Page 52 of Knot Their Arrangement

Her nose wrinkles in disgust as she recalls her ex's scent. "Maharaja Adhiraj smelled like burnt tires," she declares with such vehemence that Damon's eyebrows rise in interest.

"Elaborate," he prompts, his fingers still absently playing with her hair.

"It was like...imagine someone burning rubber, but then they try to cover it up with expensive cologne." Her hands move animatedly as she describes it. "But not good cologne…the kind that tries too hard, that's all synthetic and sharp. Like those knock-off fragrances that give you a headache after five minutes."

I can't help but smile at her vivid description.

"And the rest of his pack?"

"Even worse!" She leans forward, warming to her topic. "His beta, Rajesh, smelled like stale cigarettes and moth balls. Then there was Vikram, motor oil and something metallic, like old pennies. And don't even get me started on Aahan..." She shudders dramatically. "Overripe bananas and wet dog. I swear, it was like they actively tried to find the worst possible combination of scents."

The way she describes it, I can almost smell it myself.

Scent incompatibility is one thing, but what she's describing goes beyond that. It sounds like her body was actively rejecting their pack on a biological level.

"What's the difference?" I ask carefully. "Between their scents and what you'd consider a good pack scent?"

Her cheeks flush slightly as she glances between Damon and me.

"Well...take you two for example." She turns toward Damon first. "You smell like aged whiskey and leather-bound books, with this undertone of real oud…not the fake stuff they sell in mall kiosks. It's...powerful, but not overwhelming. Like walking into an old library where they keep the rarest first editions."

Interesting that she can distinguish real oud from synthetic. Also interesting how the similarities when it comes to the midst of a library surrounded by aged books and the aroma projected in such environments.

"And me?" I can't help but ask, curious how she perceives my scent.

Her blush deepens.

"You're...different. Like fresh cappuccino and buttery toffee, but there's also this hint of London Fog tea and lavender. It shouldn't work together, but it does. It's...comforting. Sophisticated."

She takes another careful breath, as if cataloging our scents.

"The way your scents blend…it's perfect harmony. Like a duet where both voices complement each other instead of competing. I can only imagine if you two smell this amazing together, the rest of your pack must be equally divine."

The observation is surprisingly astute for someone so young. Most people don't recognize the complexity of pack scent dynamics, let alone describe them so eloquently.

"I've read about it in books," she continues, almost apologetically. "Especially in Xavier Knight's novels. The way he describes scent dynamics between packs...it feels so real, you know?"

Xavier Knight.

My pen name falls from her lips with such reverence that I have to hide my smile behind my wine glass. If she only knew she was praising my work to my face. The irony isn't lost on me that she's currently reading my latest unreleased book while citing my earlier works as reference.

I chose that name carefully – Xavier meaning "new house" or "bright," and Knight carrying connotations of both protection and darkness. It's become synonymous with the steamier side of dark romance, though few know the reclusive author's true identity.

"I know I should understand more about these things," she admits, her voice growing softer. "Usually, an Omega would know all the details about their second gender by my age. But..." She trails off, something vulnerable entering her expression.

"But?" Damon prompts gently, his hand moving to rest supportively on her lower back.

"My Mother didn't have the privilege to really teach me Omega 101," she explains, her fingers twisting in her saree. "Father's focus was entirely on making me wife material. How to please a husband…how to maintain a household's honor. He never cared about teaching me about my own pleasure or needs."

The bitterness in her voice speaks volumes about her upbringing.

It's a common story among traditional families – Omegas raised to be decorative and compliant rather than educated about their own biology and needs.

I've written about this exact issue in several of my books, using fiction as a vehicle to explore these cultural dynamics. The fact that she's found solace in those stories, that she's learned about her own nature through them, makes me feel oddly protective.

"That's why Xavier Knight's books helped so much," she continues, unaware of how her words affect me. "The way he writes about Omega experiences...it's like he actually understands. Not just the physical aspects, but the emotional complexity. The way society tries to shape us into these perfect, submissive creatures while ignoring our actual needs."

If she only knew how many hours of research went into creating that authenticity.

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