Page 4 of Puck Your Bunny

It's not common. Plenty of Alphas go their entire lives without finding a true scent match. They settle for compatible scents or arranged bonds instead. Finding an Omega with an aligned scent is the kind of stuff they write cheesy movies about. But the scent filling my nose right now isn't fiction. It's real, and it's standing somewhere in this room.

I tighten my grip on the drinks in my hands. The plastic crinkles under the pressure. I track the scent. It's coming from the middle of the room, from where Henry is standing.

I push through the last cluster of people blocking my path. My focus locks on the space next to my teammate.

Henry grins as I walk up. His warm brown skin is still flushed from the game, and his dark, tight curls are a little messy from wearing his helmet for three periods. He slaps a hand on my shoulder, oblivious to my boiling blood and the instincts clawing at the inside of my skin.

"Thanks, Cap. You didn't have to bring them over." Henry takes the drinks from my hands. He gestures to the two women standing next to him. "I wanted to introduce you. This is my sister, Kirsty."

I force myself to look at her. She is a Beta. She wears a red Reapers jersey and has her dark hair pulled back in braids. She smiles and gives me a polite nod.

Henry gestures to the woman standing next to Kirsty. "And this is her friend, Vayda."

I turn my head and look at Vayda. That sour scent of lavender and honeysuckle rolls off her in waves. It's dizzying. My instincts surge in approval. She is the source. She is our match.

She pulls a thick knit scarf tighter around her neck, burying her chin in the fabric. The sleeves of her oversized sweater fall past her fingertips, swallowing her frame as she crosses her arms. Strands of messy red hair slip around her face, showing off silver-gray roots under the bright lounge lights. Dark shadows bruise the skin beneath her wide blue eyes. Every line of her face pulls down with an exhaustion making her look like she hasn't slept in a month.

I lock eyes with her. I anticipate the recognition to hit her. I watch for her instincts to wake up and answer mine.

Her face goes green. The blood drains from her cheeks, leaving her skin looking like chalk. She stares at me with a mix of raw terror and disbelief. She shrinks back, pulling her arms tight across her chest to make herself smaller.

My brow furrows. I take a half-step forward. This is all wrong. A scent match is supposed to bring an immediate sense of safety and calm to an Omega. Instead, she looks like she just watched me murder someone on the ice. The panic rolling off her sours the honeysuckle in the air even more.

I open my mouth to speak, to ask her what is wrong. A shift in the air behind me stops the words in my throat. I know exactly who is coming up behind me.

Kel and Simon step up to flank my sides, a solid wall of muscle backing me up. They cut through the crowd with an intimidating focus, making the fans lingering nearby take a quick step back. The relaxed energy of the post-game party vanishes.

Kel stares straight ahead, his jaw locked tight and his gray eyes intense. Simon drops his smile. The charming PR guy is gone,replaced by a tense, focused Alpha. They skip over Henry and Kirsty.

They focus on Vayda. I know they can smell it too. The match isn't just for me. It's for our entire pack.

I turn my attention back to her. The panic in her blue eyes escalates into full-blown terror. I lean in a little closer, keeping my hands at my sides to avoid startling her further.

"Do you smell that?" The words scrape out of my throat, rough and demanding. "Tell me you feel this, too."

She shakes her head. Her movements are jerky and frantic. She steps back, retreating further into the crowd.

Kirsty looks between me and Vayda. She lacks the scent receptors to smell the match, but she has a smart head on her shoulders. She hears my question and sees the way the three of us are zeroed in on her friend. Her eyes go wide as the realization hits her. She reaches out and grabs Vayda's arm.

Kirsty leans close to her ear. "Vayda, stop. Listen to him. If this is what I think it is, they could save you."

Vayda rips her arm out of Kirsty's grip. Her chest heaves with shallow, uneven breaths. She reaches up and grabs the collar of her turtleneck sweater. She yanks the fabric down, exposing the pale skin of her neck. Then she shoves the sleeve of her oversized sweater up past her left wrist.

The stadium lighting glares down on her skin. I freeze.

Silver scars mark her neck and her wrist. They are old bite marks. The tissue is raised and thick, a permanent claim stamped into her flesh.

"You're mistaken." Vayda forces the words out. Her voice shakes. The rejection is firm. "I'm already bonded to my matches. I have a pack."

My stomach drops straight to the floorboards. The air leaves my lungs in a harsh rush.

I stare at the silver scars, my brain scrambling to make sense of the conflicting information. She's a bonded Omega. The proof is written right on her skin. She still smells like mine, an undeniable truth roaring in my blood.

It makes zero sense. When an Omega bonds with an Alpha, their scent shifts. The pack claim alters their pheromones. To any outside Alpha, a bonded Omega smells neutral, almost like a Beta. The change stops other Alphas from feeling the pull or issuing a challenge.

Vayda still smells potent. She smells like an open invitation. She smells like lavender and honeysuckle and everything I have ever wanted in my entire life. My Alpha instincts flare again, a frustrated, confused response to her claim. My blood boils with the need to step closer, to wrap her up and figure out why her scent calls to me.

Vayda beats me to the punch. She turns on her heel and bolts.