I was thirty minutes late and smelled like flowers. Literally. Spent the afternoon tangled with two weeds in one of our private testing gardens—purely scientific, of course. The new compound dulled the poison in omega pheromones, and I needed subjects. Bonus points if they moaned my name while I took notes.
I still had the scent of overripe honeysuckle on my skin when I stepped into the restaurant. And for the first time in a long time, I felt… underdressed.
There he was. Luther Wilkers. Tall, immaculate, and judging me like I'd just tracked mud through a cathedral. His tie was loose, but that stiff spine and those tightly crossed arms said everything. Purple eyes—fuck, those eyes—looked me over like I was the gum stuck to his Louboutin.
I grinned. Oh, he was going to hate me.
He wore scent patches—thick ones—around his temples to cover the petal marks near his eyes.
Ah. A rare one.
A poisonous omega.
I couldn't help the slow, amused smile spreading across my face. Prude. Arrogant. High-maintenance. Beautiful.
"Sorry I'm late," I said, sliding into the seat across from him like I hadn't just come from a den of moaning weeds.
"It was for the best. It excused me from watching you get poisoned during appetizers," he replied dryly. "I already ate. And given your rudeness, I'm sure you'll handle the bill as an apology, right?"
I raised a brow. "An optimist at heart, huh?"
"I like to keep things realistic." He tilted his head slightly. "So… shall I let loose my scent and save us both the time?"
I chuckled. "Please do."
He inhaled. Closed his eyes.
And unleashed hell.
It hit me like a brick wall wrapped in velvet. A full-force wave of scent so sweet it curdled in my lungs. Not the cloying sweetness of a weed, but sharp, dark, addictive—like honey laced with arsenic. My throat closed. My vision blurred. My knees knocked under the table.
I couldn't breathe.
I clutched my neck and wheezed like I'd swallowed a wasp nest. My body screamed to shut down—my lungs begged for air that wouldn't come. My eyes watered uncontrollably. I didn't cough. I choked.
Luther stood up calmly and walked past me, not sparing a second glance.
A normal alpha would've been on the floor by now. An alpha with half a brain would've called it quits. But I wasn't normal. And I wasn't quitting.
Gasping and still half-blind, I stumbled after him, grabbing his wrist before he could reach the door. My hand trembled from the sheer shock still ravaging my body. But my lips split into a grin so wide it hurt.
"You smell so incredibly sweet, darling."
His eyes widened. Not with pride, but confusion. Disgust, maybe. He looked at me like I was a lab rat that had grown wings and started singing opera.
"You're still alive," he muttered.
"Barely," I rasped, still grinning. "Your father's not a bad matchmaker, huh?"
"I—I'm sorry. I can't do this."
Ah. There it was. The panic. The fear.
He looked beautiful, breaking like that.
His posture, once sharp and self-assured, crumbled. His mouth moved without words. A bloomless flower. I tightened my grip just slightly—not to hurt him, but to ground him.
"What do you mean, you can't do this?" I said, my voice low and almost coaxing. "You've been looking for a mate for years. You need one to keep your position in Parliament, don't you? So why run now?"
He yanked his wrist free. "My flower didn't shiver," he said. "I feel nothing. The fact that you survived doesn't mean anything."
He held my stare like he wanted to burn me out of existence. I felt something stir low in my chest. Not arousal. Not desire.
Obsession.
"Give me one more date," I said.
"What?"
"One more. I know I can make it shiver." I winked. "These things take time. Like a fine wine. Or Stockholm Syndrome."
He scowled. "You think you're an expert in making flowers bloom?"
"I've made plenty bloom," I said. "They're practically sprouting behind me."
"I'm not interested."
And just like that, he turned and walked out of my life.
Or so he thought.
I barely made it to the restroom. Threw water over my face. Clung to the sink like it was the only thing keeping my insides from melting. The poison still raged in my blood. My stomach twisted. My limbs were jelly. My lungs wheezed like old machinery.
But my heart was pounding.
Racing.
Singing.
For the first time in my life, I was poisoned.
And for the first time in my life, I felt alive.
I looked in the mirror, soaked and shaking. My smile hadn't left.
"Luther Wilkers," I whispered to myself. "I'll remember your name for sure, honey."
That was the first time.
I can count on my fingers like a toddler the rest of the four meetings we had.
And then—silence.
He vanished. No sightings. No trails. Nothing. Not even Lucrezia's informants could sniff him out, and they were the kind who could dig secrets out of corpses.
I told myself I'd moved on.
I hadn't.
I became unbearable. Labs shut down early when I walked in. I was irritated, angry all the time like I was suffering from a withdrawal.
No one could match that scent. That poison. That pull.
Until I remembered something.
Three weeks ago. The hotel parking lot. Luther looking like he wanted to kill someone. And Claus—Claus—cornered him. I hadn't thought much of it then. Just a lover's spat. A rejected ex. One of Luther's many failed dates, maybe.
But now?
Now I knew better.
Claus hadn't looked like a jilted ex. He looked like a man about to commit a felony.
So I called him.
He didn't answer the first three times. But by the fourth, I knew he was watching the screen. I called again. And again.
Finally, he picked up.
He didn't say hello.
So I didn't, either.
"I know you have Luther."
There was a sharp breath on the other end. Panic. Shuffling. A curse under his breath.
"You're insane," he snapped. "You don't know anything."
But before he could hang up—
Another voice came through.
Soft.
Cracked.
Barely more than a breath.
"Claus… don't…"
My lungs went still.
It was him.
Luther.
And then the line went dead.
I stared at the screen.
Then, slowly, I smiled. I got him