Page 8 of Examining the Bond

This scent—the rich sweetness that has my senses in a chokehold—isdifferent.It lacks the powerful punch of an alpha scent, but there’s also too much edge for it to belong to an omega. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever smelled before, and with every second I linger outside the room, it drives me more insane.

Desperation claws at my insides, urging me to knock on the door, and my hand is on the handle before she even calls for me to come in.

The exam room is small and identical to all the others on this floor, with a desk and rolling stool tucked into the far right corner. Slatted blinds block out most of the sunlight trying to creep through the window on the far wall, and a plastic chair—which is currently occupied by a fat pink duffle bag—sits in the other corner.

I open my mouth to greet the patient sitting on the exam table to my left, but my tongue refuses to work when my gaze settles on her. She’s wearing dark leggings and an oversized pink hoodie that nearly swallows her whole. Her vibrant red hair is twisted into a single braid that falls over her shoulder, and a light smattering of freckles decorates her nose and cheeks. When my eyes lock with her ice-blue ones, I freeze.

She’s stunning, her presence more dominant than any omega I’ve ever met, but still too subtle to be an alpha. I inhale again, letting her scent roll through me, soaking into my bones.

My thoughts are scrambled as I struggle to recall any bit of my bedside manners, and my mouth still refuses to cooperate. I probably seem as professional as a brand new nursing student right now, and my cheeks prickle with embarrassed heat. This is not at all how I saw this appointment going, and I haven’t even introduced myself.

I open my mouth to do just that, but she cocks a slender brow at me, making my insides wiggle, and suddenly my mind goes blank aside from a single word.

Shit.

CHAPTER FOUR

RIANN

The alpha standing across the room from me is an androgynous goddess, quite possibly the most gorgeous human I’ve ever seen. Her hair and eyes are dark, her skin a stunning tan color that suggests she may be of Latin descent. One glance at her name tag—Dr. Skylar Morales—supports my suspicion.

A second later, a wave of crisp, fresh pine slams into me, immediately overriding my senses. It’s coupled with a layer of smoke underneath.

Oh. My. God.

She smells incredible, like a weekend hike through the woods. Like summer nights and bonfires.

Like fucking heaven.

Her short hair hangs just over her eyes, and there’s a confidence about her that only an alpha could possess. Assured, proud, commanding. It wouldn’t matter if we were the only twopeople in the room, or if we were surrounded by a hundred others, she would be the focal point.

My chest tightens, and I immediately scold myself. Now is not the time to fawn over a hot alpha.

Especially a woman.

Last time I checked, I wasn’t even into women.

Was I…?

“Hello, Miss Saunders,” she says, her eyes falling to the chart in her hands. Even her voice is dripping with fucking sex appeal. It’s deep and velvety, brushing over my skin like a pair of lips, intent on setting my entire body on fire.

My face flames, and I know my cheeks are beet red. Hopefully she thinks I’m sick or something, but I’m sure my pheromones will give me away. Rich, sweet marshmallow is bleeding into the air, tangling with the freshness of pine and smoke, blending into a delicious, almost familiar scent.

I try to keep my face stoic, emotionless, but I’m helpless against the warmth spreading through my body, making me sweat.

What the hell is happening?

If she’s affected by the swell of sugary perfume pumping into the air with my anxiety, she doesn’t show it, which gives me a bit of relief. Maybe she’s just exceptionally professional. Maybe she’s bonded, even though I don’t see any marks on her neck. Or maybe I’m not radiating lust the way I think I am. My pheromones might not even be strong enough to bother her, which would be the only godsend in this entire situation.

“My name is Dr. Morales,” she introduces herself after an awkward moment. Or maybe it’s only awkward because I’m making it that way.

Get it together, Riann.

“I’m one of the specialists here at the Buchanan Center,” she explains, still not looking at me. “We’re going to do our best to get everything sorted out for you. You’re in good hands.”

At the mention of hands, my eyes immediately fall to her long, slender fingers clutching the clipboard, and my stomach flip-flops. I shouldn’t be imagining all the filthy things those gorgeous, lithe hands can do.

I quickly drag my gaze back up and find her looking at me again. She’s staring at me with an eyebrow arched, waiting for some kind of response, and I realize I haven’t said anything this entire time.