Elliot’s stern façade drops for only a moment. “Yes, I scented her, too.”
The weight of it anchors me in place. An omega scent matchanda confirmation that I am not crazy for thinking Elliot could be my pack, not just my best friend and bodyguard.
Both confirmations at the same time.
Inside, the crowd roars for an encore. Which means we’ve already been out here for many minutes without realizing.
I glance at Elliot. He’s back to scanning the perimeter, but I know he feels it too—the shift, the before and after. I want to say something, anything, to break the spell, but I’m too scared of what will come out.
“Should we go back in?” I ask. That feels safe. Someone will be looking for me eventually, anyway.
Elliot gives me a look. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
No.“I have to meet her at some point, right?”
He grins a little. “Better brush up on your pop culture.”
As we head back inside, the scent hits me again, much stronger than before. I grit my teeth and try to walk like I’m not about to pass out. I catch a glimpse of Piper finishing her encore onstage, clearly oblivious to the damage she’s just inflicted.
I wonder if she even knows what she’s capable of.
CHAPTER 3
Piper
My ears ringwith the thunder of a few hundred hands colliding as my heel clicks against the last step. The vibration of it travels up my ankle and into my bones. I focus one step in front of the other so I don’t trip in front of a bunch of rich socialites, but it’s taking far more focus than it really ought to.
Nolan is at the bottom step waiting for me. His eyes study me closely and he holds out his arm for me to take. “Piper?” His voice is so low that only I can hear.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I tell him, right as the world does that fun watercolor swirl. My knees try to bend the wrong way. There’s a weird, high-frequency buzz in my ears, but I’m not about to let this crowd see me flop. I’ve survived worse.
At least, I think I have. Whatever happened on stage—whatever isstillhappening—is something I’ve never felt before.
Nolan’s face does that micro-expression thing I’m not supposed to notice—like he’s checking a list of plausible reasons his client might be about to die. The crowd’s still clapping, but it’s like “look at the shiny famous person” not “oh god, is she going to collapse?”
Nolan walks me over to the closest chair. “Sit.” It’s not really a suggestion.
I nod and allow him to guide me with one hand at the small of my back until I’m seated and the room is spinning slightly less. My fingers still grip the microphone, even though the cordless isn’t live anymore. I’m aware of the photographers tracking us. A few of the event planning staff touch a finger to their earpiece like my condition has already reached the entire team via radio. I can practically hear my manager Raelynn’s teeth grinding through the walls of the greenroom.
But I did the show. It went perfectly.
It’s this after-effect that’s not right.
Nolan crouches at my feet and continues his rapid-fire scan for any obvious injuries or ailments. His eyes are surgeon-steady when he touches two fingers to my wrist to clock my pulse. The brush of his fingers—small and gentle as it is—sends a shockwave of awareness through me.
On stage, I was assaulted by a wave of ocean and pine scent. Now it’s solely burning wood. And it’s coming straight from Nolan.
Nothing makes sense.
Everything makestoo muchsense, and it’s impossible.
I knew Nolan was an alpha. He knows I’m an omega. But I’ve never scented him before because of all the suppressants I’m on to keep both my heat and my overall omega instincts at bay. No one has time for omegaanythingwhen they’re taking the music world by storm.
Nolan lets go of my wrist but keeps one hand on my knee. “Talk to me. You’re burning up.”
I try to laugh, but my lungs are glued together with something sweet. This isn’t a fever starting, it’s a primal blush I can’t turn off. Alpha scents.
Three of them.
