pack Redmond, if she wanted them too.
“I wanted to schedule a meeting with you about Morgan’s progress on her fellowship project, but your calendar is…rather full.” She turned the phone to face me, showing my out-of-office status for the next week. “Did your rut cycle change?”
My first inclination was to walk out. Anya had no right to pry into my personal life. But I didn’t want her to extend our problems to Morgan’s fellowship.
I shut the door like a good nominal son and offered her a congenial smile. “It’s just a ski trip.”
Alas, Anya didn’t feel like playing house. “You’re taking off the same days as Mor—”
“Donotfinish that sentence. Reproductive leaves are protected—something I shouldn’t have to remind you about—as a doctor or a mother.”
The almond note in my scent intensified. Left unchecked, buoyed by my temper, it took on a life of its own, as bitter and unrepentant as a cloud of cyanide.
Anya blanched, staggering to the side and falling heavily onto an armchair.
I hadn’t even taken one step inside the room.
“Why the sudden interest in a ski holiday?” Leaning against the wall, I hooked my thumbs in my pockets. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve never liked any of my friends. Especially Owen. Have you?”
“That—that was Heather,” Anya ground out. “And she’s apologized.”
“The same way she apologized to Morgan after her stunt at the ballet?” I spat out a laugh. “Or how you apologized after your half-baked bullshit about fan photos? Two seconds. That’s all it would take to see the internet is littered with photos of Morgan—good, bad, and tragic.”
“Are you dating her?” Anya asked, wound tight and twitchy.
My alpha flared. Voice deepening, dominance unfurling, like a wave cresting, promising destruction. “What did you promise me?”
