Chapter 12 #2
“You’re so fucking weird.” Derrick’s voice echoes faintly in my head like a parting gift.
He’s right, but Mr. Stockton is right there. I might not get a shot like this again, with or without prototype, confidence, suit…
I’m so screwed.
And from the way Killian is glancing between him and me, he’s trying to tell me the same thing—to go for it.
Drawing in a deep breath, I move to the bar before I can convince myself not to. I squeeze myself next to Mr. Stockton’s stool, sliding onto the empty seat beside him.
My closeness draws his attention, but when he glances up at me, there’s pure annoyance on his face.
“Reece,” Killian says carefully as he assesses the situation. “I’m glad you came by.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. My brother wanted to go somewhere else, but I wanted to stop in here.”
Stockton takes a slow sip of his drink without looking at me.
“Dom, this is Reece Calder,” Killian goes on in the awkward silence. “He’s a good friend of mine and Xavier’s. Really, really smart, this one. Fucking genius.”
Eyes flicking up to me, Stockton’s nostrils flare, and I know he’s taking in my scent. “A Delta, huh?”
There’s nothing kind in those words.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Stockton,” I say and hold my hand out for him to shake.
When he only stares at it, I awkwardly pull my hand back and glance toward Killian again. He gives a subtle tilt of his chin like he’s telling me not to panic yet.
I clear my throat. “Okay. Well, thank you again for lending me your book, Killian. I’ve been having a hard time finding the right one that discusses Omega biology in so much depth. Fascinating stuff.”
Killian blinks once, clearly confused. But when Stockton’s ears perk up, Killian realizes what I need him to do, and that’s to play along.
His expression smooths out. “Eh, it’s no problem,” he says easily and leans against the bar. “I knew you’d like it. But wait, you finished it already?”
Perfect.
“Gone through it twice,” I answer with a chuckle. “The section about Omega endocrine responses was interesting.”
That catches Stockton’s attention enough for his gaze to drift back toward me. He even puts down his glass. “Book? What book is it, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“The Neurological Foundations of Every Designation: Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, and Omega Biology,” I say. “I don’t recall the author though…”
“Ah, yes. By Dr. Theodore Marrick,” he says with a glint in his eyes. “I interned with him back in my college days. Brilliant man. Too smart, actually, if you know what I mean. Had a big head about it.”
I push forward before I lose momentum. “My brother didn’t believe me when I told him Omega hormones are linked to the gland activity near the temporal region, that an Omega’s gland there is overdeveloped. He thought most of it came from the uterus.”
Stockton scoffs immediately. It’s sharp enough to make me jump a little.
“Your brother’s an idiot,” he says, genuinely engaged for the first time. “What are they teaching in school nowadays? Does he think babies come from storks, too?”
I let out a nervous laugh. “We never got to go to college. Our mother died, and we had to work.”
Something in Stockton’s expression shifts slightly at that.
He takes another sip of his drink before speaking again.
“Sure, sure. But you’re right. The reproductive system responds to the hormones regulated by the Chemosensory Regulatory Node, also known as the CRN.
” His eyes narrow at me. “It’s basic biology. ”
I nod quickly. “The temporal lobe and hypothalamic interaction regulate most of the heat-response cycle through primary pulse patterns. Things like scent sensitivity and pairing behavior.”
Killian glances at me sideways now, like even he wasn’t expecting that answer.
Stockton studies me more carefully. “Very good,” he says.
“I enjoy reading.”
“I can see,” he replies, “but what surprises me the most is that you understand it. Most people don’t.”
The nervousness in my stomach twists tighter, but I force myself not to look away. Not now. “There’s still not enough research on Omega neurological response patterns,” I say. “Most studies focus on fertility or mating compatibility instead of the actual mechanics behind heat cycles.”
Now Stockton gives me his complete attention. He angles in my direction, resting an elbow against the bar as he looks me over again, except this time it feels less dismissive and more analytical.
“And what has you so interested in Omega neurological response patterns?” he asks.
I hesitate long enough to make it believable. Then I take the leap.
“Hypothetically,” I say, “if those pulse signals could be interrupted temporarily…could a heat response be reduced, and in turn, all the symptoms along with it?”
Killian goes very still.
Amusement disappearing from Stockton’s face, his gaze sharpens. “Interrupted? Interrupted how?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say. “It’s just a theory I considered after reading about it.”
“Interesting question…” As he picks up his drink again, he continues to study me over the rim of his glass. “Not something I would expect from a Delta.”
“No, I guess it isn’t.”
Stockton watches me in silence, weighing something out in his head while I try not to look like I’m seconds from passing out. Then he sets his drink down and rises to his feet.
“Well,” he says, slipping a hand into his jacket and pulling out a card, “if your reading and hypothetical questions lead you anywhere else worthwhile, I’d be interested in hearing more. Give me a call.”
I take the card carefully.
After sliding a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the counter, Stockton turns and walks out of the bar.
For a long moment, I sit there staring after him while the noise of Nightshade slowly rushes back in around me. My pulse is hammering so hard it feels like it’s somewhere in my throat instead of my chest.
I think I might actually throw up.
On the other side of the bar, Killian hits his hand against the wood in triumph. “Fuck me!” He laughs and reaches for Stockton’s abandoned glass. “That went a hell of a lot better than I expected. Damn good job.”
I push up my glasses. “It did go well, didn’t it?”
“Reece, Dominic Stockton barely tolerates people he already does business with. You got him interested enough to hand over his personal card. It’s a fucking win.”
When he says it like that, the reality of what just happened slams into me all over again.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Holy shit. And I thought I was bombing that entire conversation.”
“You impress me more and more every day, kid.”
“Thanks.”
“But I do have some bad news for you, unfortunately.” Killian’s expression shifts. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to get the news to you, but Xavier and I went back to the Ackerman estate and looked for your voice box thing.”
“But you couldn’t find it,” I finish for him, the pit opening up in my gut again.
“We looked everywhere outside, like you said. We went through the dance area, storage rooms, kitchen. Xavier even went through the damn trash. Nothing.”
I stare down at the card in my hand, thumb dragging across the edge of it while disappointment claws up my throat.
Gone. It’s really gone. Without it, I have nothing to give Stockton but theories. Unless I can somehow replicate the mechanism…
“I’m sorry, Reece,” Killian goes on. “I’m not sure where it could’ve disappeared to. Or if someone found it and took it, thinking it was something else—”
The template builds in my head and relief punches through grief almost instantly.
“I can rebuild it,” I blurt out, more to myself than to Killian.
“If I start over, I can make it better than the first version. I know more now than I did before. The pulse regulation was inconsistent anyway. It needed refining for long-term—”
“Whoa.” Killian laughs softly. “Slow down, genius.”
But I can’t.
“It’ll just…” I suck in a breath. “…take time. But I can do it.”
“I’m sure you can,” he says.
“I should go,” I mutter, already spinning around. “I need to start working on new schematics before I forget anything.” I take two steps before stopping abruptly. “Shit.”
Killian snorts behind me. “What?”
“Derrick.” I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “The club. He wanted to take me to some club to meet girls tonight.”
Killian’s grin widens. He points toward the booths along the far wall where my brother is very much occupied with the blonde woman he sat with when we first walked in. She’s halfway in his lap, his hand tangled in her hair while she kisses him like she’s trying to steal the air out of his lungs.
“…Oh. Wow.”
Killian chuckles. “I wouldn’t worry about him. I think it’s safe to say he’s forgotten all about you.”