Is it really just because I’ve forgone suppressants? I mean, since I am altogether not as mated as we’ve led the hospital to believe, it would make sense for me to be distracted by many clashing scents in the hospital, given that there are a good number of female shifters working on my floor, not to mention the building as a whole.
So why is it only Mackenzie who seems to bother me like this?
“—are you even listening to me?”
I blink, remembering where I am, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter and flicking my eyes to the passenger seat, where Mackenzie is looking at me strangely. She’s wearing her hair down, the thick mass falling against one shoulder as she cocks her head at me. She’s wearing a long-sleeved dress that is slightly formfitting but blessedly nowhere near as much as her yoga clothes—not that it’s stopped me from wanting to look. I have definitely tried to make sure to keep my eyes on only the road since she got into the car.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Just nervous.”
“Seriously, you don’t have to be,” she laughs. “I can’t even begin to explain to you what a jackpot you are in the eyes of Moira Carter. You actually could belong to some secret underground alpha biker gang, and she would tell you she thinks it’s absolutely delightful.”
“It seems like your grandmother is more concerned with you settling down in general rather than having any real preferences as to who you might do it with.”
Mackenzie is still smiling despite my concern. “It’s not like that, exactly. I think she worries about leaving me on my own. I was kind of a mess when I came to them—I mean, just your average preteen hormonal depression that made me into a bit of a mute for a few months, but . . . I don’t know. Even now that I’m an adult, she never stops worrying about me.”
“She wants to make sure you’re taken care of,” I muse.
“Mhm.” Mackenzie makes an amused sound. “Hasn’t quite come around to the novel idea that I can take care of myself.”
“If anyone could,” I murmur to no one.
I don’t see her smile, but I can feel it, I think.
“Good thing I’m bringing home a nice alpha to make sure my den is good and protected so that I can give him pretty babies while he gathers food.”
“Your gran’s ideal ending, I presume.”
“Yeah. Whatever. I know she means well.”
“I’ll be sure to convince her that you will have a very nice den. Only the finest chicken carcasses for my mate.”
Mackenzie barks out a laugh. “Oh my God. You made a joke! Was that your first one? Are you hurt in any way?”
“Always a delight, you are.”
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just kind of fun.”
I perk up as I make the next turn. “What is?”
“Seeing this side of Dr. Taylor.”
“Oh.” There’s an odd prickling in my chest, but that could just be her scent, which is still threatening to suffocate me. “Well. I’ve been practicing how not to be so, um . . .”
“Tense? Scary?”
“Sure,” I concur with a roll of my eyes. “For your grandmother.”
Mackenzie sits up in her seat, peering out the window as she gestures to the next house. “Well, let’s hope it paid off. That’s the place.”
I slow the car so I don’t miss the driveway, taking in the perfectly normal-looking ranch-style house in red brick. It probably shouldn’t be as formidable as it feels.
“Oh shit,” Mackenzie says.
Her mouth turns down into a frown, and there’s an uneasiness to her now as she regards me carefully. I catch her pressing her nose to her shoulder, and then her eyes meet mine with concern. “It’s faded.”
I can’t even pretend not to immediately catch her meaning. I noticed when she first climbed into the car, after all. I swallow heavily. “I know.”
I can tell she’s remembering the last time I scented her; her lips roll together and her lashes flutter, and even this is enough to make breathing a little harder.
“You should probably do the thing,” she says airily.
“The thing,” I parrot.
“You know . . .” Her nose wrinkles as she reaches to unbuckle her seat belt. “The thing.”
Something flushes under my collar, some prickling heat creeping into my chest as my throat tightens. It’s becoming a familiar sensation, this odd warmth that plagues me whenever I scent her—becoming more and more of a problem the longer I’m off suppressants. I can’t remember a single time in my life when it was this uncomfortable to be around a woman of my species.
“Right,” I manage tightly. “The thing.” I swallow, eyes glancing to the driveway. “Should I just . . . ?”
“I can—” She moves awkwardly in the passenger seat, bringing her legs up and under her so she can lean over the console. “Like this?”
Like this only brings her closer, my tongue feeling too thick with the way the sweet fragrance of her invades my senses. “Right. That should—” I reach to unbuckle myself. “Just . . . be still.”
I’m not sure if I’m telling her this for her benefit or mine, honestly.
I cup my hand around the back of her neck, noting again how soft her hair is. It slides over my knuckles silkily as my palm settles just below her hairline, pulling her closer. I have to close my eyes for this part, silently chanting a mantra about how this is just a means to an end—none of it actually helping the way my skin tingles when I tuck my face against her neck.
It’s a necessary thing—my cheek pressing against the soft skin of her throat—but her answering shudder has me squeezing my eyes tighter, clenching my jaw a little more. I turn my face to graze her throat with mine, mingling our scents into a burgeoning aroma that clouds the small space of the car. I can hear her breath quicken and feel her body stiffen everywhere she’s touching me, and for the briefest of moments there is a bizarre urge to pull her to me as tightly as I can and bury myself in the smell and taste of her.
Which is utterly insane, and it is this realization that has me hastily pulling away from her.
“That should—” Can she hear how loud my heart is beating? “That should do it, I think.”
Her cheeks are flushed as she nods slowly, turning away from me to breathe in against her shoulder again. There is a part of me that protests when she pulls away to settle back into her side of the car, and I shove it down as she nods more confidently.
“That will definitely work,” she says, her voice huskier than it was a moment ago.
“Remind me . . .” Honestly, I just need to get my mind somewhere else. “Remind me what the parameters are.”
Her eyes are heavy-lidded, almost like she’s sated. It shouldn’t be enticing. “Parameters?”
“What does your grandmother know about us?”
“Oh.” She nods dazedly. “Right. Yeah. Our star-crossed romance?”
“Yes,” I answer. “That.”
“We’ve only been dating for a month,” she tells me, sobering a little. “You asked me out for coffee in the break room, because you were captivated by my beauty and feminine charms.” She notices my eyebrow quirking. “I have an assload of feminine charm, thank you very much.”
“Clearly,” I answer with only a hint of amusement.
Humor is good. Humor makes me feel less like I want to kiss her.
“We’ve been on a few dates a week since then,” she goes on, ignoring me. “I haven’t met your parents yet, but you think I am the bee’s knees.”
“Excuse me?”