Page 9 of Power Shift

“That’s nice, Briar. Have you ever considered going to medical school? So you can deliver children for real?”

“No, I don’t want to be a doctor. Providing support and encouragement for women during childbirth is what I truly want to do.”

He takes a long sip of his wine as I reach for my once abandoned water, suddenly parched.

Setting his glass down after a moment, Greg leans his forearms on the edge of the table and gives me that pitiful smile again. I hide my hurt with a swallow.

Sure, this alpha isn’t exactly the type of guy I gravitate toward, and he certainly isn’t my scent match, but he’s willing to give me what I want more than all else. I only have to make it through tonight, and then I’ll get to meet his pack. Maybe one of them will see my passions and be proud of them. Or if I’m lucky, all of them will. Greg can always learn to appreciate what I do. We’ll have the time for that.

It helps that he’s handsome. A bit too clean-cut with his perfectly swooped hair and expensive watches, but his eyes are a nice shade of brown that glows with knowledge and experience. There are many things he can teach me, and I could be up for the challenge.

Right?

I give my head a subtle shake to clear that question and set my water down. He clears his throat and folds his hands on the table.

“Well, if you’re not planning on going to school, maybe you would consider quitting.”

I pause, blinking twice. “Quitting?”

“Your job. It’s nothing serious, which means you wouldn’t have anything to lose if we asked you to quit and stay home,” he explains.

“You want me to quit my job?”

His frustration leaks from him in the form of a huff. “Yes, Briar. If we were to take you as our pack omega, there would be no need for you to work. Especially if your job was simply a hobby.”

“My career isn’t a hobby, Greg. I like what I do. It’s important. A good chunk of my clients don’t have support systems in place that could be there with them during childbirth. That’s what I am to them. I stand at their side and help them through the gruelling hours they spend in endless pain.”

“But you’re not a doctor. They could find someone else quickly. If you were our omega, you could be your own doula.”

Shock zaps through me. I grip my knee beneath the table.

There are so many ifs in these statements, and each one sounds more and more like a threat.Agree, or I’ll leave right now, taking your chance at having what you want with me.

“I thought these types of conversations would happen once I’ve met your packmates. You know, after we’ve all gotten to know each other a bit,” I ramble, fear burning the edges of my scent despite the de-scenting perfume I doused myself in before Greg picked me up.

He takes a sniff of it and twists his features in subtle disgust. I gulp, but my throat is so dry there’s nothing to swallow. There’s a restlessness in my bones, a sign that something’s not right.

“I need to use the washroom,” I whisper, jerking to my feet.

My hands are ice-cold as I push away from the table and search for the washroom sign. It’s too far away. For an outrageously expensive restaurant, it’s busy enough that with every step I take, I hear the sharp intakes of breath from those at the tables I pass.

Instead of a warm lemon shortbread, I’m spraying charred cookies everywhere. With every gasp or judging guffaw, it grows in intensity.

The bathroom is so close. If I just keep my eyes up, I can’t see anyone?—

There’s another burning smell over here. It’s not anything like mine, though. This scent is supposed to be this way. There’s an intense cinnamon addition to it, and . . . is that vanilla? The combination is unique, and I breathe it in, something about it settling me.

I press a palm to my throat and sway, a low whine escaping me before I have a chance to shove it back down. There’s an overwhelming longing sensation causing my chest to quake as if it’s about to cave in. My feet move on their own, forcing me to chase the origin of my new favourite scent.

It’s second nature to ignore everyone now. Without the putrid burning of my fear cutting through my blockers, I blend in, becoming invisible.

Turning past the last of the booth-style tables, I recognize this area as the same one we passed on our way to our more secluded section. The windows out here make it brighter, illuminating my path.

The vanilla in the scent becomes more prominent, overtaking the burn of the cinnamon the further I walk in this direction, confirming that I’ve gone the right way.

I can’t be that far now?—

My heel catches on the carpet.

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