She shrinks only for a moment before rising to her full height to stare me down. It might be amusing if my heart wasn’t beating so fast.

“Are you an omega?”

She visibly blanches. “W-what?”

I can feel my heart thudding behind my ribs, because there’s no way Jeannie would have subjected me to this. Not after everything.

But I know this woman has no idea about my past, so I try my best to keep my tone from sounding as irritated as I feel.

“I’m only asking because,” I try again, going for less aggressive but fearing that I might be failing, “I’m not on suppressants.”

“Why would you even ask that in the first place?”

“Because…” I lean toward her, dragging in an inhale as if compelled. “You smell like an omega.”

Her mouth falls open. “That’s— That’s a really rude question, isn’t it?”

She asks as if she isn’t entirely sure of the answer.

“Maybe,” I say truthfully, “but if you’re going to be staying here, it would probably be a good idea to take precautions. I wouldn’t want you to have an incident.”

“An incident?”

She acts like I’m being outrageous. Surely she can scent me? She has to know how bad of an idea it is for both of us to just cohabitate in this enclosed space for however long without any kind of barrier.

“I…Yes,” I say, genuinely confused by her confusion, but what’s more, I can’t fathom having to endure shared space with another omega. Not after what happened. I can hear my own aggravation in my tone now. “Something like this would have been nice to know ahead of time. It’s honestly a bit rude not to disclose this sort of thing knowing you’d be sharing a space.”

She snorts. Actually snorts. “Wow. Day one, and already I’m dealing with this crap.”

“What?”

“I’m fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “I can do this job regardless of what I am, and I’m not going to let you sit there and discriminate just because I’m—because I’m a—”

“An omega?”

Her cheeks go bright pink. “Yes. That. You have another thing coming if you think you’re going to insinuate I can’t do my job because of some hormonal bullshit.”

Huh.

I have to admit that her answer takes me by surprise; I’ve never met an omega who seemed almost offended by their own designation, but then again, I’ve only met one other (two, if you count Noah’s mate), and she certainly wasn’t embarrassed by what she was. On the contrary, she reveled in it. Which is exactly why the idea of being forced to live under the same roof as another one for so long makes my insides twist.

I suppose I could just grab some suppressants from the pharmacy in town if she insists on being stubborn—maybe she has some sort of condition that makes her incapable of taking them?—but then again, this is my place. Why should I?

Because she smells fucking mouthwatering.

There’s something in an omega’s scent that calls to someone like me; it’s a tiny zing of unbridled want that creeps up my spine with just the simplest of inhales, one that I know all too well. It’s bone-deep in our DNA to feel these things in each other’s presence, and even if I’m currently the only one apparently feeling them, that doesn’t mean it’s not still a terrible idea, her being here.

I take a step back from her, sort of at a loss. She still looks offended. Worked up, even. And while I have no desire for her to be here, doing what she’s planning on doing, I wasn’t intending to be outright rude—regardless of how uneasy she makes me.

“Oh…kay,” I say slowly. “Well…all right then. Just thought I’d mention it, considering.”

“Considering,” she scoffs.

I wonder if Mackenzie was this hostile to Noah when they met.

Miss Fixit is still glaring at me as I slowly turn back toward the stairs, and I hold my breath while I take them two at a time, needing to put distance between me and the sweet-smelling, tiny contractor who might actually want to murder me.

I don’t slow down until my bedroom door is closed and locked behind me. I’d had a lot of expectations about meeting the contractor Jeannie finally wore me down to hire—but nearly being barreled over by her big brown eyes hadn’t even remotely been in the realm of possibilities I’d dreamed up. I’d prepared myself to be cold to her, even downright unwelcoming if I had to be—anything to give some sort of final protest against this entire debacle that Jeannie insists is necessary. And I tried. I really did.

But little Miss Fixit wasn’t having any of it.

There’s a ghost of a smile on my mouth as I remember the way she tore into me; she’s such a tiny thing, and yet, when she let me know what’s what, she reared up like a brown bear protecting her cubs on the mountainside. And I shouldn’t find that cute. I also shouldn’t have found myself at a loss for words even for a moment while studying her soft waves the color of tree bark and her full mouth the same blushed shade as the hellebores that grow up the mountain.

And her scent.

I can still practically taste the richness of it—like warm honey straight from the hive with a touch of something headier, something that could make me dizzy if I let myself have too much of it.

Tess. I test her name in my head, liking the sound of it. Soft, like her. Except she isn’t. Not really. I can tell that Tess is nowhere near as soft as she looks. I can discern that after only a few minutes with her. Which means that it’s going to be a hell of a lot harder than I anticipated to treat her like I originally planned. To make sure that she is all too aware of how I’m against all the changes she’ll bring. I close my eyes, letting my head thunk against my bedroom door as I try to push the pursing of her mouth out of my mind. No, I can keep my distance, I think. I can make sure she knows exactly how I feel about her being here, sweet scent or no. Because I can’t let someone like her rush into my life and turn it upside down. Not again.

The last time nearly broke me.

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Illustration by Jessica Patrick

Lana Ferguson is a USA Today bestselling author and sex-positive nerd whose works never shy from spice or sass. A faded Fabio cover found its way into her hands at fifteen, and she’s never been the same since. When she isn’t writing, you can find her randomly singing show tunes, arguing over which Batman is superior, and subjecting her friends to the extended editions of The Lord of the Rings. Lana lives mostly in her own head but can sometimes be found chasing her corgi through the coppice of the great American outdoors.

Visit Lana Ferguson Online

LanaFerguson.com

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