Page 51 of Written in Scent

Adrian would have been perfect.

Except he is not a beta. He’s an alpha with a pack, and all the complications and expectations that come with it.

I think about Sophie again, about how hard she pushed me toward him today. She doesn’t get it. She wants a pack and everything that comes with one. Why could the Whitmore pack not have been interested in her instead? That would’ve been so much easier.

The moment the thought crosses my mind, my stomach churns with an unexpected wave of protectiveness. I press a hand to my middle and close my eyes.

No.

I am not a bug ruled by pheromones. I’m a person, and I will not let my omega instincts control me.

I wish, not for the first time, that I were simply a beta like my parents. Life would be so much simpler.

I pick up the tweezers again, turn the music up just a little, and force myself back into the work. The specimens wait patiently in their drawers, and for now that is all I want to focus on.

I get back to work, forcing my mind into the familiar rhythm of pinning. I start singing along under my breath once more, following the predictable melody. It helps. Each specimen takes shape under my hands, wings spread just so, thorax aligned, pin driven through with deft precision. The world narrows to the small circle of light on my desk and the next bug waiting to be cataloged.

I finish one sample, a delicate moth with pale gray wings and faint markings. I lift it delicately with the forceps and turn toward the drawer to place it in its spot.

A gentle knock sounds at the door.

I startle so hard the tweezers nearly slip from my fingers. The moth wobbles for one terrifying second before I catch my grip and set it down gently in its place. My heart is already racing as I turn toward the sound.

Jamie stands in the doorway, camera equipment slung over one shoulder and a small bag in his other hand. He looks almost apologetic, like he knows he’s interrupted something sacred.

I stare at him for a long beat, then narrow my eyes.

“Have you been following me?”

The question comes out sharper than I intended.

Jamie raises both hands in surrender, the camera bag shifting on his shoulder.

“No,” he says quickly. “I swear. I was helping the botany club with a time-lapse project. They’re doing a series on flower opening in the greenhouse across the quad and they asked me to drop the storage drive here. I had no idea you would be here.”

He gestures vaguely toward the hallway, as if that proves it.

I cross my arms, still not entirely convinced, but the explanation sounds plausible. The botany greenhouse is only a short walk from the natural sciences building. And he does have the camera equipment.

I exhale slowly, apologizing before the silence can stretch too long.

“Sorry,” I say, my voice quieter now. “I overreacted. Alphas can just… be like that sometimes. Always showing up where you least expect them.”

Jamie nods, his expression understanding. He leans against the doorframe, still keeping that careful distance.

“Yeah, they can,” he agrees gently. “But I’m not trying to be like that with you. I heard what you said yesterday. You want space, and I respect that. I’m not here to push or chase or make you feel cornered. I just… saw the light on, then you, and thought maybe you could use some company. No pressure.”

His words are so sincere, so free of any demand, that something inside me cracks. A small trembling whine slips out before I can stop it. My eyes fill with tears so fast I can’t blink them away.

Jamie steps forward instantly, concern flashing across his face. He reaches out and touches my arm, light and tentative, like he’s afraid I might shatter.

The contact is too much. Too gentle. Too safe.

I shrug his hand off without thinking, stepping back until my hip bumps the edge of the desk.

Jamie pulls away immediately, eyes wide. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to touch you. I’m really sorry, Elodie.”

I groan and run both hands through my hair, tugging at the strands as I tip my head back toward the ceiling. Tears spill over anyway.