KNOX’S POV
Every wolf in the compound smells her before I pull the bike into the lot, and I know this because the two prospects standing at the gate straighten up and their nostrils flare in unison like synchronized swimmers, except that synchronized swimmers don’t have canines that lengthen when they catch the scent of an Alpha-marked human on the back of a motorcycle that belongs to the nephew of the man who runs this building.
I park and swing my leg over then pull Ivy off the bike. Her hand is gripping mine hard enough that I can feel her pulse in her fingertips, which is fast – faster than the motorcycle-arousal fast and the about-to-c*m fast – and the speed of it tells me this is fear, and fear on Ivy smells different from arousal the way gasoline smells different from honey, but m
