31. Cole
Chapter thirty-one
Cole
I lean against an oak tree at the edge of the now-quiet competitors' area, clipboard in hand, ostensibly reviewing this morning's safety incident reports.
The actual words, however, blur into meaningless squiggles.
My mind, much like my heightened senses, is fixed on one thing. Or rather, one person.
How was I able to smell her that strongly? That… specifically ? Could she…
"Cole."
My head snaps up. Dorian and James are approaching, their expressions a mirror image of my own internal state: serious, concerned, and more than a little bewildered.
Like two men who’ve just witnessed a magic trick and are desperately trying to figure out how it was done.
Or maybe, like men who’ve just realized they’re all unknowingly part of the same, fragrant illusion.
"Got a minute?" James asks, his usual easy swagger noticeably absent. He glances around, ensuring we're relatively alone.
I nod, tucking the clipboard under my arm. "What's up, guys?"
Dorian runs a hand through his usually immaculate dark hair. "We’ve been talking, James and I," he begins. "About… Elena."
Something tightens in my chest, protectiveness, possessiveness, a messy surge of alpha instincts still on edge after this morning’s challenge. "What about her?" I ask, my voice carefully neutral.
James steps closer, lowering his voice, though there’s hardly anyone around to overhear. "Did you happen to notice anything… different about her today? Anything unusual?"
I glance between them, two alphas who shouldn’t have anything in common, and yet somehow, they do. We do. A strange, almost brotherly bond formed under pressure, focused entirely on her. “You mean her scent,” I state, not a question.
Dorian’s shoulders relax by an infinitesimal degree, a sigh escaping his lips. "So you noticed it too."
“Hard not to,” I admit, thinking back to the way it hit me at her station this morning. If it had been nighttime, I swear my alpha instincts would’ve had me howling at the moon.
James looks from me to Dorian, then back at me. "What did you smell, exactly? Be specific."
The question feels so intimate, I’d normally growl at anyone else to back the hell off.
“The ripest peach you’ve ever smelled,” I say slowly. “With these deeper notes of…” I pause, trying to pin down the more complex layers. “Honeyed f—”
"Honeyed figs!" James and Dorian exclaim at the exact same moment.
We stare at each other, the implications hanging heavy in the air between us.
"Holy shit," James whispers, running a hand through his hair. "If we're all smelling exactly the same thing..."
"And we really all noticed it independently," Dorian continues, his usually smooth voice now laced with incredulity
"She's not only an omega," I finish, the truth, the impossible, undeniable truth, settling into place. "She's our…"
“Scent match!” we all say at once.
We stand there stunned for a long moment, taking it all in.
Around us, the festival continues its cheerful routine: vendors calling out their wares, children laughing, music drifting on the warm breeze.
We, on the other hand, are in our own private bubble, separated from the world by this potentially life-altering realization.
"Scent matches," James repeats, finally cutting through the silence. "All three of us. Who just met. With her . Is that even statistically possible?" He looks from me to Dorian, his expression a mixture of utter confusion, dawning wonder, and a healthy dose of ‘what-the-hell-do-we-do-now?’.
"Unlikely," I acknowledge, "but possible."
“But how is she only presenting now?” James asks, frowning. “I thought omegas presented around eighteen.”
I consider this, my mind automatically sifting through everything I know about omega biology.
"It’s possible she’s a late bloomer," I offer, the theory forming even as I speak it.
"In some very rare cases, omegas don’t fully present until their mid-twenties.
Or even later. Their scent remains muted, beta-like, until someone…
or in this case 'someones' … trigger the full presentation. "
Another heavy silence descends as we all contemplate the implications of that. Meeting us. Her scent matches. Triggering her.
“That would explain a lot,” Dorian murmurs, almost to himself.
“Her scent’s been intensifying ever since I met her.
” He pauses, and something in his expression falters, like the thought physically pains him.
“She probably doesn’t even realize what’s happening.
And if she does… she must be so confused. Scared.”
“And since an omega’s first heat usually hits right around presentation…” I begin, the implications hitting me like the business end of a firehose. “If that’s what’s about to happen… with the final competition tomorrow…” I blow out a breath. “Christ. The timing couldn’t be worse.”
If she really is heading into her first heat… I grit my teeth. It’s going to be brutal. There’s no way she’ll be in any shape to compete.
"Wait, so, hang on," James cuts in, his expression a comical blend of dawning comprehension and utter bewilderment. "If she’s our scent match, and she’s about to go into heat… does that mean we’re, like, supposed to form a pack or something?
Is that how this works? Because, I mean, I was definitely attracted to her from the get-go, no question there, and I surprisingly really vibe with you guys, but…
a pack? How does that even work? Do we draw straws? Take turns? Is there a rota?"
It’s a valid, if somewhat crudely phrased, question.
Most alphas in their thirties, like Dorian and I, are already settled, either in packs or in monogamous relationships.
If they're not settled, younger alphas like James typically get invited into an existing pack by the dominant alpha if there’s a strong vibe.
So yeah, having three single alphas, one newly presenting omega, all scent-matched… it's confusing.
"Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, James," Dorian finally says, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"One step at a time. Before any decisions are made about… pack dynamics, or rotas, or anything else… Elena needs to know. She deserves to understand what’s happening to her own body.
And she deserves to make her own choices, fully informed. "
I nod in immediate, absolute agreement. "He’s right. Our first priority, our only priority right now, has to be Elena. Her well-being. Her ability to compete tomorrow. So we have to tell her now, so she can take appropriate measures… like, uh, maybe some kind of medication."
“Agreed,” Dorian says.
James echoes it. “Agreed.”
“…Though,” he starts again, rubbing the back of his neck, “Speaking of medication, I’ve been thinking—well, actually, I told myself I was being paranoid—but… just for the sake of discussion… don’t you think there’s a tiny chance she already knows? That maybe she’s been hiding her designation?”
That stops both of us.
James shifts, eyes darting between us like he’s testing the weight of his own theory.
“I mean, I know it's unlikely. Like why would we even smell her if she was on meds? But… what if?" He hesitates. “If that’s the case, springing some big ‘surprise, you’re an omega’ moment on her could go even worse.”
Another silence stretches. Uneasy. Considering.
Then James mutters, “I mean, it's probably dumb. Why would she even hide it? Sure, there’s still some old-fashioned prejudice out there, but it’s not like being an omega is a death sentence for your career anymore. Plenty of omegas have successful, high-powered jobs these days."
“Well,” I say slowly, thinking of my department’s sister division handling omega crises, “while it’s legal and more common now, it’s still not easy .
There’s the constant, often unwanted attention from alphas.
The pressure to mate, to settle down, to pop out babies.
Safety concerns during heats. Subtle discrimination in certain fields.
" I shake my head. "I'm not saying I agree with your theory, but being an unmated omega who just wants to focus on her career and live her life on her own terms… it isn’t easy. Even in supposedly progressive places."
"Which is ridiculous," Dorian adds, his voice tight with a sudden anger that surprises me.
"If she were my omega, I would encourage her to do whatever she damn well pleases. She could run my entire patisserie division, or open her own chain of bakeries, or decide to become a professional dancer. I wouldn’t care.
As long as she was happy. Fulfilled. Though," he pauses, an almost sheepish smile touching his lips, "I would also derive immense pleasure from showering her with gifts and ensuring she never had to worry about working another day in her life, if that was her desire.
" He pauses for a second and sighs. "But I guess it’s precisely that kind of well-intentioned, yet rather possessive instincts that can make it seem…
easier for an independent omega to just hide. "
"Exactly," I nod, then steer us back to the point. "And circling back to Elena possibly hiding her status… she’s been living and working in Lakeview for over three years. You can’t stay on meds indefinitely without a break, it’s dangerous.
Most doctors recommend at least one off-cycle a year.
If she’d done that, even once, someone would’ve noticed.
Her scent would’ve shifted. She would’ve gone into heat.
And in a town as gossipy as Lakeview?" I shake my head. "There’s no way it would’ve stayed under wraps. "
"Agreed," Dorian says, nodding slowly. "The late-bloomer theory is far more likely in this scenario."
"Late bloomer it is," James nods.
A beat of silence stretches, each of us now exchanging an uncertain glance.
"So," James finally breaks the silence, clearing his throat. "Who tells her?"