That's not the scent of an ordinary human. - I Was Sold to the Alpha, Then Four Wolves Wanted Me

Calla's POV

The next second, everything went black.

It felt like dropping into deep water. Darkness on every side, and yet somewhere far off, voices.

"Calla?"

Someone lifted me off the floor. But the instant he drew close, his breath caught.

"What is that smell…"

Damien's voice came nearer then. I couldn't make out what they were saying. I only knew that I was gathered up — by Damien, I think — and carried back to my room.

Half-conscious, I was aware of people crowding in, arguing furiously.

"You felt it too. That's no ordinary human scent."

"The moment she was hurt it all came pouring out. Even the suppressants can't hold it down."

A voice I didn't know — Ronan, the pack's military commander. "What happened? I caught that scent from halfway across the estate. The patrols picked it up too."

"Blood." A fourth voice cut in; Domini, the pack's diplomat, sounded younger than the others. "This smell… Damien, did you put a temporary mark on her? You marked a—"

"Enough!"

"It was me. The drug went wild last night — her pheromones were in chaos. If I hadn't suppressed it, there would have been a mess."

"There is a mess! The pack outside nearly rioted. If Ella hadn't gone out to calm them, God knows what it would have turned into."

"Another dose of the strong suppressant," Ronan said, rough-voiced. "Seal the scent off first and be done with it."

"No."

Two voices at once.

The room went quiet for a beat. Julien spoke, flat and mild. "The strong suppressant is too harsh. Give her that and it will damage her outright."

"And if we do that, tracing where she came from will be that much harder later."

Something in me sank. So they didn't know who I was either.

I'd assumed I was the only one kept in the dark. Apparently they were just as blind. Which meant I still had a chance — as long as I lived through this. As long as I could find out who I actually was. Then no one would be deciding my fate for me again.

Sleep pulled at me. Just before the dark closed over me completely, I heard one last word.

"Defector."

I couldn't tell who said it. I only know that it went into me like a splinter, deep into the back of my mind.

When I woke, the window showed the next day. My calf was bandaged tight. My body was still weak, but the tearing pain of the night before was gone.

I never learned how they'd settled it. But that strange feeling in my body had vanished completely.

The room was empty. Yet several faint scents lingered in the air.

Cedar.

Strong spirits.

And a cool, green smell of leaves.

It struck me, distantly, that my nose had grown absurdly sharp. Before I could wonder about it, the door swung open.

I looked up. Ella came in.

She wore a cashmere dress cut with obvious expense, her blonde hair pinned back without a strand out of place, a smile on her face that was very nearly flawless. Only her eyes, when they rested on me, sent a chill down my spine.

"You needn't be afraid. You caused a stir in the pack, but I won't punish you for it."

She raised a hand and Lora stepped forward to set down a tray. A box of ointment.

"I had the dispensary make this up especially. See that you use it." She paused, then went on. "And don't trouble yourself over the temporary mark. It will fade in time."

"After this, as long as you keep your hands off what isn't yours, no one will come looking for trouble."

I looked at her and said nothing.

Everyone knew Lora was her personal maid. None of it could have happened without her blessing. Yet here she sat, gentle and composed, as though none of it were hers to answer for — playing the forgiving lady, as if I were the one who had erred and ought to be grateful for her mercy.

She didn't seem interested in anything I might say. Rest well, she said from her height, and turned for the door.

Lora followed, and at the threshold she gave me a small contemptuous smile and shut the door.

I lay back down. The ointment's heavy smell kept crawling up my nose.

Then something in me stirred. I'd smelled this before.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember.

A rainy night. Damien's room. That cedar and spirits reek that had nearly suffocated me. And the state he'd been in — plainly wrong. He'd said he'd been drugged.

I had been at this estate three months. Before that, my life had been flat and still as a stagnant pond, nothing out of the ordinary. Every one of these anomalies had detonated after the night Damien lost control. If I could work out the drug, perhaps I'd reach the edge of the truth.

I threw off the blanket and got up. Avoiding the patrolling guards, I made my way to the familiar double oak doors.

They stood slightly ajar. No lamp inside, only a shaft of moonlight falling through the high windows onto the floor.

I assumed he was out. All I needed was to get in, quickly smell the coat or the air for whatever herbal trace remained, and I might have my clue. But I had barely reached the wide desk when the inner door between the master bedroom and the study clicked open.

Damien stood there, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow. He frowned when he saw me.

"What are you doing here? I told the head maid to give you a few days off."

I blinked, and answered on instinct. "Ah — yes. Thank you, sir."

"You dragged yourself all the way here to say thank you?"

Last night's conversation flashed through my head. "No. I only heard about what happened. I'm sorry. I didn't know whether I ought to have another suppressant."

His brow eased. His gaze dropped to my calf, still faintly trembling, and something like guilt crossed the grey of his eyes, quickly gone.

"That won't be necessary. You don't need to think about that anymore." He nodded toward the leather sofa by the window. "Sit and rest. Once I've dealt with these urgent papers, I'll have someone take you back."

I wanted an excuse to stay and search for the scent, so I nodded and didn't refuse.

A black coat of his was thrown over the sofa, still faintly warm, still carrying him. The room was quiet but for the rustle of pages and the scratch of a pen.

I leaned back against the cushions and let my nostrils flare, very slightly. Beneath the cedar and spirits that always hung about him, a thin residue of medicine floated.

I'd been able to read plants since I was small — an instinct I couldn't explain. Now, marked by an Alpha, my sense of smell had sharpened further. It took me no time to separate the herbs.

Bitter wolfsbane. The sweetish, rank smell of moonshade. And other things besides.

I filed each one away.

The wound in my calf ached. I hadn't been awake long. Drowsiness crept up on me, and I let my eyes close without meaning to.

I drifted through a handful of dreams, then realized with a jolt that I was still in the Alpha's study, and forced my eyes open.

A shadow stood over me. Damien was crouched in front of the sofa, his hand halted an inch from my forehead, knuckles slightly curled, as though he'd been about to brush back the hair falling across my face.

"Bad dream?"

My mind was blank. I nodded without thinking.

His gaze wandered down from my eyes and came to rest on my mouth. It stayed there a second. In the narrow space of the sofa, the air seemed to thicken and grow hot.

"I…" My voice came out hoarse.

"It seems I've come at a bad time."

A tall figure leaned in the doorway, a young man with pale blond hair and both hands in his pockets, grinning broadly.

Damien straightened and looked over. "Dominic. You seem to have a great deal of free time. Shall I find you something to do?"

Dominic lifted both hands, his glance sliding with meaning between the two of us. "Don't be like that. I came to talk business."

"You? Business? Go find a maid and have her taken back to her room first."

Dominic raised an eyebrow and went to call someone.

Only at the door did he speak to me, quietly. "Calla, why did you come here to work as a maid?"

I was thrown for a moment. "To pay a debt. My father owes money, so…"

"A debt." Dominic repeated the word and smiled slowly. "That isn't the story I heard."