The realization collides with me with enough force I actually step back. The ax hangs limply at my side.
Scent-match.
When an alpha and an omega are perfectly compatible, their scents intensify, but only for each other. It’s nature’s way of identifying an ideal mate.
Or in this case, mates. Plural.
Because Everett is having the same reaction I am.
“Everett,” I say, my voice low and strained. “She’s our scent-match.”
His ax stops mid-swing. He turns to me, eyes wide, pupils dilated. We stare at each other for a long moment; the implications hanging in the air between us.
This isn’t just an attraction. It’s not just pheromones. It’s something fated.
Finn.
He’s everything to me. My partner, my balance, the reason I tolerate the city and the job. But this pull toward Melody feels just as fundamental, just as necessary. Not replacing what I have with Finn, but complementing it.
“If she’s our scent-match, she’ll figure it out,” Everett says, his eyes drifting back to where she stands with Finn.
“She definitely could smell us last night,” I say, remembering how she’d practically climbed into our laps, sniffing at our necks and declaring we smelled like Christmas and forests. I’d attributed it to the bourbon, but now…
The way her vanilla-clove scent calls to us, our scents will call to her. If not now, then soon.
“What do we do?” I ask. I’m not used to feeling unsure, not about important things.
Everett’s quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Melody. “We get to know her. We let her get to know us. And we see what happens.” He pauses, a small smile playing at his lips. “Although I’m feeling quite jealous about your sleeping arrangements now.”
Sensible. Respectful. But the alpha in me bristles at the thought of waiting, of being patient when every instinct is screaming to go to her, to make sure she’s safe, to make sure she knows she’s ours.
“Okay,” I agree, forcing my breathing to steady.
Everett nods once, then returns to the tree. His swings are more forceful now, driven by the same restless energy that’s coursing through me.
I join him, channeling everything into the work. Swing. Thunk. Pull. The rhythm grounds me, gives me something to focus on besides the vanilla-clove scent that has imprinted itself on my consciousness.
Across the clearing, Finn says something that makes Melody laugh. The sound carries to us, clear and bright in the cold air.Everett and I both pause, just for a heartbeat, before resuming our work with renewed intensity.
I’ll have to tell Finn.
This is going to be complicated.
The tree creaks, warning us it’s nearly ready to fall. We step back in unison, watching as it sways slightly.
“Timber,” Everett calls, his voice carrying across the clearing.
The tree falls with a whoosh of displaced air and a muted thud as it hits the snow. Clean cut, perfect fall. If only everything else in life could be so straightforward.
“That was awesome!” Finn’s voice rings out. He’s leading Melody and Oxford toward us, his face lit with excitement. “Very rugged and masculine. Right, Melody?”
She’s smiling, but as they get closer, I see her nostrils flare slightly. Her pupils dilate. Her steps falter, almost imperceptibly.
Her eyes meet mine, then Everett’s, then back to mine.
“Very impressive,” she says, her cheeks reddening. “Um, I wanted to apologize to you, Everett, for being such a drunk mess last night.”
“No apology needed,” Everett says, his voice gentle. “It was a memorable introduction. Besides, you brought back Oxford.”
