She is perfection made flesh.
If she bonds me, how will her scent change mine? Like most Betas, my scent is muted—not as strong as that of an Alpha or an Omega—but I have never gotten a complaint about it. Derrick says I smell like an orchid, which, until I met him, I didn’t even know had a scent. He was the first person to say anything more specific than, “sweet and floral.”
Maybe that’s how I knew he was mine.
When an Omega chooses to bond with an Alpha or Beta, their scent will adjust their bonded mate’s slightly, a way of telling the world that this person is taken. It’s a biological claim.
I set Onion on the bed before closing the door behind me, careful not to make too much noise and startle her awake. I sink onto the edge with a sigh. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. It was unrealistic to expect her to be thrilled about the revelation and jump into our arms.
But I didn’t expect her to pass out from overwhelm.
I can hear my Alphas banging around in the kitchen as I adjust myself to stretch out beside our Omega, and wait for her to open her eyes, so I can see for myself just how green they are.
I’m a creep.
A big ol, grade-A, certified weirdo.
But I’m sure no one could blame me for holding my Omega’s wrist up to my nose for going on an hour now. She smells so good. Like the one thing I wanted more than anything in this world has finally come to pass.
It’s then, with my eyes closed in rapture at her sweet scent, my nose pressed tightly against her skin, that I hear my Omega’s voice for the first time in person.
“What are you doing?”
My back goes rigid, and I drag my eyes to hers, her arm still firmly clutched between my fingers. Her eyes are tired, a little glassy, but the prettiest, pale green that I’ve ever seen.
She’s beautiful.
“I’m Grant.”
“Hi, Grant. What are you doing?”
“Uh. Smelling you?”
That sounds even creepier out loud than it did in my head.
“Can I have my arm back?”
I drop her wrist, and that movement seems to break the spell we were under, because she shuffles as far away from me as she can on the bed, her chest heaving. I can practically see the anxiety coming off of her in waves.
“Tell me that was a dream. Tell me that it’s not true. Tell me you’re not Sax. That all three of you aren’t Sax.”
She sounds desperate, her voice pleading as she begs me to lie to her.
For a brief moment, I consider having this conversation with everyone around. Opening the door and calling to my Alphas to come in here so we can work this all out right now. But I don’t. I’m making the executive decision that this needs to come from me, and she needs to be able to process it on her own, without two anxious Alphas breathing down her neck.
“I’m sorry. We are Sax. And it was wrong to lie to you.”
“You’re a Beta.” Her nose twitches, like she’s registering my scent for the first time. I hope she likes it. “You’re my scent match.”
“I am. Both of those things. How does that make you feel?”
“I don’t know. This is a lot. You’re my scent match.”
I’m letting her process things out loud, stating the obvious as she tries to make sense of what is happening around her, because I know she sometimes needs to ruminate before things start to click.
I know that because I know her. I’ve watched as grey bubble after grey bubble popped up on my screen as she typed out everything that she was thinking, trying to help her make sense of her racing thoughts.
I’ve listened to hours of voice memos as she repeats herself, going in circles, rambling, and asking for advice before settling on the correct answer on her own.
