Page 23 of Knot What She Seems
I don’t want an alpha.
I don’t want any alpha, but especially not a scent match with a violent, crazy man like this one.
My heart doesn’t seem to care about my brain’s desires as it heats my pulse.
Desperately, I try another tactic, one that’s not in the interest of self-preservation.
If I don’t maintain my cover, my brother will end up here. He won’t survive training.
Finally, finally, my chest gives a painful thud as if slapping my ribs in defeat.
Understanding that my logic is close to losing the battle to my omega hormones, and that the hormones of a scent match are incredibly strong, I end up holding my breath. It’s the best solution I can devise, but also the lamest.
“Um…Teddie?” Sam’s curious gaze pops into my field of vision, and one of his brows is up in concern.
I snap to attention. “Sorry. Sorry. Tired.”
“Okaaay,” he draws out his response with the barest hint of sarcasm, and I can’t blame him because I’ve zoned twice in a row. God, I’m doing terrible things to Teddie’s rep right now. But, he can repair his reputation once he’s better. He just needs the time to heal first.
If I can get away from this man, I’ll be able to focus again. To stop acting like a gaping virgin in a sex shop.
“I think we need to pick up our keys.” Sam walks up to the masked man and puts out a hand as if he wants to shake and make introductions.
The alpha doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond. His gaze still rakes over me as if he’s trying to till up my secrets.
Dammit.
I’m not supposed to be drawing attention. And this is the wrong kind of attention in so many ways. A tiny part of me is mortified that I’ll always have to remember this as the moment I met my mate while another part of me knows just how rare scent matches are and how I should treasure the fact that I have one at all.
What the hell!
Now, my brain is rebelling too.Treasure?
Recognizing that I’m in danger of simping out again, I decide that arrogance might be a decent shield for the moment until I can get away. Hardening my mouth, I try to shoot the masked figure a dismissive smile, the kind people expect to get from our family. The fake, utterly bored, completely rude grin that comes right before an ostentatious request.
His mask shifts slightly, and I’m not sure if he’s returning my smile or frowning. I don’t know which is more terrifying.
“Oh, look. Keys are right back here!” With false brightness, Sam edges carefully around the masked man, heading for a bank of mailboxes at the back of the foyer and thankfully moving my attention away from the alpha.
In front of the mailboxes, there’s another table set up. This time, no annoying staff man the table—perhaps because they’re too intimidated by the giant brute in front of it. Or is he supposed to be working at it?
Who is he?
Is he a student?
A teacher?
Administrative staff?
Why’s he here?
Why’s he standing like that?
What’s his name?
What’s his Zodiac sign?
A myriad of questions peck at me, but I know I won’t get an answer for a single one—partially because if I tried to ask, I’m sure I’d sound like a fool, and partially because I’m not sure he’d answer.
