I shake my head as I stare at all of them and try not to scoff. “You didn’t even say the same thing; how does that make any sense?”
“No person is only one thing,” Ellery counters, and I eye him with annoyance.
He can take his psychological babble and shove it.
“Look.” Ruger stands and my neck cranes to follow him. “Try smelling me.”
I quirk a brow and have the urge to issue some sort of sarcastic remark, but I swallow it down, strangely curious despite my irritation.
When I move to stand, he holds out a tattooed hand. “You can stay comfortable. Trust me, your senses will be able to pick me up.”
I inhale a little, still skeptical, and I’m highly aware of the other three men in the room. Their gazes are laser-focused on the side of my face, making my cheek feel like it’s about to erupt in flames. The tiny pull of air in my nose doesn’t tell me anything though. My brain doesn’t light up with knowledge. He doesn’t suddenly feel like home or smell like Mr. Right. Then again, the tattooed expanse of hard male chest that my eyes are currently privy to very well might be dulling my other senses.
“Try closing your eyes,” Ruger coaxes.
I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.
Because Ruger suggested it instead of commanded it, I listen and let my eyelids flutter closed. I take a tidy little mental sponge—that definitely doesn’t resemble a pair of boxer briefs—and scrub the image of a half-naked Ruger from my mind in an effort to focus on the task at hand.
Taking a larger pull from the air around me, I do my best to focus on scent—a sense I’ve often taken for granted before. In the past, smells have either resonated or they haven’t. Fresh chocolate chip cookies, warm coffee, the jealousy-inducing scent of a neighbor grilling steak. I’ve always just walked past smells as they occurred, never intentionally seeking them out unless I’m selecting a shampoo or deodorant. Perfumes were always a struggle for me. They were too strong, too artificial. I have a feeling my eerie side is to blame for that. But now, I’m searching for a scent in this room deliberately, and it’s slightly unnerving.
Inhaling a third time, I try to still my mind. That’s when I catch a soft subtle scent I can’t quite identify. It’s almost like cinnamon, but not—the smell deeper, richer somehow. Instead of trying to make sense of the individual notes that comprise what I’m sensing, I attempt to take in what it represents to me on a more primal level.
Sweet nostalgia with promises of the types of big-family holidays I’ve always dreamed about being a part of. Shelter in the storm, tranquility amidst tumult. That’s Ruger, layered with so many other more subtle things it would take ages to pick apart and identify.
I open my eyes and he’s smiling broadly down at me. He holds that grin as he sits back down on the couch, his posture more relaxed than it’s been since he came down the stairs.
“Okay, so you can kind of get feelings from scents,” I concede, turning back to the rest of the group so that I’m not tempted to nuzzle the others and see what I can figure out. Well, everyone but Gannon, the honest ass.
“So when is the next full moon?” I ask, already knowing that the answer is never going to feel like enough time.
Ellery grimaces. “Twenty-four days.”
Fuck my life.
I choke out a horrified laugh. “Twenty days is a breath. A blink. How am I supposed to decide if I want to claim four men by then?”
“Shifters,” Gannon corrects.
I flip him off.
I have to stand. To pace again. The urge to panic, to scream, to rip something apart is riding me hard. I grab a throw pillow from the corner of the couch as I pass it, not sure if I need it to muffle my shrieks, absorb my tears, or take the brunt of my anger.
Things were fitting together. They were moving in such a good direction. I fell asleep in a great headspace, excited about my wolf, happy to be here with them. I just made out with grumpy Gannon for fuck’s sake, that’s how ready I was to try this, to give things a shot.
But try is where I’m at.
I’m nowhere near ready to decide on forever.
And now the moon has become a ticking clock? Each rise and fall in the sky is counting down to an end I don’t even know how to process. There’s a weight on my shoulders, a pressure that wasn’t there before, and it feels like it’s robbing me of my choices. First the attack, then the Hunt and being bitten, and now this.
Trapped.
All of a sudden, I feel trapped.
By my magic.
By these men.
By the bastard who threw me into the Hunt.
This den has taken care of me and helped me from day one, but foreboding builds a fortress inside my chest and locks me up. For a second, I don’t see the room anymore, panic making me blind. My lungs compress and I have to force a shuddering breath through them.
Twenty fucking days, or I’m stuck as a crazy monster forever.
I scoff and shake my head, trying to dislodge the dread crawling up my throat. No. That isn’t an option. I won’t let myself be stolen by magic I didn’t even know I had a week ago. Which means I know where this path is going to lead.
To them.
Whether I like it or not.
The sad thing is, I was starting to like it, and I don’t know how this messed up revelation is going to change that. Will it?
Maybe I should just get it over with already.
“Noah,” Gannon’s voice invades my ears, and I whip my eyes over to him, already on the defensive for whatever surly bullshit or snarky comment he’s about to lob my way.
But I stop short, puzzlement trickling through me when I see he’s trying to hand me something.
“Here,” he offers, extending his arm even further. I look down and see a small dragon snow globe clutched in his hand. He must have snagged it when he went to his room and got dressed.
“Your screwvenir,” he reminds me, and my brow furrows.
“But we didn’t…” I trail off, looking from him to the other guys, who are watching us intently.
Gannon shrugs and that smug smirk sneaks back across his face. “One way or another, that kiss screwed you, so I figured it counted,” he jests as he shakes his hand, urging me to take the trinket from his outstretched palm.
I don’t know if I’m offended or endeared by his gesture.
“If nothing else, it’s been good luck for me. It belonged to a girl I once knew, in the pack I was in before this one. We were just kids, but I think Addi would have wanted you to have it. She was a pistol, just like you.”
It’s the tiniest crack in his voice on the last word that does it. It pulls me from the haze of my own trepidation and allows me to peer into his. His motions are casual. His words are nonplussed. But there’s something in his eyes that tells me all of this matters more than he’s letting on. That I matter.
Maybe it’s the antagonistic nature of our relationship so far or that I can tell that Gannon hates feeling vulnerable as much as I do, and I suddenly feel protective of that. Either way, I cock an eyebrow and level him with my own taunting grin.
“Did the kiss screw me, Gannon, or did the kiss screw you?” I bait, and I like the challenging glint that enters his eyes, much better than the sad, uncertain shadow that was just there.