I can’t. I can only shove my face into the seam where his bicep presses against his chest. He cradles me close. His wolf rumbles against my cheek.
A chair scrapes. Footsteps stomp across the room and a window is thrown open. Oh, thank Fate. A gust of blessed fresh air wafts in.
I blink and peek up. Dermot, the chief elder, is grinning at me as he drags a wooden dining room chair over to the window.
“Sit her there,” he tells Killian. “It’ll wear off.”
“What is it?” Killian asks as he leads me to the seat. My knees wobble.
I sink down, breathing deeper as the clean breeze sweeps the nastiness away. I lean on the window sill, stretching my head as far out as I can get it, like a dog in a car window.
“Too many unmated males, too far along in her heat. Their scent’s gonna make her sick.” Dermot slaps Killian’s back. “It’ll get better the more heats she has, the more you fuck her, get your scent in her. The first heats are the worst. It comes and goes. Drags on.” He smirks. “Enjoy it, my friend.”
Killian frowns. He’s still close, hovering. He touches my forehead like a dam checking her pup for fever.
“Open the other windows,” he says.
Folks scurry to follow his orders.
Dermot doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m not in heat. I remember heat; it’s seared into my muscle memory. It’s unadulterated misery. Mind controlling. Madness making. This is not that. This is a queasy stomach.
Thankfully, my insides are settling now, and I’m starting to feel ridiculous. I shrink in the hoodie, tug the zipper up as high as it’ll go. I’m not used to being the center of attention, and whenever I have been, it’s not been a good scene.
Killian’s hand wanders down and unzips the hoodie to my cleavage. He slides his finger up, lightly, very casually arranging the neckline so my neck shows. So everyone can see his bite.
He wants them to see.
I shiver to my toes. And I leave the zipper where he puts it.
Someone clears his throat.
Now that there’s ventilation in the room, I recognize the individual scents—in addition to Dermot, there’s Ivo, Tye, Eamon, Alfie, and Finn. They’re pack. Their scents are as familiar as my own. They’ve never bothered me before, but now, and especially mixed together, they smell disgusting. Worse than a latrine. All kinds of wrong.
“I guess you have a mate after all.” Dermot smirks from his perch on a stool at the breakfast bar. “Let me be the first to congratulate you.”
There’s a general choir of echoed congratulations. All for Killian.
The males studiously avoid looking my way. I swear that Finn Murphy actually scoots his chair further away from me.
“Why don’t you, uh, put her out on the porch?” Alfie says. “Since it’s bothering her in here.”
Put me on the porch? Like a dog?
Dermot cackles. “He can’t do that. You can tell you young pups aren’t mated. You don’t know shit.”
Killian’s wandering fingers are now fiddling with the tip of my braid. “He’s right. I can’t let you out of my sight,” he says low. “I’ll have someone get you a glass of water.”
Ugh. Gross. “No. Thank you. I can’t drink here.”
His eyebrows spear together.
“I don’t want to put anything in my mouth here.”
I brace for a smart remark—not one of my roommates would be able to resist, and they’re females—but he places my braid just so over my shoulder, and strokes down its length one last time. “I won’t be long.”
I shrug. I kind of feel like his luggage at this point, and I’m getting exhausted. The shower wasn’t enough time. I want to be in my own space. I need to clear the cobwebs from my head. They’re getting thicker the longer we’re together.
Killian joins the males, and their conversation resumes. I ignore it for a while, but eventually, as a steady breeze filters out the pheromones, my brain starts lazily paying attention.
They’re arguing about Cadoc Collins, the Moon Lake heir. He’s coming to train with Quarry Pack. That’s not unusual. The high-ranking wolves from North Border and Salt Mountain also send their oldest to train with us. We’re the best fighters. It’s unquestioned.
With Moon Lake, though, things are always complicated. They’re our closest pack in terms of physical distance, but the peace between us has always been tentative. They have ambitions for the five packs, and we have no interest in a united shifter nation where we’re all under Madog Collins.