Page 7 of Trick or Heat

He looks like a warrior… a guardian of the forest, here to protect his nymph princess.

My brows shoot up. Am I smelling them?

Before I can do anything, go to them, someone runs into me, abruptly knocking my shoulder in their haste. I stumble back, confusion making me lightheaded. My back collides with someone, their familiar scent overriding the memory of the new scents from the other room.

“Damn, Brodie,” DJ exclaims over the music. “Are you good?”

I look at my best friend, take in his pumpkin scent. His presence grounds me as he holds onto my arm for support.

Seeing him brings me back to reality, and I clutch onto his arm tighter.

“I just… I-I thought I smelled…” I stutter, pointing over my shoulder. When I look back, the two light-haired omegas are gone, vanished; it’s like I never saw them in the first place.

Raivat comes into view and raises a brow. “Maybe we need to cut you off,” he jokes, taking the beer in my hand.

Always the diplomat, Raivat is just as calming as ever. He’s the glue to our pack, the smart one. He may deny it, claim he’s just as much of an airhead as we are, but we both know it’s bullshit. He’s a complete history nerd and loves to spend any time we’re not on the field learning more about the new art emerging around the world.

DJ scoffs. “Or we should get him more plastered so he can forget. And I say that selfishly because I need my beer-pong partner. This loser and Carter decided to challenge us to a game.” He pushes Raivat’s shoulder.

DJ loves soccer, partying, and us, in that order. He’s one of the most confident people I know, and I guarantee he would have been this way even if he didn’t designate as an alpha. He brings out mine and Raivat’s more competitive sides, always riling us up and helping us over the finish line no matter what we’re pursuing. He’s a supportive friend.

And as always, he knows exactly what I need at just the right time.

My lips twitch as I turn to Raivat. “Oh, you have a death wish?”

He pumps his brows. “What? Think you’ve got it in the bag?”

We laugh and then head into the next room for the match. It’s nice, familiar. It’s almost enough to make me forget about the scents that paralyzed me, almost enough to make the memory dissipate in my drunken stupor.

Almost.

FOUR

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask Casey as he refills my cup and hands it to me.

“Yeah,” he responds curtly, avoiding my eyes.

I narrow my gaze at him. He’s been like this all night. Squirrelly, quiet, timid. It’s so different from his usual larger-than-life persona. His flamboyance is one of the reasons I love him, and he’s appearing more and more meek as the minutes drag on.

But he’s also been attentive. Always anticipating my needs, fetching me drinks, escorting me to quiet areas when I need a breather. Maybe I’m a typical omega, but those actions made me giddy. Even if he’s acting weird, he is still giving me what I need, and—selfishly—I’m accepting it every time.

He runs a hand through his thick blond locks and laughs. “What?”

“You’re acting weird,” I grumble. “And you’re drinking more than usual.”

The shot glass in his hand halts just before it reaches his lips, and he frowns. “You’re right.” He places it on the counter—undrunk—and takes my hand instead. “I just feel stiff. Let’s go dance. Maybe that’ll loosen me up.”

I’m about to ask him why he needs to loosen up when he pulls me into him. My body immediately velcroes to his side as he wraps an arm around me and marches me into the next room. His skin feels hot against mine, his chai scent spicy and creamy. I swallow a whine as his hand squeezes my waist, sending goosebumps across every exposed sliver of skin.

The house is decorated wonderfully, and I mentally give credit to Mavin’s pack who made this possible. Cobwebs and fake spiders adorn the walls, and there are tiny pumpkin trinkets scattered across every surface we pass, along with several plastic skeletons and fake gravestones. There’s even a smoke machine sending a haze over the wooden floors. The vibe is perfect, and every person here is dressed up for the occasion, making the vision complete.

When we get to the dance floor, I expect house music, or a spooky-season playlist, but instead the song that’s playing is slow and sensual. I scrunch my brows. “Looks like we’ll have to wait.”

Instead of agreeing like I expect, Casey raises a brow and his grin grows devious. “Why so, Elkie?”

The ridiculous nickname causes my lips to twitch with amusement. “Don’t call me that.”

“But you’re the best Elk there ever was,” he jokes, referring to the play our fifth-grade class had to perform for the entire school. Our teacher decided to be original and wrote her own play, and I got cast as the elk. I had to wear a hideously crafted animal mask and gallop all over the stage. What no one told me, though, is that the mask would be hard to see through and that I would gallop right off the edge of the stage.