I move to leave her there, because I suddenly feel strange, but I barely make it to the stairs before she’s calling out, “I just…pick my own room?”

“Seems the only way you’ll get the one you want,” I toss over my shoulder. And because I can’t help myself, I turn to give her a smirk. “Probably don’t want me to know where you’re staying anyway,” I say seriously. And when she gives me a puzzled look: “Since I might be an axe-wielding murderer.”

She flushes again, and I feel a tinge of satisfaction at her discomfort.

“Don’t you want to show me around and tell me some of your plans for the place?” she calls.

“Not really,” I answer, already starting up the stairs. “Jeannie is the one insisting on this little redecorating project.”

She makes an indignant sound. “I’m not a decorator.”

“Of course not, Miss Fixit.” I raise my hand above my head to offer her a little wave. “Breakfast is at eight,” I remind her. “Have a good night.”

She makes that same disgruntled squawk, and I hear her shoes slapping against the floor as if she’s following me. Even from several paces away, I’m hit with that strange scent, one that makes my steps heavier for the briefest of moments before it dissipates. I frown at my feet, turning again and narrowing my eyes at her as she skids to a halt. Jeannie definitely would have told me if—But it’s hitting me again, causing goose bumps to break out across my skin, and without even realizing I’m doing it, I’m stomping back down the stairs to loom over her.

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

“Are you an omega?”

She visibly blanches. “W-what?”

A pit forms in my stomach, 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 it 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 an idea it is for us to 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 sharing my space with another omega. Not after what happened. I can hear the 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’re going to insinuate I can’t do my job because of some hormonal bullshit.”

Huh.

I have to admit 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 my cousin 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 omega for so long makes my insides twist.

I suppose I could 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 even the smallest 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 to have her 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 tiny, sweet-smelling 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 after Jeannie finally wore me down to hire one, but nearly being barreled over by her big brown eyes wasn’t even remotely within 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 put up 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 of the hellebores that grow up the mountain.

And her scent.

I can still practically taste the richness of it—like baked apples and cinnamon 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 it’s going to be a hell of a lot harder than I anticipated to treat her like I originally planned. To make sure she’s all too aware of how I’m against the changes she’ll bring. I close my eyes, letting my head thunk against my bedroom door as I try to push out of my mind the way she pursed her mouth. 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.

“Have you been sleeping?” Ada asks. “You’re too young for eye bags.”

I pause from unpacking to glance over at the mirror above the dresser and press my fingertips to the obvious dark circles that have started to form under my eyes. I frown at the overall shittiness of my appearance—my bangs look stringy, and my complexion seems somehow paler than usual. It’s like I didn’t sleep at all last night. Which, fair.