Page 12 of Trick or Heat

My eyes bulge as my head whips back to him. “You what?”

“I smelled my scent match,” he repeats, his eyes heavy as he looks up at me.

Something free falls into the pit of my stomach. “What… what do you mean?”

“At the—” He hiccups, then rubs a hand over his mouth. “At the party.”

My chest beats wildly as his confession takes root, my mind processing the drunken words carefully. “Are you sure?”

He moves his head around, but I can’t tell if he’s nodding. He looks more like an oval formation than anything, his head going around and around. The movement must make him sick because he stops, his hand going to his mouth again. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Brodie, focus,” I say, getting on my knees in front of him. “When did you smell them?”

His green eyes meet mine, but they still look so distant and disconnected. “Before beer pong. I… couldn’t find them after.”

“So you got drunk,” I think out loud, watching my friend in his sad and drunken state.

This time when he nods, it’s obvious, the movement slow and precise, showing just how much this is bothering him.

I try to wrack my brain for any memory from the party that will allude to what he’s talking about. Did he say anything? Did I miss something?

“Did you get a glimpse of them?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I saw someone… well, two someones.” He reaches up two fingers, like he has to show me just as much as tell me. “But I don’t know if they were who I was smelling.”

“But your instincts said they were?”

He huffs out a breath, his eyes starting to close even as he stays upright.

Maybe this isn’t the right time for this conversation. Brodie is drunk and probably wouldn’t have given me this information sober, so I stop prying. Even though it’s literally all I want to do.

Brodie and I may be in a pack, but if he found his scent match, I would be ecstatic for him, even if they weren’t meant for me or DJ as well.

“Get some sleep,” I tell him, resting my hand on his shoulder. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Although, I’m not sure if we will. Something tells me that he’s not going to remember telling me at all.

SEVEN

When I wake up, my throat feels like sandpaper. There’s a slight harshness as I swallow, my eyes shut tight as the sun pouring in from the curtains nearly blinds me.

Fuck, my head.

My hand reaches for the end table, finding an aspirin and a glass of water. I take the pill and then chug the water without a second thought. When I open my eyes, I realize I’m alone, my best friend nowhere to be found.

My hand moves over the empty spot, the sheets still warm under my touch. His body left an imprint, the perfect outline of his sleeping form, and my omega whines at the idea that it will fade. His sweet chai scent sticks to every surface, soaking me in its glory, but also reminding me of his departure.

He left.

I can only remember bits and pieces of last night, the heat spike taking over more than I would have liked for our first time together. Still, the memory of his tongue on my center, his fingers stroking me… it’s mesmerizing but also completely embarrassing at the same time.

Before I can get too sad about him leaving me alone in my bed, something loud sounds from the kitchen, the clinking of a plate against the floor too loud for me to ignore.

I haul myself out of bed, panicked. My skin is still too hot, my stomach sore and raw. I don’t have time to deal with a break-in today, or to have a confrontation with a potential robber.

My instincts must be out of whack though, because I find myself grabbing the lamp on my end table, unplugging it and drudging to the door.

This robber chose the wrong omega to fuck with today.