Nothing.
"Mae." He shook harder. "Mabeline. Earth to Mae Rose."
Still nothing.
He waved his hand in front of her face. Snapped his fingers near her ear. Even attempted a loud clap that made me wince and glare at him with disapproval.
She did not stir.
"Holy shit," Cal muttered, staring at her with a mixture of awe and concern. "She sleeps like the dead. I have never seen anyone stay unconscious through that level of noise. Is she okay? Should we check her pulse?"
"She is fine." I fought a smile. "Some people are just heavy sleepers. My grandmother was the same way. You could host a marching band in her bedroom and she would not wake until her body decided it was ready."
Raphaël chuckled from the armchair he had claimed as his personal territory since arriving, the sound low and amused.
"I had a roommate like that in Paris. Fucker would sleep through everything. Fire alarms, thunderstorms, his own phone ringing next to his head. We used to joke that he would sleep through the apocalypse and be confused when he woke up to an empty world."
Cal gave up on waking Mae and instead scooped her off the couch in one smooth motion, cradling her against his chest with a gentleness that contradicted his usual boisterous energy. She murmured slightly but did not wake, her head lolling against his shoulder, her body completely relaxed in his arms.
"I will put her to bed," he said, already moving toward her room. "You two discuss whatever world-changing topics require my absence. I will be back in a minute."
He disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone with Raphaël in the soft glow of the muted television.
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable. Raphaël had a presence that did not demand conversation, a quiet confidence that allowed space for people to exist around himwithout pressure. He was watching me, I realized, his gray eyes assessing in a way that felt more curious than threatening.
"Why did you really come here?" I asked, the question escaping before I could filter it. "Coach Mercer's request is a good excuse, but you could have declined. You have a team in Paris, a life, probably a dozen other opportunities that would keep you busy. Why this university? Why now?"
Raphaël considered the question with the seriousness it deserved, his gaze drifting to the window where the campus lights created a soft glow against the night sky.
"Coach Mercer sees potential in both your teams," he said finally. "The junior and senior squads have the talent to reach the playoffs, but there are issues that need addressing. Communication breakdowns. Leadership conflicts. The kind of internal friction that sabotages good teams before they can become great ones."
He paused, his expression shifting into a wry half-smile.
"And all the other coaches or potential international consultants are booked up for the season. Mercer reached out to everyone he knew before landing on me. I was only available because I wanted to take things slow this year. Travel a bit. Maybe try to find an Omega, settle into the idea of building a pack properly instead of rushing into arrangements that would not last."
His gray eyes returned to mine.
"I did not expect that search to end the moment I stepped onto the ice and caught a girl falling at full speed."
The statement hung in the air, heavy with implications.
"The scent match," I said quietly. "What does it actually feel like? I have read about them, heard the descriptions, but reading about a phenomenon is different from experiencing it."
Raphaël leaned back in the armchair, his posture relaxing as he considered how to articulate the indescribable.
"Her scent," he began slowly, "is vanilla sugar and frosted roses. Sweet on the surface, with a warmth underneath that makes you want to lean closer. But it is not just the smell. It is how my body reacts to it. My pulse accelerates when she is near. My skin becomes hypersensitive, aware of every inch of distance between us. My thoughts scatter unless I actively fight to maintain focus."
He paused, searching for words.
"It is like... recognition. Like my biology looked at her and said, yes, this one. This is the person you are supposed to find. The connection is instantaneous and overwhelming, and fighting it feels like fighting gravity. You can resist for a while, but eventually the pull wins."
Cal returned from Mae's room, dropping onto the couch beside me with a satisfied sigh.
"She is out cold. Did not even twitch when I put her down. I tucked the blanket around her and everything, like a proper gentleman." He grinned. "So, what did I miss? Deep philosophical discussions about the nature of existence?"
"Raphaël was explaining what a scent match feels like," I supplied.
Cal's eyebrows shot up with interest. "Oh damn. Keep going. I want to know what all the fuss is about. Is it really as intense as the romance novels make it seem?"
