Page 23 of Strays
That’s when I realize what this new scent is: it’s ownership pheromone.
I want to rub against her because my skin is damp with it. I want to lick her because it’s all over my saliva. I want to mark her with my scent. I want everyone to know she’s taken. I want to bite her and make her mine.
I look at my brothers. They’re stiff, fighting the same instincts I am.
My legs start to move on their own. I think I’m losing my mind.
I know I should say something. Maybe tell her I’m sorry she was in an accident. Maybe ask how she’s feeling. But the words don’t come out.
She’s the one who finally breaks the silence. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice shaky. “I’ve had two match meetings before. It was easy to talk to both packs once I realized they weren’t my scent-mates. But now… turns out you are. And I… I don’t know what to say.”
You are.
Holy fuck.
Holy fuck.
Holy. Fuck.
Commander Eneas was right. I can’t even remember the last time I cried, but right now, my eyes burn with tears I will not let fall in front of her. All those warnings about not showing up again if we got rejected make perfect sense now. I’m not sure I could stop chasing her if I tried.
She looks at us, waiting.
I draw a breath and force the words out. “I’m sorry you got hurt. We didn’t know. We would’ve come sooner if—”
What the hell am I even saying? Of course we couldn’t have come earlier. But fuck, I wish I’d been with her.
The hum coming out of Jay’s chest gets louder.
“It’s okay,” she says gently. “It wasn’t serious. I got distracted crossing a garage exit and didn’t see the car backing out. Just a bruised rib and some scrapes. I’ll live.”
She looks at Jay. “But thanks for the hum. I can barely feel any pain.”
This eases her pain?
I still don’t understand how we’re doing this, but I’m grateful we are. By the look of that cut on her arm, it’s more than a scrape.
Jay looks at her, confused but smiling. “Anytime.”
She tilts her head. “I didn’t catch who’s who when the MAB guy said your names.”
Her voice. I could listen to it forever.
Shane’s posture is still stiff, but his tone is light. “I’m Shane. That’s Jay—” he nodsto his left, “—and this is Kory.”
“Nice to meet you.” She hesitates, and then: “I’m Johane Johnson.”
Wait.
She just told us her name. Her full name.
She shouldn’t have done that, right? That’s against protocol. That means something. Doesn’t it?
My heart takes off again.
She said we’re scent-mates, and I’ve never heard of scent-mates rejecting the bond.
I don’t know what’s happening inside me. It’s too much all at once: euphoria, awe, disbelief, terror, hope. The confusion in my head, tangled with the way my body keeps trying to move toward her on its own, makes me feel a little drunk.
