Page 61 of Knot Your Sugar

Dorian runs a hand through his usually immaculate dark hair. "We’ve been talking, James and I," he begins. "About… Elena."

Something tightens in my chest, protectiveness, possessiveness, a messy surge of alpha instincts still on edge after this morning’s challenge. "What about her?" I ask, my voice carefully neutral.

James steps closer, lowering his voice, though there’s hardly anyone around to overhear. "Did you happen to notice anything…differentabout her today? Anything unusual?"

I glance between them, two alphas who shouldn’t have anything in common, and yet somehow, they do.Wedo. A strange, almost brotherly bond formed under pressure, focused entirely on her. “You mean her scent,” I state, not a question.

Dorian’s shoulders relax by an infinitesimal degree, a sigh escaping his lips. "So you noticed it too."

“Hard not to,” I admit, thinking back to the way it hit me at her station this morning. If it had been nighttime, I swear my alpha instincts would’ve had me howling at the moon.

James looks from me to Dorian, then back at me. "What did you smell, exactly? Be specific."

The question feels so intimate, I’d normally growl at anyone else to back the hell off.

“The ripest peach you’ve ever smelled,” I say slowly. “With these deeper notes of…” I pause, trying to pin down the more complex layers. “Honeyed f—”

"Honeyed figs!" James and Dorian exclaim at the exact same moment.

We stare at each other, the implications hanging heavy in the air between us.

"Holy shit," James whispers, running a hand through his hair. "If we're all smelling exactly the same thing..."

"And we really all noticed it independently," Dorian continues, his usually smooth voice now laced with incredulity

"She's not only an omega," I finish, the truth, the impossible, undeniable truth, settling into place. "She's our…"

“Scent match!” we all say at once.

We stand there stunned for a long moment, taking it all in. Around us, the festival continues its cheerful routine: vendors calling out their wares, children laughing, music drifting on the warm breeze. We, on the other hand, are in our own private bubble, separated from the world by this potentially life-altering realization.

"Scent matches," James repeats, finally cutting through the silence. "All three of us. Who just met. Withher. Is that even statistically possible?" He looks from me to Dorian, his expression a mixture of utter confusion, dawning wonder, and a healthy dose of ‘what-the-hell-do-we-do-now?’.

"Unlikely," I acknowledge, "but possible."

“But how is she only presenting now?” James asks, frowning. “I thought omegas presented around eighteen.”

I consider this, my mind automatically sifting through everything I know about omega biology. "It’s possible she’s a late bloomer," I offer, the theory forming even as I speak it. "In some very rare cases, omegas don’t fully present until their mid-twenties. Or even later. Their scent remains muted, beta-like, until someone… or in this case'someones'… trigger the full presentation."

Another heavy silence descends as we all contemplate the implications of that. Meeting us. Her scent matches. Triggering her.

“That would explain a lot,” Dorian murmurs, almost to himself. “Her scent’s been intensifying ever since I met her.” He pauses, and something in his expression falters, like the thought physically pains him. “She probably doesn’t even realize what’s happening. And if she does… she must be so confused. Scared.”

“And since an omega’s first heat usually hits right around presentation…” I begin, the implications hitting me like the business end of a firehose. “If that’s what’s about to happen… with the final competition tomorrow…” I blow out a breath. “Christ. The timing couldn’t be worse.”

If she really is heading into her first heat…I grit my teeth.It’s going to be brutal. There’s no way she’ll be in any shape to compete.

"Wait, so, hang on," James cuts in, his expression a comical blend of dawning comprehension and utter bewilderment. "If she’s our scent match, and she’s about to go into heat… does that mean we’re, like, supposed to form a pack or something? Is that how this works? Because, I mean, I was definitely attracted to her from the get-go, no question there, and I surprisingly really vibe with you guys, but… a pack? How does that even work? Do we draw straws? Take turns? Is there a rota?"

It’s a valid, if somewhat crudely phrased, question. Most alphas in their thirties, like Dorian and I, are already settled, either in packs or in monogamous relationships. If they're not settled, younger alphas like James typically get invited into an existing pack by the dominant alpha if there’s a strong vibe. So yeah, having three single alphas, one newly presenting omega, all scent-matched… it's confusing.

"Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, James," Dorian finally says, scrubbing a hand over his face. "One step at a time. Before any decisions are made about… pack dynamics, or rotas, or anything else… Elena needs to know. She deserves to understand what’shappening to her own body. And she deserves to make her own choices, fully informed."

I nod in immediate, absolute agreement. "He’s right. Our first priority, ouronlypriority right now, has to be Elena. Her well-being. Her ability to compete tomorrow. So we have to tell her now, so she can take appropriate measures… like, uh, maybe some kind of medication."

“Agreed,” Dorian says.

James echoes it. “Agreed.”

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