Page 96 of Impossible

“You don’t need to de-scent, little bird, it’s ok. We both did it too.”

“Did what?”

“Spiked.”

I blink. “I thought only omegas spike.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. We are all victims of our pheromones. Your spike feeds ours, ours feeds yours. A cycle.”

“Does that happen every time an omega is around a pack?”

Leon shakes his head, carrying me down the stairs and away from the kitchen. “This is the media room,” he says, changing the topic. “I’m guessing Risk will try and get you to play a game after we eat, but may I recommend challenging Hollis to some chess instead? You might be the only one he’d actually say yes to.”

“Chess? I suck at chess.”

“So does he. Don’t tell him I told you that.”

“You don’t want me to tell Hollis an awful lot, ya know.”

Leon grimaces. “He should get to make his own impression. He’s just not very good at it.”

I smile—Hollis may be stiff, but his gestures are sweet, even if they do feel over-practiced. “He’s doing just fine,” I say. “I think making an impression is all he’s ever done, and he wants me to get a different one than he’s used to aiming for.”

“You are remarkably perceptive, little bird,” Leon says.Little bird. It means more now, knowing it comes from a poem. From the notion of knowing little things. Of being listened to.

He relaxes as he walks me through the rest of the first floor, explaining each room. It doesn’t seem like they use most of them. I lean into my senses—the pack’s scents are everywhere, but there’s also dust, lemon-scented cleaning products, and, under it all, different alphas. I can barely parse them, an earthy clay-like scent, green tea, cinnamon, and something soft—maybe jasmine? An omega for sure.

“Wait!” I cry out as we pass by a door and I spot a glint of black polished wood. “Who plays piano?”

“Joshua.” Leon detours inside.

The grand piano dominates the space, hood lifted, keys gleaming. Beyond the piano, windows frame a manicured yard with trimmed hedges, bordered by endless dark green forest. The far end of the room is devoted to a large brick hearth, with a massive couch and some overstuffed easy chairs settled haphazardly around. It’s a peaceful space, more lived in than the dusty parlors we passed by, though the pack’s scents inside are still slightly faded—they haven’t been here for a while. When Leon rotates us, I realize that the wall to the right of the door is lined with shelves, filled with hundreds upon hundreds of books.

“Oh,” I gasp. “This is… this is beautiful. This room is my favorite.”

“Joshua too.” Leon smiles. “A lot of these books came with the house, but pretty much everything non-leather you see is his. Well, except for all of the Tolkien and Asimov. And Butler. Most of the nerd stuff is mine. But all of the classic stuff is him.”

“What did Joshua do?” I ask. “Before the incident.”

“He was a tactical coordinator. A lot of cyber-security, mission research and scoping. If Joshua is anything, it’s thorough. He appreciates details and sees things the rest of us don’t.”

It makes sense. It isn’t difficult to imagine his fingers dancing across the ivory keys in front of us, drawing out a melody to match his bittersweet smile. It’s equally easy to picture him folded into one of the overstuffed chairs in front of a roaring fire, eyes gliding over the pages of a thick paperback.

“Will he play for us after we eat?” I ask.

Leon’s expression darkens. He shakes his head. “He hasn’t played since the attack.”

“That’s the first time you’ve called it an attack.”

He stiffens, then shrugs. “We talked about honesty yesterday. You deserve mine too.”

I wasn’t expecting that. “Will you tell me what happened?”

“If you want.”

“I don’t want to push. But I do want to know.”

“How about the first time we go to the treehouse?”

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