Page 104 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
Her words painted images I didn't want to see.
Nelly alone and vulnerable.
Nelly harassed.
Nelly struggling.
Yet here we were, adding to her burden rather than easing it. I shuffled my feet, unease overtaking desire. Part of me—the part that nursed sickly calves back to health and soothed spooked horses—wanted to fling the door open, show her the safest path off our property, and give her a fighting chance at leaving us right now.
But the rest of me, the Alpha fighting the first stages of ferality, the primal creature now responding to her intoxicating scent, the man who'd willingly submitted to bloodwork and scent testing, couldn't bring myself to let her go. The knowledge that I was no better than those drunk Alphas she'd encountered sat heavy in my gut.
"I understand you're not afraid," I finally said, my voice emerging rougher than intended. "But there are practical concerns. No neighbors for miles. Temperature drops at night. Terrain that's disorienting even for locals without daylight.”
"Wade's right," Wyatt added. "It's not about keeping you prisoner. It's about keeping you alive."
A bitter laugh sounded through the door. "Right. Because you care so much about my wellbeing. That's why you bought me like a breeding cow."
Her words struck like physical blows. Accurate ones.
“We couldn’t buy something—” I stopped myself from finishing with ‘that wasn’t for sale’. I had a feeling that would light a bonfire none of us could douse. And, even if she had signed a contract to mate, it didn’t mean she could predict her feelings once matched to a pack. She could change her mind. Every person had that right.
"You couldn’t buy something that what?" she challenged.
Wyatt ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "We can talk about this in the morning. When you've had some rest."
"I don't want to talk about it in the morning! I don't want to talk about it ever! I want to leave!"
Another impact against the door, this one sounding more like a kick than a punch. The wood vibrated with her fury, and a fresh wave of her scent washed over me, still tainted with the sharp edge of anger and fear. My fingers tingled with the need to reach out and soothe her.To reach out and claim her.I pressed my knuckles hard against my nose, trying to block the overwhelming pull of her.
"Please," I said, the word emerging more desperate than I intended. "Just... try to get some sleep. Things will seem clearer in daylight."
"Fuck your daylight," she snapped, but the pounding had stopped. "Fuck all of you."
Silence fell, broken only by the sound of footsteps retreating from the door. Moving back to the bed, perhaps, or pacing the small confines of the room.
Wyatt placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "You okay to finish your shift?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice. The truth was, I wasn't okay. None of this was okay. But I'd stay at my post, caught between duty to my pack and the growing certainty that we'd made a terrible mistake.
Wyatt.
The old grandfather clock in the living room chimed twice, its deep resonance echoing through our small house—2 AM.
Wade's shift was ending, mine beginning.
I found him outside her door, sitting with his head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed but clearly awake. The tension in his jaw, the careful rhythm of his breathing told me everything I needed to know about how hard these two hours had been forhim. Her scent, even muted by sleep and the barrier of the door, filled the narrow hallway like invisible smoke, curling into every corner, seeping into the very wood of our home. When Wade opened his eyes and saw me, relief and something like guilt flashed across his face—the same conflicted emotions churning in my own gut since the moment we'd first seen her on that airport tarmac, recently amplified by her pounding and shouts.
"Any more trouble?" I asked quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Wade shook his head, rising from the floor with the careful movements of someone trying not to make a sound. “I think she might be sleeping."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak more than necessary. The less I opened my mouth, the less of her lingering scent I would taste on the air. It was a futile effort, of course. That gorgeous fucking woman had already invaded every sense I possessed.
"Get some rest," I told my twin, clapping him gently on the shoulder as we exchanged places.
Wade hesitated, looking at me with an unreadable expression. Used to be I always knew what he was thinking, and vice versa. Nowadays the mind reading didn’t work so well.
“Something wrong?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
