Page 36 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
Four million dollars from his portfolio.
That's what Cooper had paid Eros. Four million fucking dollars for blood samples, scent collection, and promises. When he'd finally told us the price tag, I'd been certain I'd misheard. Four million for what amounted to a high-tech dating service.
The anger bubbled up in my stomach, fierce and hot. My inner Alpha, always too close to the surface these days, clawed at my restraint. I could feel my control slipping, the rage building until my vision blurred at the edges. I could throw the desk through the wall. I could storm into the kitchen and grab Cooper by his stupid apron, shake him until he understood what he'd done. I could?—
No. I wouldn't. I couldn't.
It was his fucking money.
Even if he’d said the ranch and our pack came first, I couldn’t shake the notion the money was his, not ours. Maybe the way I felt was an artifact of having nothing that belonged to me when I was little. The first time I ever got something new—not something stolen or borrowed or rummaged from the dumpster behind the thrift store—was at Sagebrush. Granny Kat handed me a crisp, creased pair of blue jeans, tags still attached.
I yanked open my desk drawer and grabbed the small package of gum Eros had so thoughtfully included in their "welcome to our database" gift basket. The foil crinkled as I unwrapped a piece and shoved it into my mouth. The flavor was medicinal and faintly bitter; suppressant compounds mixed with spearmint and artificial sweetener.
I chewed vigorously, focusing on the mechanical action rather than the rising tide of alpha aggression. The chemicals would hit my bloodstream soon enough, easing the feral edgethat had been sharpening in all of us lately. It was humiliating, relying on this crap. But it was better than the alternative. Better than letting the ranch descend into a combat zone of competing alpha pheromones and territorial displays. Better than becoming the cautionary tale they showed in high school health classes—the pack that fell apart because they couldn't find an Omega to balance them. Fuck, maybe it was just me. Maybe I was the only one beginning to decay to this point… imagining war when the others wished for peace.
The Eros basket sat in the corner of my office. None of us had wanted it in the common areas. Too much of a reminder. Too pathetic. Fruit(most of it now spoiled and trashed), tonics promising "alpha clarity"(untouched), a box of this god-awful gum, and a card with flowing script that read "Congratulations on taking the first step toward completing your pack! We’re so excited for you!”
It was too damn cheerful. Something you’d give young Alphas at the start of their journeys.
We weren’t kids anymore.
The frustration and fury began to recede as the suppressants took effect. My shoulders relaxed, my jaw unclenched, my grip on the second pencil loosened. I took a deep breath and returned to the spreadsheet. Numbers didn't lie. Numbers didn't promise things they couldn't deliver. Numbers were honest, even when the truth hurt.
I wondered how long we'd wait before admitting that Eros might not find anyone. Or worse, that they'd find someone who wasn't compatible but who they'd convince to join us anyway, just to justify their exorbitant fee. A fortune for a fraud.
Four million dollars. Jesus Christ.
The gum quickly lost its flavor, becoming a tasteless wad in my mouth. I spat it into the trash can atop the snapped pencils and the crumpled sticky note. Freaking Cooper. It wasn'this fault, not really. He'd been trying to solve our problem by throwing money at it. He wanted this to work as much as any of us. More, maybe, since he’d gone the extra mile to think outside the box and find Eros. But wanting something didn't make it happen. I'd learned that lesson the hard way, and I wasn't sure Cooper ever would. He’d just keep being himself, someone nobody could control, doing crazy shit to keep our lives interesting.
I turned back to the screen, forcing myself to focus on the rows of numbers. This, at least, was something I could control. This made sense. This had rules and patterns I understood. Unlike the rest of my life, which seemed to be slipping further into uncertainty with each passing day.
For the next hour, I lost myself in the columns and formulas. There was a certain peace in the orderly progression of calculations, the predictable patterns of Sagebrush’s financial ebbs and flows. When my Alpha instincts threatened to overwhelm me, I could always count on numbers to bring me back to center. They didn't demand, they didn't disappoint. They simply were. I was so engrossed that when Cooper's voice bellowed down the hallway announcing lunch, I nearly toppled backward in my chair, the spell broken.
"Food's up! Get your asses in here before it gets cold!" The cheerfulness in his tone was forced—it had been for weeks now—but Cooper never stopped trying. I had to give him that much.
I glanced at my watch, blinking in surprise. One. I'd been working for nearly five hours straight without realizing it. My eyes drifted to the window. The sky outside was clearing, baby blue peeking between gray clouds. Everything was still wet and glossy looking. The dogs were walking slowly towards the stables, shaking their bodies every few steps to chase away lingering rain. They’d been sound asleep in the kitchen this morning when I’d stumbled in for coffee, already hot in thepercolator thanks to Wyatt. I’d lovingly kicked them out, telling them to go do their jobs.
I felt myself wanting to linger longer at the window; Sagebrush always looked picture-perfect, even on its worse day. I wondered what our Omega would see when they arrived. Would they see the beauty in it all?
Standing, I stretched my arms above my head, feeling the vertebrae in my spine pop in protest. My body ached from sitting too long, muscles stiff and uncooperative. I reached behind to my lower back, giving it a few hard thumps with my fist, trying to work out the knots that had formed there. Lately, every little ache felt bone-deep, as if my very marrow was tired.
Fuck, though, nothing was as sore as my heart these days.
Still, I wasn't as bad off as Wade. His insomnia had hit a new high, and I'd find him napping in the oddest places during the day—draped over the porch railing at dawn, slumped against the barn wall with a pitchfork in hand, eyes closed as he bottle fed a calf on autopilot.
Last night must have been particularly bad. He’d looked like death warmed up this morning at breakfast. In the middle of chewing eggs, he’d dozed off. I’d shaken him awake so he didn’t choke.
"I'm fine," he'd mumbled, not even convincing himself. "Just resting my eyes."
"With a mouth full of eggs probably isn’t a good idea," I'd replied, but he was already standing up, abandoning the rest of his food. “Don’t fall asleep on your horse!” I’d called after him as he sleepwalked out of the kitchen.
I saved my work, closed the accounting software, and snapped the ledger shut. The routine was so ingrained I could have done it blindfolded. Five years ago, I'd been a business major for this very reason—to come back and help my pack. I felta little redundant now. Even if shit hit the fan, or I made a giant error, Cooper could swoop in with more cash to save the day.
Dammit, I hated how I felt.
I didn’t want to resent someone I loved.
It seemed a cruel joke of biology that we could love each other as a pack—truly love each other—but that wouldn't be enough to keep our Alpha instincts in check. That we needed an Omega for survival. That without that missing piece, we would eventually turn on each other, no matter how strong our bonds.
