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“He didn’t answer,” Dylan says.
“I know, but does it really matter?” I ask. “She’s family.”
“She could be pack,” he murmurs. “If she’s our scent match, we’d find a way to make it work.”
And to that, I have nothing to say because, in my own fucked-up way, I’ve already tried to scent her. My throat clenches as I recall the way she stopped breathing when I pressed my nose to her wrist to smell the perfume she’d been breathing in to calm herself. I’d been trying to scent her too, but she religiously wears that damn descenting lotion. Now that I think about it, in allthe years we’ve been stepsiblings, her scent has been a mystery. The idea of Quinn being ours... It’s not right, it’s all kinds of complicated. And Brady is trying his best to protect us from her.
Above all else, that’s telling me everything I need to know.
Quinn might be our scent match. She ran from Dylan, clearly terrified of him, and there’s no way to confirm the truth until she stops wearing the scent-blocking lotions like a second skin.
Regardless, nothing will come of this if she doesn’t want it.
She holds all the control in those delicate hands.
My muscles twitch, wanting nothing more than to storm into her room and demand answers. I waver for a moment, taking a step toward the stairs and not the kitchen, but I suck in a breath, forcing myself to focus on the kitchen and not the omega hiding in her room.
Every step away from her feels wrong. Every breath and heartbeat and movement is wrong, wrong, wrong. Fuck. Sometimes I hate being an alpha. I don’t even know for sure that Quinn is meant to be ours, and yet my body is demanding to claim her. My dick is uncomfortably hard and the base of my cock aches.
Knotting Quinn, fucking her until she trembles and moans and slicks all over me—No.
If Brady can control himself, so can I.
Quinn’s scent will remain a mystery for another night, but soon, for my own sanity, I’ll need to know if she’s our match.
BRADY
I don’t miss the way Dylan side-eyes me. I don’t miss the scrutinizing looks Austin gives me as he zests a lemon.
Clutching a tumbler full of whiskey, I stare at the framed photo of our blended family hanging on the wall. Our dads surround her mother, who is smiling, eyes shining with pure happiness.
At first, I hated Gwen. I didn’t want her to replace my mother, but as soon as I realized how happy our dads were and how careful she was to respect my boundaries, that all changed. She didn’t push. She didn’t ask to be called Mom.
She simply became part of the family, bringing her daughter along for the ride.
Quinn is standing between Dylan and Austin in the picture. I take a sip, remembering how she’d slipped away from my side and retreated to the safety of thenicestepbrothers. That was before I knew what she was. Then I was mean to her because I was scared to let her in.
Austin was right. I am an asshole.
It’s dumb that I’ve let fear turn me into this person, but all I see when I look at her is danger. All I see is another person I’ll lose. And it pisses me off. It makes me brash and rude and mean. Most of all, it makes me hate the world. What sort of fucked-up game is fate playing, putting us together as family?
Dylan pours himself two fingers of whiskey and drops into the seat next to me. “I hate fighting with you, dude.”
“So don’t,” I say, as if it’s that simple.
“You’re a dick.”
I grunt but don’t argue. I’ve accepted the role. “Do you remember when our dads took us to the zoo, and you got into the penguin exhibit?”
He laughs. “It would be hard to forget how pissed they were.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “They were scared.”
“I distinctly remember them yelling at me, Brady. I was grounded for two weeks after that.” Dylan takes a sip and sighs.“You came in after me, caught me before I fell into the water. They were mad at you, too, even though you saved me.”
“They were scared.” I set my tumbler down and look at him. “I know I can be a dick”—he scoffs, but I ignore it and continue—“but you have to understand that all I’m ever doing is trying to protect you.”
“I’m not a kid.”
