For the first time, Slater’s control slips just a fraction as his breath catches. And every Alpha at the table studies him for a brief moment.
The tension shifts, sharper now. More charged. Suddenly, all four men turn toward me, and I can feel the weight of their attention.
I’m trying desperately to remember how to breathe normally.
More food arrives in another massive wave, saving me from having to respond further. Spring rolls, more dumplings, kung pao chicken, mapo tofu, sesame noodles. The waitress works quickly and avoids any eye contact with everyone, then leaves.
We all dig in with the kind of enthusiasm that suggests they haven’t eaten in days, and I watch in fascination as these four massive Alphas demolish the food at an alarming rate.
Dylan watches me work through a spring roll.
Mason smiles every time I reach for more food.
Even Jasper looks pleased.
And Slater leans forward to grab another serving of noodles, and suddenly his scent washes over me in full force.
Smoked cedar. Sea salt. Bitter coffee.
My thighs clench together. Heat pools low in my belly. And I have to bite my lip to stop any sound from escaping.
What am I doing?
The suppressants should be working. They are working. However, they’re apparently not blocking my ability to be completely overwhelmed by Alpha pheromones. But I have never felt this way around any Alphas before.
“You all right?” Slater asks.
“Fine,” I manage. “Just… you all smell really good. I probably shouldn’t say that out loud, but it’s true.”
All four of them pause their eating, staring at me.
“We like that you said it,” Dylan says, grinning.
“Does that mean we can scent you better?” Mason asks carefully. “I know it’s personal, asking that. But with all the smells in here, it’s hard to get a clear sense of yours.”
“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “A girl never lets an Alpha scent her on a first date.”
“This is a date?” Mason’s eyes light up.
“Well, no. Of course not.” I laugh nervously, heat creeping up my neck. “I’m just saying. That’s personal. You have to earn that.”
“And what would that involve?” Dylan asks, leaning forward.
They’re all watching me like wolves now, and I take a long drink of my beer to cover how flustered I am.
“Tell me about your drawings,” Slater says, mercifully shifting the conversation. “Ash said you do Norse mythology. What’s your favorite story?”
I relax slightly, grateful for the change in topic. “That’s hard to choose. But I love the story of Skaði and Njörðr. Do you know it?”
Slater’s eyes light up. “The goddess who chose her husband based on his feet.”
“Yes! Exactly!” I’m leaning forward now, excited to talk to someone who actually knows the stories. “Her father was killed by the gods, and as compensation, they let her choose a husband from among them. But she could only see their feet. She thought she was choosing Baldr, the most beautiful god, because the feet were so perfect.”
“But she ended up with Njörðr instead,” Slater continues, clearly enjoying this. “The sea god.”
“Right. And they tried to make it work, but she loved the mountains and the cold, and he loved the sea. So they compromised—nine nights in the mountains, nine nights by the sea. But ultimately they couldn’t make it work.”
“It’s a story about incompatibility,” Slater states. “But also about compromise and sacrifice.”
