Chapter 21: Elliott - Wrong Date, Right Mates

Three Months Later

Wet leaves stick to the pavement on the path to the Cardot Center for Innovation and Research. I readjust my scarf to guard more of my neck from the biting chill. I just need to get through this interview, then I can hide under the covers at my dorm.

My article about Alden and the Heat Seekers app came out two months ago and went viral. I’m not sure what it was about my writing or the story that drew so much attention—good and bad. I’ll never unsee the things said about me in the comment section of my article. But it wasn’t all bad. My dream literary agent reached out to me with an offer of representation, and we’ve already sold rights to my first novel, based on my article.

I just have to finish it. I’m not sure how I want to end it because the true ending is a bit of a downer. Instead of celebrating my achievements, and planning for the future, I’ve been walking through a fog of exhaustion and functional depression. I caught a cold that’s lingered in my chest for weeks.

Food doesn’t taste good anymore. I can barely write. My brain is just too foggy to find the words. Noel is worried, but I’m not. The only people I worry about are Alden and Tyler.

I wonder what they think of the article, especially the parts where I described the way their scents had already chosen each other. It felt a little bit like I was defiling their love by writing about it, but it also felt like I was writing a love letter to them.

I don’t believe in random occurrences. I think I was pulled into their life for only a moment, and I served my role. I hope I helped them find their way from friends to lovers. But if that was true, why do I still carry them with me? Why do I feel like something is missing? Why is every scent nauseating, even my own?

I haven’t had a single heat spike since I said goodbye to them. You’d think I’d be relieved. This is the longest I’ve gone without my body tormenting me, but something’s wrong, like I’m broken, or my body is poisoning me.

This interview is the only thing holding me together and keeping me moving forward. It’s stupid. It’s not like someone is going to hand me a miracle pill while I’m here, but I need to know that there’s hope in the future.

I press the button beneath a camera posted on a wall beside the entrance.

“Name and identification?” someone asks from the tinny speaker.

I hold my ID up to the camera. “Elliott Bates for Dr. Park, please.”

My voice quivers. I take a deep breath and roll my shoulders back. There’s nothing to be nervous about. This is just like any other interview for my sex column, except instead of interviewing an intimidating leather daddy, I’m interviewing the lead researcher at Cardot’s Department of Omega Research.

The door unlocks. “Come in,” says a bored voice within.

I pull the door handle. It’s heavier than I expected, and I can’t open it before the lock latches again. I hurry back to the intercom and press the button. “Sorry. I⁠—”

The latch unlocks, and I hurry to grab the handle and pull, nearly taking a ride with the door as it swings open.

“Have a seat over there,” says an omega at the front desk without looking up from her textbook. She twists a strand of turquoise hair around a purple highlighter like a curling iron as she reads, then adds, “Someone will be with you at some point.”

Mood, queen.

I flip open my Moleskine Cahier notebook and run through my notes again. Sweat smudges the pages I touch. I rub my palms on my pants. I don’t know why I’m so damn nervous. I’ve prepared for this meeting half a dozen times, only for it to be canceled for the laziest excuses.

Dr. Park’s tortoise has gone missing. Dr. Park’s suffering from a mysterious illness. Same, Dr. Park, same. Dr. Park’s local dry-cleaning establishment burned to the ground with all his clothes inside. Even Reese, the researcher Dr. Park has tasked with delivering his excuses to me, sounded doubtful about that last one.

An elevator beeps somewhere above, and beeps again with each floor it descends. A bell dings and the elevator doors open. An omega with square electric blue glasses and short brown hair swooping over his forehead strides toward me, arm extended.

“You must be Elliott. I’m Reese.”

“Nice to meet you.” I wave awkwardly instead of shaking his hand because I’m pretty sure mine is sweaty again already. “In person, I mean.”

“I feel like we’re old friends by now.” He laughs. “I love your column, by the way.”

“Thank you.” My cheeks heat. I’m still not used to people recognizing me from my byline.

“Dr. Park is finishing a meeting, a real one this time.” He winks. “I’ll give you a tour on the way up.” He rubs a polished spot on the wavy hair of a bronze bust. “This is Emil Cardot, the old dead guy for which this is all possible. Please rub his head.”

I sputter. “What?”

“It’s a workplace urban legend. I wouldn’t risk it.”

I smile, the first true smile I’ve had in a while, and rub the same spot of hair. He looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t know any old rich guys. “So, what’s it like working for Dr. Park?”

“Interviewing me already, are you?”

“Guilty.”

“Lucky for you, I’m very vain and will tell you all our trade secrets as long as you quote me in your article.”

“Are your secrets as fictional as Dr. Park’s excuses?”

He feigns a scandalized gasp. “I worked hard on those excuses.”

“It was you?”

“I’m sorry. It was either that or tell you that he declined. I needed more time to chip away at him.” He laughs. “Aside from the fictional excuse drafting, working on Park’s team is my nerdy omega dream come true. There are so few teams focusing on our issues, and most of them are run by alphas only in it for the Big Pharma paycheck.

“But Dr. Park actually cares. He’s kind of an asshole sometimes, but he’s passionate about giving omegas power over their bodies. You’re not recording this are you? Please don’t write that I called him an asshole.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep that off the record. The other stuff, though, that’s why I want to interview him.” I feel energized in a way I haven’t in a while. “Knowledge is power, and we know so little. Meanwhile, we know every mundane detail about alpha biology.”

Reese beams. “Exactly!”

“If you’re interested, I’d love to interview you on your own sometime. Omega researchers are pioneers in the field. You’ll probably be in textbooks someday.”

“See, I knew I liked you.”

The elevator doors open, and he leads me through a pair of glass sliding doors, past an anteroom with a handwashing station and a row of lab coats hanging from hooks, and into an open workspace the size of a small theatre or auditorium.

“Welcome to the Department of Omega Research. This is our main research hub, but we have several dedicated labs for more specialized research.”

“More specialized than this?”

A row of industrial-sized freezers hum on our left. Vent hoods loom over rectangular workstations orbited by researchers working with futuristic machinery I’m definitely not smart enough to ask about.

A few of the researchers look our way and smile or wave. A couple alphas stare openly as they breathe in my direction. My skin starts to itch, and my anxiety returns.

“Dalton, close your mouth and stop studying our guest,” Reese says.

Dalton snaps his mouth shut with an audible pop and an apologetic look, then turns back to his station.

“Do I reek?” I whisper.

“No. They’re just used to my scent, and I’m pretty sure Dalton is due for a rut soon. He’s usually much better behaved. Anyway, our primary focus is to develop effective treatments to allow omegas to make choices about their lives and bodies without being swayed by their hormones. That’s the PR answer, anyway.”

“What’s the real one?”

“We think the current suppressants on the market suck, and want to make our own.”

“Where can I sign up?” I joke.

“Right? We’re not quite ready for human trials, or any trials for that matter. But we recently discovered a new gene present in some omegas resistant to traditional suppressants.”

I grin, giddy with hope. “This is amazing. You’re going to change lives.”

“Make sure you put that in the article so I can send it to my mom. Maybe that’ll spare me from another lecture about how I should be focusing on finding an alpha and starting a family.” He pretends to gag. “Gross.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll write something for her to frame.” The alpha leading this lab isn’t the story. Reese is. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Reese explains more as he ferries me from one workstation to the next. “We’d love to get more omegas into the lab, but unfortunately, there just aren’t that many candidates. That’s my pet project. Recruitment.”

“Tell me more,” I ask as he slows to a stop at the last door on the left; Dr. Park’s office, according to the engraved placard.

“Oh, I will, hopefully over brunch?” He knocks on the door.

“I’m in.” I just hope I’ll be interested in eating.

“Dr. Park? I’ve got Elliott Bates here for you.”

My stomach twists with nerves.

“Don’t worry, you’ve got this,” Reese whispers.

The door opens, and a familiar scent crashes over me—ocean and vetiver. My heart races. My body heats so fast I feel dizzy. My ears ring. Am I having a psychotic break?

“You’re late,” says a voice that invades my dreams and haunts my fantasies.

The door parts wider to reveal Tyler fucking Park, apparently. His black hair is shiny, tidied into a natural part, a little longer on top, and he’s dressed casually in a long-sleeve tee with the research department’s logo on it. He’s totally different from the lab professor I’d expected, or the surfer I tried to rescue.

“That was my fault, Boss,” Reese says. “I got a little excited, and now we have brunch plans.”

Tyler’s dark eyes pin me in place. There’s a bite mark scar on his neck. The floor spins. My vision blurs and my knees buckle. I teeter back on my heels.

His scent surrounds me as he lunges forward and catches me. “Why do we keep meeting like this?”

“I’m not in⁠—”

“Wait, you two know each other?” Reese asks.

“Yes,” Tyler says at the same time as I say, “No.”

Tyler lowers me onto a small couch with his scent on it. Maybe he naps here on long workdays?

“Reese, can you get him something cold to drink from the kitchen?”

“On it.”

“Are you okay?” Tyler asks.

“Yeah. You just surprised me.”

He frowns. “You weren’t expecting me?”

“Dr. Park doesn’t really have a social media presence. You’re a very mysterious scientist.”

“He’s not mysterious. He just hates taking pictures,” Reese says, returning with a bottle of water and a can of… Grackle Juice?

Am I dead? Is this hell? Grackle Juice comes in cans too?

“Thanks, Reese.” Tyler takes the water bottle, unscrews the cap, and passes it to me. “Drink.”

My hands shake as I lift the bottle to my lips.

He frowns again and swoops in to take the bottle after I take a sip. “Good omega.”

Reese silently mouths Good omega? “Should I… Shall I… I should go, right?” He says. “I mean, if that’s okay with you, Elliott? I can stay and chaperone, if not.”

“He doesn’t need a chaperone,” Tyler says.

“Thanks, Reese, but I’m good.”

Reese nods, relief donning his features. He pauses at the door, hand on the handle. “Door open or closed? Cracked?” He models each option for us.

“Closed, please,” I say.

“We’ll talk later,” he says, then leaves. I wonder if he’s the kind of omega that will run to the water cooler or take this secret to the grave.

Tyler passes me the bottle again. “Take another sip. Have you eaten?”

I hide behind the bottle of water and drink. I’m not telling him that all I’ve had was a nourishing breakfast of coffee and generic Adderall.

“Are you sick?”

I shake my head slowly, then stop. I feel seasick on land.

He pulls a Sumo orange out of a desk drawer and peels it, then takes my water and parks it on his desk. “Eat.” He dispenses an orange slice into my hand.

I take a bite, and sweetness fills my mouth. Mm. I haven’t had any luxury produce since I left Alden’s.

“Something’s wrong.” He sits down beside me, drowning me in his scent, warmth radiating from his body.

“I’m fine. Turn down the alpha anxiety.” I flush hot all over and my stomach clenches like a fist.

This time his frown is more of an upside-down smirk, a you’re full of shit sort of look. He seems to frown a lot more now than when we met on the beach. He hands me another orange slice. “Better?”

I swallow. “Yeah, sorry about this. I should go. I don’t want you to catch whatever this is. Reese already answered my questions, and I can email you any I forget.” I brace myself on the armrest, and rise to my feet. Blood roars in my ears.

“Elliott,” Tyler chides, and helps me lie down on the couch. “Let’s take this scarf off.”

I lift my head, and he does the rest. The air grows charged as his nostrils flare, the first sign of attraction I’ve seen.

“It’s probably just a migraine, or too much caffeine, and not enough food.”

“There’s no such thing as just a migraine,” he mutters as he dims the lights, my sweet, perceptive alpha. Alden’s alpha, I amend. “You’re too pale.”

“It’s winter.”

He props his bag under my feet, then sits on the floor beside my head.

“So, you found a mate?”

“No.”

I turn my head toward him, and stare pointedly at his neck.

“You found my mate, and then you found me.”

“Alden?”

He nods, and his frown smooths into a faint smile.

Warmth fills me. A pleasant kind. “That’s perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted.” My vision blurs. No, I refuse to get sick or cry in front of him.

“I read your article.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shushes me. “I love the way you write, how you sound so much like yourself that each time I read another column from your backlog, I feel like I know you a little more.”

I lift my head. “Really?”

He nods. “I didn’t know you before, but I know you a little bit more now. You’re very talented, by the way.”

“Thank you,” I say weakly.

“Have another orange slice, little goose.”

“You mean gosling?”

He laughs. “You still remind me of Alden.” I feel myself getting wet. It’s just because he’s hot and I know how good he can make me feel. That’s it.

“I don’t see what’s funny about your poor vocabulary,” I say.

“I don’t think you’re having a migraine. I don’t think you’re in heat either. I think your unmanageable heats have a reason.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t think you know anything about my body.”

“I think you might have a mate-dependent illness,” he continues, unperturbed. “I think that’s why you reacted so strongly to me and Alden.”

“That sounds like a great way to convince an omega to let an alpha bite them.”

“Can I sit with you?”

I nod. He helps me sit up slowly. Nausea swells. Tyler snatches the waste bin and holds it out just in time, curling one arm around my shoulders to support me while I vomit.

“Sorry,” Tyler says, moving the bin aside. “That was my fault.” He sits on the couch and eases me down with my head on his lap.

“S’okay.” I turn my head toward his stomach. He smells so good, and he smells like Alden too.

There’s nothing sexual about this position. Tyler isn’t hard. He’s taking care of me.

“Better?” he asks.

“Mmhm.” I nuzzle closer, lifting his shirt, drawn by his scent—their scent—and pull back. “Sorry.”

He shushes me gently. “Stay. Rest.”

“But Alden…”

“Alden is on his way. And he would want me to help you feel better.”

A sense of calm falls over me. My chills fade. My brain fog clears slowly while he tells me his hypothesis.

“You don’t have to commit to a mate bond, now, or ever.” His hand pauses and he tenses. “But we think joining our pack could help regulate your heat cycles and decrease your symptoms.”

“Because we’re scent matches?” I ask, face still buried against his abs.

“You knew?”

“I guessed.”

The door behind me opens, and Alden enters. “You’re both very good at sacrificing your own happiness. Thank goodness I’m greedy.” He closes the door and crosses to us, dressed in a gray polo shirt that at first looks simple, until he draws nearer and I spot the intricate pattern making up the soft cotton.

He kneels beside the couch and strokes my hair, wafting his concentrated scent from his wrist. “Are you alright? I felt Tyler’s worry through our bond.” He glances at the waste bin. “You poor thing.” There’s a bite mark on Alden’s neck too, a little bigger than the one on Tyler’s.

“I’m okay.” I grimace. “I’m sorry for the way I left. And for the article.”

“Don’t be,” Alden says.

“You can be a little sorry,” Tyler says. “Alden was heartbroken when you disappeared.”

“Only a little heartbroken.” Alden whacks Tyler’s shin. “No guilt trips.”

“Ouch.”

“Your article was beautiful, and you brought us together,” Alden continues. “But something is still missing, just like when we built your nest.”

He layers his hand over Tyler’s, doubling the calming weight against my back.

“You,” they say simultaneously.

A shiver trails down my spine.

“Still not feeling well?” Tyler asks.

“No. Well, yeah. But that’s not why I shivered. That ‘creepy mates speaking at the same time thing’ was like the twins in The Shining.”

Alden laughs. “Damn. I was trying to be romantic.”

Tyler looks affronted. “It was a coincidence. I would never do that on purpose.”

“Do you feel like we’re missing too?” Alden asks.

I nod, admitting, if only to myself, that Tyler was right about why I’ve been sick. I feel better the longer I spend near them.

Alden strokes my hair again. “Poor sweet omega suffering alone,” he croons. “Rest. We’ll take care of you.”