Chapter 13 #3
"Maybe he hasn't been eating," I say. Run the washcloth down Max's neck again. Watch water droplets slide down his skin. "He's lost weight."
"Or maybe it's something else." Zero's eyes are sharp. Assessing. He leans closer. Breathes in deliberately. "You smell that?"
My body goes still. Every muscle locks.
"Smell what?"
"That." Zero leans in more. His nose nearly touching Max's hair. He inhales deeply. His eyes widen slightly. Pupils dilating. "That scent. It's—"
He stops. Jaw working like he's trying to find words and failing.
Bane leans in too. Curiosity overriding hesitation. He breathes in.
"Fuck," Bane breathes. His voice has gone rough. Strained. "What is that?"
My arms tighten around Max. Possessive. Protective.
"I don't know."
Lie.
I do know. Somewhere deep in my hindbrain, some ancient instinct is screaming the answer.
I just don't want to admit it.
Can't admit it.
Because if I'm right—
"Maybe it's his shampoo," I say. Force the words out even though they taste like lies.
Zero snorts. Actually laughs. Sharp and disbelieving. "Shampoo doesn't smell like that."
"Then what does it smell like, Zero?"
He doesn't answer.
Can't answer.
Because we're all thinking the same thing. All feeling the same pull. The same magnetic attraction that makes no fucking sense.
But saying it out loud would make it real.
And it can't be real.
Because Max is our stepbrother. Richard's step-son. Off-limits in every way that matters.
And what we're all thinking—what that scent is suggesting—is impossible.
Isn't it?
Max stirs against me. His head turns. Buries itself against my neck.
Seeking. Searching.
He breathes in. Deep. Like he's trying to pull my scent into his lungs and keep it there.
And then he sighs.
Soft. Content. Satisfied.
Like he's finally found something he's been searching for his whole life.
My arms tighten around him. Automatic. Instinctive.
Mine.
The thought pulses through me. Primal. Undeniable. Coming from somewhere so deep I can't fight it.
Mine.
Zero and Bane are still staring. I can feel the weight of their gazes. The questions. The confusion.
The same pull I'm feeling reflected in their eyes.
"He should sleep it off," I say. Force my voice to stay level. Controlled. "The fever will break by morning."
The lie tastes bitter.
I don't know if the fever will break. Don't know what's wrong with him. Don't know anything except that every instinct I have is screaming at me to keep him here, keep him close, never let him go.
"You keeping him here?" Bane asks. His voice is careful. Like he's trying to understand something he can't quite grasp.
"For now."
"Dad and Margot—"
"Won't be back until late." I keep my eyes on Max. On the rise and fall of his chest. On the way his face has relaxed in unconsciousness. "By then, he'll be fine."
Another lie.
"And if he's not?" Bane presses.
"Then I'll call them."
Won't.
Can't.
Not until I understand what's happening. Not until I figure out why Max smells like this and why every alpha instinct I have is roaring to life for the first time in my life.
Bane doesn't look convinced. His jaw is tight. Eyes dark with worry.
But he doesn't argue.
Zero's still watching Max. Eyes locked on his face. On the way he's curled against me. Seeking comfort. Seeking safety.
Seeking me.
"Come on," I say. Gentle my voice. Try to sound normal. "Let me lay him back down. You two can go."
They hesitate.
Both of them reluctant to leave. Drawn to Max in a way that should alarm me but doesn't.
Because I feel it too.
We all do.
They help me lower Max back onto the pillows, supporting his head and shoulders, easing him down like he's made of glass.
He curls onto his side immediately, pulls my blanket up around himself, and burrows into the pillow that smells like me.
Still unconscious, still burning up, but his breathing is evening out just slightly.
The rapid pants slowing to something closer to normal.
The pills are helping. Or maybe it's being here, being in my bed, surrounded by my scent.
The thought sends a jolt of possessive satisfaction through me.
I stand and motion for Zero and Bane to leave. They don't move immediately, both of them staring at Max, at the way he looks in my bed, small and vulnerable and utterly breakable.
"Go," I say, firmer this time.
"You sure?" Zero asks, his eyes flicking to mine, searching and looking for something I'm not ready to give him.
"I'm sure."
"What are you going to do?" Stay here. Watch him. Make sure he keeps breathing, make sure nothing happens to him, make sure he's safe.
"Make sure his fever breaks."
Zero studies me for a long moment. I can see him putting pieces together, connecting dots, reading between the lines. He's always been too observant for his own good. Finally, he nods. "Okay."
He turns to leave, stops at the door, and looks back. "Atlas?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever this is—" He gestures vaguely at Max, at me, at the space between us. "Be careful."
Then he's gone, and Bane follows half a step behind, throwing one last worried look at Max before the door clicks shut.
I'm alone with him again. The silence settles, heavy and weighted.
I sink into the chair by my bed—the leather one I bought three years ago because I liked the way it looked, the one I use when I can't sleep, when the business keeps me up at night, when the weight of responsibility gets too heavy.
I watch Max's chest rise and fall. His face is still too pale, still slick with sweat, but the lines of pain around his eyes have eased.
His breathing is steadier. He's here. He's safe. In my bed. Where he belongs.
The thought should terrify me, should send alarm bells ringing, should make me call Dad and Margot and get Max out of here before I do something irreversible. It doesn't.
Instead, I lean back in the chair and let my head fall against the leather. I close my eyes. That scent fills my lungs with every breath—vanilla, honey, smoke, something darker underneath that I can't name. Mine. The word echoes through my mind, primal and possessive and undeniable. Mine.
I can’t bring myself to even think the word… what I know he is. What he must have been hiding this entire time.
I think my brothers have figured it out too.
Never in my life did I think I would meet one, let alone have one living in my home.
Laying in my bed.
Tangled in my sheets…
I run my hands down my face, trying to shove away all the absolutely sinful and impure thoughts running through me, the biological impulses that are taking control of my body.
No. Right now, Max needs me calm.
He needs me clear-headed.
His scent wraps around me again and I shake my head.
Fuck. I don’t think I’ll ever feel clear-headed again after scenting him.