I see the shadowy outline of a man’s back. A large man. Tall with broad shoulders and a weathered gait. His boots are heavy as they hit the stairs. He doesn’t turn to greet me, though he must scent my presence.
An asshole, clearly.
But thankfully, an asshole who doesn’t seem to have any interest in dragging me around by the hair.
4
Jensen
Despitebeingexhausted,Icouldn’t fall asleep last night. I didn’t feel all that great. There was an awful emptiness in my chest and a clank in my bones. I felt out of place. Far, far away from everything normal. Everything I know. Everyone I love.
I tossed and turned until, at last, I accepted defeat and got the blankets Mrs. Thompson left for me out of the cupboard and arranged every pillow I could find on my bed. I placed them in a big circle, threw the entire selection of blankets over them, and buried myself in the downy pile. When that still didn’t drown my homesickness out, I snuck my ancient pink tickle blanket out of its hiding spot in the bottom of my bag and rubbed it over the bottom half of my face until its soft comfort slowed my thoughts enough that I was finally able to rest.
I wake nestled up to my eyeballs, drowning in the most luxurious blankets I’ve ever laid my hands on. There’s a mauve weighted one on my legs and a soft, velvety one tucked under my chin.
I’m as snug as a bug.
It’s heavenly until I open my eyes and look around the room, cheeks heating at the thought of anyone seeing me like this.
Nesting is natural and normal, obviously. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just that doing it when you’re twenty-seven years old and not in the throes of heat is quite embarrassing.
I leap out of bed and take great care to put all the blankets and pillows back where I found them.
By the time nine o’clock rolls around, my stomach is growling, so I see myself to the dining room. I’m unsure of where else to go because I haven’t caught a glimpse of Mrs. Thompson this morning.
I push open the tall double doors, expecting to be greeted by an empty room.
It’s not an empty room though. Far from it.
There, at the head of the table, is a man I instantly identify as not only one of the two or three best-looking human beings I’ve seen in real life, but quite possibly the most difficult too. His presence is enormous. A heavy, dense aura that rolls down the length of the room and threatens to bowl me over. His eyes are jet black, his head tilted down in a way that gives him a penetrating stare. His hair is dark too. Dark and shiny. Well-cut and well-styled. So is his beard. There’s a tiny bulge at the hinge of his jaw that makes it look like he’s trying his best not to roll his eyes, but the effort is costing him.
I have a feeling that being forced to dine with a stranger who happens to be on his payroll is not his idea of a good time.
He gets to his feet with powerful, well-practiced grace, and sweet Jesus, he’s tall. Easily as tall as Branson. Maybe even taller.
He closes the space between us with purposeful strides that leave me feeling as though I urgently need to urinate.
I don’t, obviously.
And I’m going to stop being like this immediately. I am my own man. I’m not going to let myself be affected like this by an alpha I don’t know. I’ve been furious with Lucien for letting my brother get to him the way he did, and I certainly won’t be making the same mistake anytime soon.
“Alfred Augustus,” he says, wrapping a mammoth hand around mine and squeezing just hard enough to remind me that I have a name and it’s time for me to say it.
“I’m J-Jensen,” I squeak. “Jensen Lawlor.”
Despite myself, I lean in and take a quick, surreptitious breath, waiting for the heady scent of an attractive, asshole alpha to flood my senses, and…
Nothing.
No signals firing. No delicious chemical molecules entering my nasal passages. No spicy stimulation of olfactory sensory neurons. No sudden flash of sensation.
Just nothing.
A plasticky absence of scent, if anything.
God, that’s odd.
I try not to make a face because I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not sure how successful I am. I’ve never been especially talented at keeping my face under control, and this is the strangest human scent I’ve ever picked up. It’s a non-smell, if such a thing exists. It’s not especially bad, it just…isn’t anything.
