The man speaks up, his voice stern. “That’s enough,young lady. We’ve indulged your daydreams for too long, and now you bring home some roustabout as a mate. It’s time you accepted reality and quit this frivolous search for a mystical city. Maybe if you apologize enough, Branson and his pack will be gracious and overlook this little… transgression.”
Well, now I’m pissed. Who does he think he is talking to her that way? Madison stands, flustered, and stomps off toward the back of the restaurant, Caspian right on her heels.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m out of my seat and following them, sending a menacing glare at the couple who, based on that interaction, must be her parents. Not that they notice. In fact, they aren’t even looking at Madison as she retreats from them.
She ducks into the women’s restroom, and Caspian doesn’t hesitate before following her. By the time I push through the doors, the feisty omega is pacing in front of the sinks, a sheen of sweat covering her exposed skin.
Her navy dress is understated, but leaves nothing to the imagination, her breasts jiggling with each angry step. Caspian is staring at her, unsure what to do, and I don’t blame the guy.
I flick the lock on the door, deciding no one needs to come in and interrupt whatever she’s processing right now. The click draws Madison’s attention, and that's when it hits me.
Sweet, ripe pineapple mixed with coconut assaults my senses. The smell of summertime in my youth, galavanting around with Phoenix and indulging in tropical drinks on the beach. A hint of rum ties it all together, her piña colada scent overpowering in the small room.
Mate. Madison Grant is my fucking scent-matched mate.
A growl rings in my ears, and a hand grips my bicep. I’ve unwittingly stepped closer to the distraught omega, and Caspian is warning me off. The alpha power radiating from him is like nothing I’ve felt before. Strong, but also different. The skin where he’s touching me feels like a live wire, and his scent hits me next.
Lime and tequila. That vacation in the south with Phoenix four years ago. Licking salt from the rim of our glasses, then from each other's lips. Heated touches, clandestine feelings. Margaritas with a hint of sweet nectar to balance it out.
Piña Colada and Margarita. They really do make a hell of a pair. One I’d love to get drunk on.
The only thing that pulls me from the intoxication of their scents is Madison’s surprised little, “Oh.”
She tilts her head, her anger receding slightly as confusion takes over. “Dr. Anderson? What are you doing here?”
“I was having dinner.” The words grit out through clenched teeth that ache to taste her scent fresh from the source.
“No, I mean here,” she waves a hand in the air, “in the women’s bathroom.”
“Oh, well…” I look around, the inappropriateness of the situation finally sinking in. “I needed to make sure you were alright.”
Caspian is watching me like I’m a shark encroaching on his territory. But he must decide I’m not an immediate threat because he releases my arm. I feel suddenly ungrounded without the touch.
“So, you heard that, huh?” Madison nods toward the door, her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
I step a little closer, aware of Caspian matching my movement.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Madison. No one should talk to you like that.”
“Yeah, well, they’re my parents. They think I’m just a silly, incompetent omega, chasing fantasies when I should be packed up with my second baby on the way by now, preferably to men of their choosing with prestige and influence to match their own.”
I have an overwhelming urge to go back to that table and punch her dad. I’m sure Phoenix would have my back. “That’s no excuse.”
There’s no heart in her laugh, and it lands flat on the pale tile floor. “You’re not much better.” She puts her hands on her hips as she steps forward. “Denying my thesis because you think it’s a ridiculous myth, too.”
“I don’t think it’s a myth.”
“Then why tell me I can’t do my dissertation on it?” That fire is back in her voice, only it’s directed at me now instead of her parents.
I hate that she’s lumped me in with them, with people like that.
“You should go,” Caspian says, clearly in-tune to his mate’s distress.
But Madison isn’t done with me yet. “Do you really think I haven’t done my research? That I picked Ocearus on a flight of fancy because I liked the myth as a child? Did you think I proposed digging in Seaman’s Cove because I’m lazy and wanted a site close to home? A silly little omega who can’t be too far away from the comforts of hernest. No, Dean Anderson. I’ve studied every single known text on Ocearus I could get my hands on. I’ve read the original source material. In the original languages! It was here!”
She’s right up in my face now, breathing hard from her tirade, and she’s never looked more stunning.
“I’m approving your thesis request, Miss Grant.” The step I take forward forces her back.
