Chapter 8
Luna
“Go sit,” the deputy says, the cottage door slamming shut behind us.
The interior opens into a large, rustic living space anchored by worn plaid sofas, a stone hearth, and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. I am marched straight toward the wide kitchen area at the far side, noting the worn wooden floorboards beneath us.
The kitchen centers around a massive, rough-hewn oak island, and he nudges me toward a wooden stool tucked against, his hand releasing my arm the second my weight shifts.
Without a word, he slams both palms flat onto a mess of invoices and bank statements, leaning over the paperwork to stare me down.
I meet his gaze head on.
“I have a theory,” he says.
“How thrilling for the both of us,” I reply, lifting my chin. Granted, the gesture probably loses some of its edge when you factor in my oversized heather-gray hoodie, which reads World’s Okayest Reader in faded collegiate lettering. In my defense, I only had about forty seconds to get dressed.
“You waited,” he ignores my jab, his voice low and official. “You hid your car until Jenna left, then slipped into Cabin Seven once the property was clear.”
I press two fingers to the bridge of my nose. “I’ve explained how I got the key. Twice.”
“And I don’t believe a word you said.”
“Well, then we’re at an impasse.” I cross my arms. “But please, Officer. Workshop on. The taxpayers are surely getting their money’s worth.”
“Deputy,” he says, flat.
“Whatever, deputy dick. I’ll let you know I—”
“Hey, Bram,” a voice calls as the door opens, accompanied by the heavy thud of boots. “We got company?”
The deputy—Bram, apparently—tightens his jaw, still holding my gaze. ‘Where have you been?’
“Shift,” the voice says as the footsteps draw closer. “Then beer at the fire station. You know how it is.”
He rounds the corner into the kitchen, and the air in my lungs immediately departs.
He’s another alpha, broad-shouldered and, of course, shirtless. Wearing nothing but low-slung fire-turnout pants and a smirk, he’s a vast, lean expanse of tanned skin—muscle sliding effortlessly under muscle as he rubs a towel over his neck.
Don’t look, I tell my eyes. Look at the ceiling. The floor. Anything else.
But my eyes are currently stage-managing a strike.
He has messy, tousled blond hair and beautiful dark green eyes, and there’s a faint smear of what looks like a chocolate stain along his jawline that my brain immediately suggests I should lick off.
Ma’am, I tell my inner omega. Get a grip.
The hottie stops and looks at me, his gaze locking onto mine, his nostrils flaring. I watch his pupils dilate, swallowing the green of his irises until they’re nothing but black.
“Well,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Hello there, I’m Reed.”
Then a sharp scent of woodsmoke, thick and heavy with a damp, earthy musk hits me. My lungs draw it in before my brain can issue a veto. My chest goes tight, a hot, desperate pulse blooming behind my pubic bone.
Goodness divine, what is that?
My feet slide off the rung of the stool. I don’t remember deciding to stand, but suddenly the kitchen island is behind me. Bram is saying something, his voice a muffled drone that doesn’t register.
I take another step forward, then another as Reed just stands there with the towel draped over his shoulder, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged beats. His eyes are fixed on mine, tracking me as I close the distance.
“What’s going on down here?” comes another voice, dropping into the space with a low, familiar rasp.
I halt, my head swinging toward the stairs rising from the far corner of the living room, opposite the kitchen, just behind the plaid sofas.
Ash is halfway down the flight, one hand resting on the wooden banister. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a faded white T-shirt, his dark hair messy. He stops on the third stair from the bottom, his eyes widening as they land on me.
“Luna?” he whispers.
Before I can answer, his scent reaches me, cutting through the woodsmoke.
It’s the rich, dark warmth of chocolate and cedar. The scent reveals itself fully now, and even though I couldn’t catch it earlier, my omega instantly recognizes what it’s always been.
My core contracting on a sharp ache, my brain buffers.
Woodsmoke and musk. Chocolate and cedar.
Am I... able to smell the precise notes of their scents?
But that can’t be. Unless—
I don’t have time to finish the thought as, suddenly, my skin goes hot. Heat blooms behind my ribs, between my legs, at the back of my neck. I’m perfuming.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
Body. No. Body, this is not the moment.
A low, vibrating growl rumbles from the island behind me.
I turn. Bram is standing up, his fingers dug into the papers on the counter, his knuckles white. His head is tilted back, his nostrils flaring as he draws in the air. Under the kitchen lights, his pupils are blown, black pools swallowing the brown of his eyes.
He lets out a choked, rough breath, one hand rising to cover his mouth. His face is flushed, his ears stop-sign red. “I’m—I’m so sorry, I—my nose has had a night, and I think it’s broken, because I’m just smelling the best thing I ever thought I would, “
“Honey and gooseberries?” Reed asks. His voice is a low, raspy rumble right by my ear. He’s moved right in front of me. “If so, your nose is working just fine, big bro.”
I turn my head toward him, looming over me, his broad chest radiating heat, and before my brain can register the distance, my body leaps.
My hands grip his shoulders, and his large palms instantly slide under my thighs, hoisting me off the floor with a single tug. I wrap my legs around his waist, burying my face into the crook of his neck.
The scent up close is overwhelming.
Alpha, my Omega purrs, her voice a thick, lazy fluid. Mine. Ours. Finally.
I drag my nose along the rough stubble of his jaw, breathing him in until my chest aches. He lets out a wrecked growl, his mouth pressing against the side of my neck, his hot breath branding my skin.
“Christ,” he groans.
Then a shadow shifts in my peripheral vision.
Ash.
He’s stepped off the stairs. Without letting go of Reed, I turn my head, my nose searching. Ash is right there, his chest rising and falling. I lean sideways, pressing my face into the warm junction of Ash’s shoulder and neck, breathing in the chocolate and cedar, filling my lungs with him.
He grunts, a low, primal sound of satisfaction. His hand hovers for a fraction of a second before his palm settles flat against the small of my back, pulling me tight against him.
Fuck, this is better than sex. Well, maybe not, but we better get to that part right n—
A cold spike of panic pierces the fog in my head.
Wait.
Stop. Get down.
I press my palms flat against Reed’s damp collarbones, pushing back. He lets me slide down slowly, his hands lingering on my hips until my feet hit the floor. My knees are like warm wax, barely holding my weight, but I manage to take two shaky steps sideways and turn toward the two alphas.
Reed stares at me, his eyes dark and hungry.
“Okay,” I say to the floor. To the oak pegs on the wall. To a green ceramic rooster on the windowsill. “Okay. Okay. What is this? Are we—”
“Fuck, baby,” Reed says, hoarse. “I don’t know what we are, all I know is your scent is—”
“Heavenly,” Ash says, low, from my side. I can feel he hasn’t stopped looking at me either. “So this is what I was starting to smell, back at the hotel...”
Reed’s head snaps to the side. “What. You smelled another goddess at a hotel?”
“No, dimwit, we —”
“Stop,” I say. “Stop. Stop. This is too much. What the fuck is happen—”
Pssssht. A sharp hiss cuts through the room, a cold, mist hitting the back of my neck.
I gasp, spinning around. Bram is standing two feet away, a white bottle gripped in his hand, his thumb still pressed to the nozzle.
“What the hell?” Reed coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “Bram, are you serious?”
Bram lowers the can, his jaw clamped. His eyes are still dark, but the black in his pupils is slowly receding.
“You said stop,” he says, looking at me. “So I obliged, I—my body granted your wish.”
“So you just Mace’d me?” I ask.
“It’s professional-grade scent-suppressing spray,” Bram says, his grip tightening on the bottle. He looks at me, then at his brothers, his eyes wide. “I couldn’t... my alpha compelled me to give you what you wanted because you demanded it. You really are it, aren’t you? Our scent match...”
I open my mouth, close it, and take a tentative sniff. Nothing. I can’t smell Reed, and I can’t smell Ash. Looking from them to Bram, I feel the fog in my brain finally begin to clear.
“Well,” I say eventually. “This actually helps. So... thanks, I guess. And for the record, I couldn’t smell you at all deputy. Thank god for that.”
“But I could smell you,” Bram says, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Even after I used this spray at the station.”
A silent beat hangs in the kitchen.
“Oh, come on,” I say, crossing my arms over my World’s Okayest Reader logo. “Don’t tell me I have a perv for a scent match.”
Reed lets out a sudden, barking laugh. “A perv?”
“What?” Ash looks between us, his brow furrowing.
“It’s nothing,” Bram snaps, his ears turning stop-sign red again as he tosses the bottle onto the island. “Look. It’s well past midnight. We’re all exhausted. You wanted a place to sleep—take the guest room upstairs at the end of the hall. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“Finally,” I say. “Something we can agree on.”