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Don’t ever let her go, a primal voice in the back of my brain whispers.
What? Where did that come from?
But pushing the voice aside, uncertainty falls over me. I’ve known Hetty for my entire life, and it just now occurred to me that I have no idea where she sleeps at night.
6
The Basement
Hetty
Whatever pain I felt from both my falls and my discomfort from the hot weather is now eclipsed by a foreign surge of anxiety pulsing through the room.
It’s coming from Gran, emanating off her in sour-smelling waves of resentment.
I stare at her, my mouth hanging open in shock. I can smell her worry—like boiled eggs and moldering onions.
I’m so stunned that it takes me a while to notice another scent intruding on my senses. Hot and peppery, it clouds around me and blurs with Gran’s sour anxiety.
Noah’s anger, I realize with awe.
My gut twists as my eyes dart up to his face. He’s still holding me, but I can barely feel his grip around my legs and shoulders as I try to absorb what’s happening.
It’s almost as if their conflicting emotions are emanating from each of their bodies, battling for dominance in the space between them. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. Is this what alphas and omegas mean when they talk about scents?
Seconds ago—after several minutes of probing and threats—Gran finally told Noah that the Sage House betas slept in the basement. That’s when all the smelly emotions began to burgeon from each of them.
I guess I can understand why Noah’s angry. He’s been down in that basement before and knows what it’s like.
Unlike the rest of Sage House, which is warm, well-appointed, and luxurious, the basement is dank, musty, and filled with old, unwanted things. It’s just a long, narrow hallway lined with a series of tiny rooms. The floors are cement, and the walls are made of cinder blocks.
It’s not a place that an alpha or omega would ever deem livable. But for betas, it’s all we expect.
“You all sleep down there?” he asks, his voice caustic and laced with wonder.
Gran purses her lips together stubbornly—she doesn’t want to talk about it. As far as she’s concerned, it’s none of his business.
“Yes,” she eventually clips out. “But it’s no place for an alpha.”
I inhale sharply—even for Gran, that was a bold statement. Telling an alpha he has no place in a part of his own house?
Noah’s brows lower in determination, and I feel a groan vibrate through his chest.
Without speaking, he roughly pushes her aside and strides into the hallway. When I glance over his shoulder, I see her standing in the study, her face pale and her eyes wide with worry.
But she snaps out of it quickly, focusing on my face briefly before she moves speedily, rushing past Noah in an attempt to get downstairs before him.
As she disappears into the kitchen ahead of us, he scoffs, pulling me tighter against his chest and moving forward with renewed vigor.
Suddenly, I feel loopy and lightheaded, my stomach dropping. I touch the back of my head gingerly. Maybe I hit it harder than I thought, or maybe I’m loopy because Noah’s holding me so close.
A hot wave of awareness washes over me at the thought.
Closing my eyes, I lean into his shoulder and inhale deeply. Underneath all the anger and confusion is a scorched scent like fresh-brewed coffee or a burning candle.
I’ve never smelled anything like it. It’s delicious, and so is the feeling of his muscles jumping and pulling under his soft dress shirt.
My limbs are loose as I continue to breathe him in. I can’t blame him for not knowing where the betas live. In a big house like this, it’s not traditionally the alpha’s responsibility to know such things—it’s the omega’s. She oversees the housekeeping, including the management of the beta servants.
