Scent
869 Words
If scent were a weapon, he’d already have me on my knees.
I’d barely stepped into the Academy dorms, and already, the scent of testosterone and wolf musk was thick in the air—sharp pine, bergamot, raw meat, and arrogance. But his scent? It sliced through the rest like a freshly sharpened blade. He smelled like cinnamon bark crushed between two sinful palms. Dangerous. Hot. And infuriatingly… edible.
Not him. Please, God, not him.
I clutched my duffel bag tighter and kept my face lowered beneath the stupid shaggy wig I stole from a drama club room. My shoulders were taped, chest bound flat. I even packed a bottle of artificial pheromones to throw off any dominant noses. I looked, smelled, and walked like a man.
Mostly.
I had one job. Find my mate. Kill him. End the curse of the bond before it ever ignited. I had a list—clear, cold, detailed.
Mate’s scent will trigger nausea and weakness.
Voice will echo in my bones.
Skin will spark like it’s crawling with static.
His wolf will seek me in its sleep.
None of those signs matched Devon Maddox, my new dorm partner, who stood shirtless at the center of our shared room, towel hung around his hips like he just stepped out of a porn scene with poor plot but incredible lighting.
“You’re late, roommate,” he said, smirking. “I almost claimed your side of the bed.”
He didn’t look at me—he inspected me, like he could peel the truth off my skin with his eyes alone. They were gold—sharp and animalistic, glowing faintly under the shitty Academy fluorescents.
“I’m… Cain,” I croaked, voice lowered to a masculine register. “Transfer from South Pack.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Cain? Fitting. You look like someone who’d kill their own brother. Or f*ck mine.”
My jaw locked. Devon sauntered over, his body gleaming with leftover water droplets. I took a step back—subtle. Controlled. He noticed.
He always noticed.
His eyes dipped to my neck, where my scent blocker had started to sweat off. s**t. I could feel the heat radiating off my glands. I angled my face slightly, hoping he wouldn’t—
“Smells like sugar and blood,” he murmured, nose tilting toward my throat. “You a virgin or just spicy?”
I turned my head. “Are you always this disgusting or am I just lucky?”
He grinned. “I’d offer to take your innocence, but I think your attitude’s tighter than your ass.”
Kill me now. Or him. Preferably him.
Devon walked past me, brushing my shoulder on purpose, and flopped onto the bed closest to the window. His towel dropped slightly. I nearly choked.
This was going to be hell.
Later that night, I sat on my mattress—back straight, pen scratching against paper inside the privacy of my notebook hidden beneath the pillow.
Entry #43
Subject: Devon Maddox
Alpha status: Confirmed.
Match probability: Zero.
Scent trigger: Not painful. Just… infuriating.
Skin: Unconfirmed. I refuse to touch him. Ever.
Mission status: Still intact.
Kill the mate. Escape the bond. Don’t fall.
“Writing your love letters already, Pretty Boy?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Devon stood at the doorframe—naked. No towel. No warning. Just full frontal audacity.
“Holy—PUT SOMETHING ON!”
He grabbed a towel lazily and wrapped it around his waist. “Relax, I was born like this. And if you’re gonna keep looking at my d**k like that, at least take notes.”
I launched a pillow at his face. He caught it mid-air and tossed it back, smug as hell.
“Ever seen one in real life?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Wait. You haven’t. You’re a freshman. Or… maybe a late bloomer?”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.
“None of your business,” I grunted.
He leaned closer. “I’ll make it my business. You keep staring like you’re in heat.”
He was a monster. A walking, talking hormone with a god complex. But this—this wasn’t the kind of wolf I was meant to find. I was sure of it. His scent didn’t cause nausea. His touch didn’t burn. His voice didn’t echo. He wasn’t my mate.
And yet… I hadn’t stopped trembling since I walked into this room.
By midnight, I was curled up under the sheets, jaw clenched, fingers twitching. I could hear him breathing on the other side of the room—slow, steady, obnoxiously calm.
He muttered something in his sleep. Then again. My name?
No.
Couldn’t be.
He didn’t know it.
I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered a prayer to the moon. Let him stay dumb. Let him keep thinking I’m just another guy. Let me get through this mission without feeling anything.
Because if Devon Maddox wasn’t my mate… then why the hell was I craving his scent like it was oxygen?
He murmured again in his sleep. This time, louder.
“Mine.”
I froze.
He was sleep-talking.
And the worst part?
He was sniffing the air…
- Writer
