We’re at the door. She takes a deep breath and opens it. Air rushes past us, carrying a dozen scents—including a whiff of slightly stale orange and rum.
Max.
At the same instant, the front door below opens, sending a sudden gust of cool air to whirl the remnant away.
“Aunty Jo?” Anamaria calls, stomping before slamming the door.
“Just a moment,” Johanna yells back, then turns to me with a sad smile, avoiding the shadows on the other side of the door. “I’ll be right back.”
As her fingers slip through mine, I offer to turn the lights on for her, and pull the curtains, “Maybe that will make it a bit more welcoming?”
“Worth trying.” She shrugs, eyes dull as she heads away.
I enter the room alone, flipping light switches and opening curtains, as promised. Little of the bedroom itself registers, save a general air of cleanliness and disuse—it’s nothing more than a big space with a large bed, whose frame matches the little tableson either side and the two prettily carved bureaus. I didn’t spend much time here during my previous visit.
The tromp of feet on stairs registers as little more than distant thunder as I move to the pocket doors and slide them into the wall, opening up Max’s nest.
The nest lacked personality when I saw it all those months ago, and that hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s even more bland. Every bit has been laundered or scrubbed clean. All spaces are free of dust, demonstrating that someone regularly goes through and keeps the place clean, even if Johanna no longer sleeps here. Surely the bedclothes have likewise been changed since Max’s death. His clothes still hang in the closet, perhaps the reason his smell haunts me. Every breath fills my lungs with hints of his orange and rum, Johanna’s glorious cranberry—and a new scent, the tang of omega musk on the verge of heat intensity. A floral aroma mixes with the others, but has no staying power compared to orange-rum-cranberry-omega.
My body responds to the mix.
Orange, cranberry, omega musk ...mate.
Blood surges in my veins, pooling and swirling at my groin as the omega musk demands response. My alpha wakes fully, roaring with need. Every mote of my being answers the call.
Where are my mates?
The marks at my throat flare as though filled with fire. My alpha throws himself against them, willing the broken bonds to reform. Seeking links to those lost and lamented, yet still wanted.
Mates. Must find mates.
“I’m sorry to leave you so long.” Johanna rushes through the door, only to stop two steps in and dash a hand across her forehead. “That was Anamaria. She came home for her bag before heading to an Omega Center for her heat.”
“Heat.” My rational mind fits pieces together. The omega musk wasn’t residue from Max but from the very real, living young woman I’d met a few days earlier. The one around my younger daughter’s age, who could become another daughter if I formed a pack with Corin. That explains the floral element.
My alpha doesn’t care. He ignores the flower, having no taste for young omegas when the mature beta he’s longed for stands in front of us.
The scalding marks at my neck remain broken. Residual pain makes my alpha howl within. My mouth opens, throat aching, although no sound emerges other than a faint groan.
“Nathan? Are you all right?”
Before I can warn her, Johanna moves closer to lay a comforting hand on my upper arm. Her touch eases the pain, but doesn’t erase it. Nothing can.
Then, she tilts her head, peering at me. The movement exposes her neck—her lovely bare neck—and the spot where it meets her shoulder, which practicallybegsfor a mark.
Maybe I could have held my alpha off, but too many factors tell against me. Scents. Memories. Touch. That spot begging for my teeth.
Alpha and man agree on what we want, differing only in how to achieve it. He’s deferred to me long enough. With another roar, this one loud enough that Johanna stumbles back, confusion clear on her face, my alpha seizes control.
He catches her arms, hands sliding up over soft skin, then the bunched sleeves of her pink sweater, to wrap around her shoulders as his gaze remains fixed on the point where neck meets shoulder.
“Mate.” But that’s not enough for him.
“Mine.”
Chapter 34
My Territory
