The wind blows my way and before his scent reaches me, I bring my hand up to cover my nose, after the last time I think I need the precaution. But like I’m fast learning, Alphas that smell like tasty treats have another magic power; their scent reaches no matter what.
His scent is as textured and layered as the others, not that that’s surprising but while some people would smell butterscotch, my mind is storing away the individual notes in my scent bank; caramel like the thick gooey stuff that sticks to the top of your mouth is the most predominant. But when I focus again, I could say the same for the hints of yeast, maplesyrup, burnt brown sugar too. Either way this man is a walking, scowling, dish of butterscotch pudding I want to dive head-first into.
“Tris, I might need an update from you soon or I’m about to start ripping limbs from bodies,” King says quietly, keeping his words between us.
My eyes leap to him, and like always he calms the jumble and chaos in a heartbeat. I roll my eyes but lean into him, saturating myself in his unwavering support and protection.
“I must look like a nut job.”
“No matter how loony you look, you’re my nut job. Yeah?” he jokes but it’s strained and his gaze is roaming over to them constantly.
I lean further into him, but I don’t hold on to him as much as I want to because I can read how close he is to snapping. He’s still reading the situation as dangerous. I look over to Maverick and Tyson, both of them wearing similar expressions, shock, and confusion.
“Guess I’ll do the introductions?” I offer, talking confidently, a complete act of course because I’m going to water. “King, this is Maverick, and this is Tyson. Maverick, Tyson, this is King. But I have no idea who he is.”
No one makes a sound and I seriously start to wonder if I actually said the words out loud or if I was talking in my head because instead of looking relieved, they look even more confused and shocked.
“What?” I throw my hands up.
“This is the Alpha you were talking about?” Maverick asks carefully.
“Watch your fucking tone, sunshine. I’m not loving the insinuation,” King barks.
But I talk over the top of him. “King is who I was talking about, and for the record he knows everything. I don’t get what you’re trying to say, Maverick.”
“How the fuck do you know Maverick?” New guy steps up doing a great job of impersonating a rabid dog: hackles raised, teeth bared.
“Me?” I return his aggression with a healthy dose of my own. “If you’re talking to me, dial it down. Or here’s an idea instead of getting all snarly at me: maybe you should talk to Maverick about how we know each other.”
But the new guy doesn’t stop. “Ty? Do you know her too?”
“I know who the fuck you are and I’m not a fucking fan.” King jabs a finger at Mr Butterscotch, and it stops all conversations in their tracks, but it doesn’t put an end to the aggression hovering around us. If anything, a switch gets thrown and the Alpha pheromones gets even more intense as they challenge each other.
It’s like falling dominoes—when King stands taller and gets more intimidating, the others do the same. But so do I. I’m Alpha drunk all over again. My head spins wildly as their scents keep battering against me, screaming in my thoughts they’re in their prime, and they’re all mine.
“Stop!” I wave my arm around desperately trying to breathe some actual fucking oxygen.
Tyson’s attention was already split between the Alpha showdown and me. His stormy eyes have been caressing and assessing me since the minute he got out of his car. Since he’s already seen me mid-spike before it doesn’t take him long to put together the issue.
“You’re having a spike again.”
“Look at you being all doctory. Again.” I laugh under another loud exhale, my body turning his way.
No matter how hard I keep trying to stay on track, it’s not happening. Everything I do is in response to the signals they keep throwing out instinctively, and it’s only going to get worse because that’s exactly how nature built us. “Okay, we might have to hurry this along because I think I’m going to go into heat pretty soon. I can make a run for it. Big Tom’s probably still up in town and he can…”
“Who the fuck is Big Tom?” Tyson snaps his question, almost at the same time as a thunderclap booms through the sky although no one but me jumps or releases a little meep.
King growls at me. Completely different growl than before when he was getting all protective, but it has the same effect… I all but puddle for them. The scent of my perfume and my arousal is impossible to miss. Turning to face him again, the first thing I notice is how dilated and full of arousal his eyes are. But then when I look at Maverick and Tyson, even the new guy, they’re all looking similarly glassy-eyed.
“Sorry,” I mumble, waving my arms around again to try to clear the air for them. “It kind of reinforces the point I was making though.”
“You’re staying here,” King says, his voice still a bit deeper than usual. Of course, I love it when he talks like that, and unsurprisingly my perfume confirms it for him too. “But there ain’t no way Rex Fucking Larking’s family is.”
“Who’s Rex again?” I whisper. Well, I try to but it’s more like a stage whisper that everyone can hear.
“Death Riders’ President.”
What he says doesn’t register for a few seconds. But when it does, I stare at King ’cause then I’m the one in shock.
