Knot Her Shot (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 2)

Chapter 8

chapter

eight

“This. Is. Ah-mazing.”

You know, sometimes, it really seems like my best friend just likes to watch the world burn.

“Meg!” I hiss into my phone, pacing. “You never told me they were going to match me today! For fluff’s sake, I didn’t shave my legs!”

She snorts. “Is there a sink in that suite?”

“MEG!”

“Okay, okay,” she chuckles. “I admit, I didn’t research the exact timeline. But listen, it’s going to be fine. What’s the worst-case scenario here? She plugs your info into their system, and you leave with scent-matched alphas who are scientifically guaranteed to adore you?”

Well, when she puts it like that.

Still, though. Two days ago, I wasn’t even sure I wanted “scientifically matched” alphas. And now, a group of them might be barreling toward Forever Matched as we speak?!

If I hyperventilate in this room, I hope Celine won’t be too mad. Or get in trouble.

She’s going to hate me, isn’t she?

“Remi,” Meg says, softer. “Stop all your people-pleasing nonsense and talk to me. Do you want to leave? You know I’ll jump in the car and come get you right now.”

“I’m scared,” I admit, dropping down into the loveseat.

Meg hums. “I was, too. That’s normal, I think. But if they’re right for you, they’ll make it all better. I can’t explain how it works, it just… does.”

I don’t have the heart to point out that she’s unique. Most matches aren’t as strong as hers. Scent-sensitivity is rare. I know that my chances of finding it are already way higher just by being here, though.

“If she comes back with a match, just ask Celine if you can postpone the first meeting,” Meg chips. “I’m sure they allow that.”

I’m nodding—stupidly, since she can’t even see me— when the door to the suite sweeps open again. It’s Celine, beaming, with a folder in her hands.

Here’sthe thing about the best-laid plans…

Celine crosses her legs, sitting opposite me once more. She watches my face carefully as she sets the folder on the coffee table and flips it open.

My back instantly goes ramrod straight.

A slight smile crosses her features. “Hmm. I thought so.”

I barely hear her over my own pulse. An erratic pound fills my ears while I stare down at the unassuming folder, not understanding what’s happening.

There are… alpha scents? In the folder?

From where I’m sitting, I can only sense the combined aroma of a pack. Brown sugar sweetness and dark chocolate, undercut by something deliciously bitter and masculine. A whine climbs up my throat, and Celine’s smile grows.

“Here,” she says, picking up a stack of notecards and handing them to me. “These are samples from the alphas. Tell me what you think.”

But I can’t think.

Ah!

My lungs stutter the second I inhale, spasming as painfully as the desperate emptiness in my core. All the muscles south of my waist clench and gel, the sensation a melting, aching sort of pleasure. I whine so loudly that the sound echoes back at me, tingling over my hard nipples to sink into the frantic beat behind my breasts.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

Their scents are a maelstrom of pleasure and pain. Or maybe just pleasure, so strong my nerves sizzle and snap like they’ve been singed.

Frantic urgency sweeps through my body. I pant from the force of it, trying my best to think through the haze tunneling my vision.

It’s hard to wrestle control of my faculties away from my Omega. As far as she’s concerned, she’s scented her mates, and she wants me to move my butt.

I reel myself back in, forcing deep breaths so I can think long enough to at least distinguish what I’m smelling.

The pack alpha’s scent hits me first. The rich, delicious bitterness of strong coffee. It’s the strongest of the three, but only just, edging over the others for only a few seconds before they all meld back together.

The coffee is layered over dark, melted chocolate. Aromatic hazelnuts. Luxurious smoothness and flaky salt and nutty, buttery perfection.

It’s already everything I could ever imagine and more, but then I catch the last scent in the trio. My mind goes blank while I sway, dizzy.

A blend of warm autumn spices, it naturally complements the dark chocolate and toasted hazelnut. But this alpha is almost… sweet? Not too sweet, but there’s definitely brown sugar, nutmeg, allspice, some sort of earthy undertone?—

Oh my goodness.

It smells like pumpkin bread.

They all go together perfectly. My vision feels blurry. And no matter how much oxygen I pull into my body, my chest feels like it’s caving in.

“Remi!”

Celine’s voice is jarringly firm. Dazed, I realize she’s probably been calling my name for a couple minutes. Her serious tone finally manages to cut through my haze.

“Remi,” she says again, smiling slightly. “Did you hear me?”

I shake my head, surprised it doesn’t wobble right off my neck. Her grin grows. “This is the Pierson pack,” she repeats. “And you have a match quotient of 98 percent. Do you know what that means?”

My voice shakes. “N-no.”

“Most believe scent-sensitivity begins around 95 percent, but, of course, there’s no way to guarantee the math.”

Because no one can prove scent-sensitivity, biologically. It just is. Like wind—something anyone could feel, but no one could quite describe the shape of.

Exactly like this.

Celine’s eyes bore into mine, impressing the importance of her final statement. “Which would make these alphas your mates.”