Another round of glares, this time with each of us nodding in turn. I can’t tell the subtleties of my own scent well, but the sharp, vinegary cider from Shallot and thick just-snuffed-candle-can-snuff-you from Mazarini ease. A faint wisp of lilac and omega winds through, making it all a lighter mix.
Maybe I won’t need that second suppressor after all. My alpha approves of this omega, considering her almost in the same category as my children.
She gives a decisive nod, then an impish smile lights her face. “Remember—no farting, fucking, or fighting!”
The door shuts with a hard click behind her.
“Well, now we know what notdo.” I shrug and turn to Shallot, leaning back in my chair. My alpha approves: deferring and challenging in the same instant. “So whatdowe do?”
His lips curl in a snarl. Then, he shakes his head and sits. For a moment, he starts to lean back, mirroring my posture, but his spine stiffens, and he stays bolt upright. “Business first.”
“Business before pleasure?” Mazarini adjusts his chair before settling into it, no doubt to demonstrate that he’s sitting because hewantsto and not to mimic the two of us.
“Because, in this case, it’s simpler.” Shallot waves at the papers scattered before us. “They’re right—it’s too much money to just keep rolling over, though it can stay as-is for the short term. We need a plan, so the first thing is to come up with ideas. I challenge you each to have one by our next meeting.”
“Which is?” Mazarini pushes.
“I’ll have my assistant schedule one.” Shallot shrugs. Setting his hands flat on the table, he leans forward. A mix of cedar and cider, wood and apples, wafts from him, for the moment overriding Mazarini’s candle wax and my forest scents. “That’s enough of business for now. What are your intentions toward Johanna?”
The glint in Shallot’s eyes suggests his alpha is riding him hard. Mazarini mirrors Shallot’s posture, leaning forward, but on fists instead of palms down. Another alpha readying for a fight?
Mine snarls within, but the suppressor is working. I remain in control. As far as I can tell, the only outward sign of my struggle is invisible to the others: a line of sweat making my shirt stick to the small of my back.
Shallot looks back and forth between us before settling on Mazarini.
The lawyer takes a deep breath, then unclenches his hands and leans back, arms crossed, making the posture both deferential and a challenge. “She wants a pack.”
“She has one.” Shallot’s voice is low and rough.
“You and your daughters, yes, but she wants more—the kind of pack who eat together, sleep together, love together.” The smell of hot wax strengthens. “She had two out of the three with Max, same with you and your girls.”
“And you know this how?” Shallot asks.
“We spent time together earlier this year under circumstances that enabled us to become close very fast.” Mazarini’s gaze turns distant, a smile plays on his lips, and some of the tension slips from his body for a moment.
“You sent the roses and book yesterday,” Shallot says.
Mazarini nods.
A grunt escapes me. I’ve followed most of the conversation, despite feeling I’m missing details, but the mention of flowers loses me.
“A book inscribed with quotes about grief was delivered to our house yesterday,” Shallot turns to look at me, although his body still angles toward Mazarini. “Along with eighteen roses—six each in red, pink, and white. Max loved red roses, Johanna pink.”
“You like white?” I ask Mazarini.
“It seemed an appropriate way to let her know I was thinking of her.”
“She loved the gift.” Shallot says through clenched teeth. “So, you want her.”
“I want her, and I want her to have the pack she wants.” Mazarini lifts his chin. “Even if that includes you.”
“She and I have always been pack, always will be. Not the kind that loved together, but that’s changing—slowly, carefully, but changing.” Shallot nods and leans back. “Ask her, if you like, but I’m sure she’ll say the same. And I, too, want her to have the pack she wanted but gave up for Max’s sake. Even if it includes you.”
They stare at each other for a long moment, scents swirling and shifting so fast the air purifier can’t keep up, but neither can I. I lose track of what’s coming from whom. Challenge, lust, and anger mix into a thick aroma that makes me sneeze.
Thus, drawing their attention to me.
Neither asks, but the question hangs in the air regardless.What about you?
