Chapter 7
Sébastien
V eronica leads me past the unmanned desk, and as we approach the open office door, the air gets heavier. The scent of burnt peach cobbler fills my senses, mixing with the sharp tang of Alpha pheromones. The cobbler scent is familiar, sweet and warm, but something’s off—overcooked, tainted by stress. The more I inhale, the more my instincts flare, urging me to react. To make it better. To stop the burning scent and return it to what must be a mouthwatering sweetness.
The closer we get to the office, the more intense the mixed smells become. I don’t know who’s causing what, but I know I can’t ignore the impact of it all. The Alpha pheromones flood the room—cinnamon, tobacco, a sharp spice, all competing for attention. But the overwhelming pull comes from something else. A faint trace of honeysuckle and juicy peaches lingers in the air, mixing with the cobbler.
As I step through the open door, the scene hits me all at once. The tension in the room is palpable, and I immediately sense the chaos.
Massimo stands beside a woman, his posture calm, though his brow is furrowed in concern. She sits in a chair, her body curled inward slightly, hands gripping the armrests tightly as if trying to ground herself. Her scent is unmistakable now, more than just a faint trace of honeysuckle and peaches. The burnt peach cobbler scent lingers heavily in the air, mixing with her confusion, and I can feel it tugging at me.
I can’t tear my gaze away from her. She’s beautiful; blonde hair falling around her shoulders in soft waves, though her face is flushed, her expression strained. The soft, vulnerable way she holds herself pulls at me in a way I don’t fully understand.
But then my focus shifts. Across the room, I spot Cole Kingston, easily recognizable by his commanding presence and the way the room seems to shift when he enters it. His scent is like cinnamon and tobacco deep and grounding, a scent that speaks of power and control. Xavier, too, stands near him, his posture equally tense. I know it’s him because of the photos I’ve seen the sharp lines of his jaw and the sharp, spicy scent of autumn leaves and cloves that clings to him.
Both of them are unmistakable, and they all look better in person than the photos on the website. But it’s the woman, the Omega, who pulls at me like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The sight of her sitting there with her scent weaving through the air, has my mind spinning.
She doesn’t speak, but her eyes flicker up toward me, and I see the flash of confusion in her gaze. For a moment, everything else fades away.
I don’t know what compels me to move closer, but I find myself taking a step toward Rowan. She’s sitting there, still tense, still too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions. Massimo stands next to her, his presence offering comfort, but there’s something else in the air. The combination of their scents Rowan’s honeysuckle, juicy peaches, and the burnt undertones of peach cobbler, mixed with Massimo’s deeper, spicier scent of leather, amber, citrus, and spice. It hits me all at once.
It’s overpowering, and I feel the air thicken around me. I instinctively kneel beside her, not entirely thinking about my actions, just reacting. As I do, the scents of them both mingle, a heady mix that nearly overwhelms my senses. The sweetness of Rowan’s scent, paired with the richness of Massimo’s, stirs something deep inside me.
My pulse quickens as I inhale, and my breath hitches. The effect is instantaneous. My body responds to the surge of pheromones, and I feel slick, a sharp contrast to the control I’ve always prided myself on. The sensation is intense, and while it’s right—natural—there’s a part of me that struggles to fully comprehend just how powerful the pull is. It’s more than I expected, something stronger than I’ve ever felt before.
I force myself to focus, but then it hits me. Rowan is my mate. It’s undeniable now. The way my body reacts, how her scent wraps around me, mixing with Massimo’s. The connection between us is like a tether, pulling at me from deep inside. My heart pounds faster.
But there’s something else. It’s Massimo. His scent, his presence, it’s not just that of a colleague or mentor. He’s mine, too. The realization crashes over me like a wave, a gut-punch of clarity that I can’t ignore. Massimo is my scent match.
The combination of the two of them nearly drives me mad. My mind races, trying to make sense of what’s happening, but all I can focus on is the undeniable connection: Rowan is my mate, and Massimo is my scent match. It feels like everything is shifting, and I can’t breathe through it.
I take a slow, deliberate breath, trying to steady myself, but I can already feel the sharp tug of instinct. The need to protect Rowan. The need to claim Massimo. The room spins, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ll be able to hold on to my composure at all.