21. Erik

Scent-mates…

Fuck me.

I guess that explains why they smell like salted caramel ice cream.

Which makes me want to kick myself, because a scent match never even came up when Xavier and I talked about the Irishman's interest in Jasmine. He definitely left his mark on her the last time they met – which was why Xavier couldn't settle until he'd lathered her head to toe in his own scent. I even wondered if they had some kind of ugly history, and she didn't tell us to avoid problems with the Roses. But Jasmine was so dismissive of her encounter with Patrick, we'd assumed it was just an unrequited crush.

And I boast about always being prepared for the worst?

"Scent-mate?" Jasmine's voice is so thin it breaks in the middle, and her perfume turns muddy and confused. "What are you talking about?"

Even though he must have expected it, Patrick looks like she just slapped him across the face. But this is one guy who's used to being knocked down and hauling himself up again.

"We're a scent match, sweetheart," he says in his soothing lilt. "I knew it the second I got close to you. I would've said something, but I thought you were too banged up by the attack to accept it."

"I don't understand." She's still shaking her head, but now she twists to look at me, her eyes desperate in her pale face. "Erik? Is this a joke?"

I, for one, am not fucking laughing.

"It could be," I reply cautiously. "But even if it's true, you don't have to act on it in any way."

The look the Irishman shoots me is pure, undiluted malice. "You know it's the fucking truth, Volk." He tilts his head, looking so much like a feral wolf it makes my hackles rise. "But maybe you talked her out of it. Your pack's good at that, isn't it? Making people believe what you want them to believe." I bristle at the insult, but he's not finished. "Did you convince her you're the only compatible mates for miles around, even though her scent says she's mine?"

I rear forward, ready to grab the mouthy pup by the scruff and toss him in the hallway. I can see Rose shifting uneasily behind his desk, but it's immaterial. He might be an uber, but I've neutralized more of my own kind than anyone he's ever met. And I sure as fuck didn't do it from behind a desk.

"Wait!" Jasmine leaps from her chair, her gaze jumping between us. "This is all crazy. Erik didn't say anything about this." She glances back at Garth and mistrust suddenly swims in those bottomless green eyes. "Unless… Did Declan do something to me, Erik? Mess with my memories, or something?"

Fuck me twice.

Anger burns through me, and I clench my fists to hold it back. "He would never do that to you, Jasmine."

"The Siren of San Antonio?" Patrick scrubs a thumbnail over the coppery scruff on his cheek, not even trying to hide his scorn. "Sure. He's as innocent as the pied fecking piper. Tell that to all those bastards his family took out."

Memories flash through my mind of Declan when I first met him, blackout drunk and heartbroken by the shit his father forced him to do. There was no crossing the Rusk Pack when Declan could sway their enemies with a single note. He could convince them to turn their guns on each other, to hand over their estates, or to go willingly to their own executions. His father used to tell him it was all he was good for, and for a long while Declan believed it. And now this little shit is sneering at his pain. Is it any wonder I'm tempted to put my fist through his grinning face? "You've got a death wish, pup."

But Patrick's grin just grows more feral. "And you're just proving my point, you big ‘eejit."

Before I can respond, Garth clears his throat, drawing our attention and pointing to the visitor chairs. "How about we sit down and talk about this rationally? Patrick, try to remember the Volks are our guests. And Erik, while you're in my territory, I appreciate you keeping the eyeshine under wraps."

I don't sit down, but I dial back the glower a fraction. Patrick might be getting under my skin, but he's not wrong about his scent. It changes when Jasmine is near, and the most obvious reason is a connection between them. I'm not sure if she believes they're scent mates, but she's confused enough without us tearing at each other's throats.

"Fine, but let me make something clear. Declan uses his gift for one purpose only, and that's to get as many abusive alphas off the street as possible. He'd never mess with Jasmine's memories or manipulate her emotions." I hold Garth's stare. "Tell me I'm lying, Rose."

One way of making an uber accountable – since even the strongest of us can't lie to each other.

"He's telling the truth." Garth nods at Patrick who shrugs and leans on the edge of his desk. Still close enough to strangle, but his attention is all on Jasmine as she sinks back into her chair. "Good. Now I know you have a lot to work through, but we need to discuss the Crenshaw-Quinn connection. Why would a man like Eammon Quinn be interested in a pharmaceutical company?"

"Uber alphas," I murmur. Their eyes narrow on me, and I wonder if I should just shut my mouth and leave. I don't owe this pack anything, and Xavier's already sent me three texts threatening to come over here and drag us both back. But I figure Patrick, at least, has some skin in the game now. And besides, the more I learn about Jasmine's father, the faster I can neutralize him. "Kayden's packmate said the Sawyers' real target is Crenshaw Pharmaceuticals. They're working on a drug that makes ubers out of ordinary alphas, and if they get their hands on the company, Kayden will clean up. I know for a fact the military has been looking into something similar for a while, and they'd pay a lot of money for that kind of tech."

"Just what we need," Garth growls in disgust. "The criminal underground pumping out an army of mutant ubers."

I'm tempted to roll my eyes at him, but Jasmine's scent is now so sharp it's burning my nose. And when I glance down, her grip on the chair has turned her knuckles white. "That can't be true. He never said he'd use it like that."

I bend to hear her. "What?"

"Hormone experiments." She looks up at me, her eyes wide with pain. "He said it was to help betas become omegas. Or to enhance us. Not to make soldiers...."

I frown, clearly missing some pieces to the puzzle. But Patrick scowls, his voice thick with contempt. "Your da wouldn't know how to lie straight in bed, sweetheart. You weren't the first he fucked with, and you won't be the last."

Jasmine blinks at him, her mouth going slack. "He told you what he did to me?"

"Enough." His hand hovers over the scar on her neck. It's not ugly, because no part of her could ever be called that, but it looks wrong. Like a wound that never healed right. "That's the injection site, isn't it?"

Jasmine just stares at him, clearly in shock. And when a shiver wracks her body, I can't take it anymore. I know my eyes are on fire, but I don't give a fuck. The pup's lucky I don't flatten him for upsetting her. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Patrick scrubs a hand over his face, leaving Jasmine to cast a shameful glance my way. I can see a world of hurt in her beautiful eyes and rage dances through me. What the fuck did her father do to her?

"Hormone manipulation," she says quietly. "I was an experiment."

I glance at the others. "You don't have to talk about this here…"

But she's staring at her hands, her voice a monotone. "On my sixteenth birthday, my father's chief scientist injected me with an experimental drug. It was a hormone enhancer, designed to turn me into an omega. Dr. Tampa said it was likely I was predisposed to the designation, so the drug was really just a booster. It enhanced my omega traits, making me more attractive to alphas. According to their research, an elusive scent, a pretty face, and addictive slick are the key factors in securing strong mates. Of course, they later admitted they had given me all the advantages of an omega with none of the disadvantages."

My mouth drops open with a grunt. "They said what?"

She ducks her head, her cheeks burning. "It doesn't matter. The point is, any scent match or pack bond would just be another lie. I was created in a lab, so this is all just window dressing."

She waves a hand at herself, but I snatch it out of the air, pressing it hard against my chest. "You're not fucking window dressing." She tries to pull away, but I hold on tight. "And we're not animals, Jasmine. Biology is only part of the equation. We can choose for ourselves."

She narrows her eyes at me. "How would you know? I could be like Declan, convincing you even when you don't realize it. You've just bought into the lie, Erik. You're responding to my hormones, and they don't even belong to me."

Garth stands up, walking straight to the sideboard and grabbing a bottle of whiskey and four glasses. "Whatever your father told you, Jasmine, it's not easy to fool an uber."

"But I can," she insists, turning to stare at him. "The drug has an in-built defense system. It muddies my scent and moderates my reactions. My father didn't want the truth getting out about his research, so he gave me the ability to lie to your face and get away with it. How many other omegas can do that?"

Garth hands me a glass, his glance grim. In this, at least, we're united. And her father is a walking corpse, if the pup hasn't already put him into the ground.

"A small number, based on the tests I saw in the military," I reply.

"Well, I can. I try not to, because I don't want to use anything he gave me, but you have to accept that I might be lying to you." She gives a frustrated shake of her head. "Even though this is the most honest I've been in a long time."

I want to smile at her, but I know she'll take it the wrong way. The truth is, everybody lies. And nobody holds themselves to the same standards that she does. But here she is, openly confessing to a guy who specialized in interrogation techniques. Because she doesn't want us to think she's more than a pretty exterior. "Well, I'm glad you can lie and get away with it," I tell her, swirling the liquor in my glass. "You deserve your secrets, sweetheart. Although I doubt there's anything you could tell me that would make me think less of you."

She blinks at me, so surprised it hurts my heart. "But what if…" She licks her lips, her scent spiking with stress. "What if it all falls apart? My dad said if I don't top up the injections every four years, it could end badly for me. I thought he meant I'd change designation or maybe go into a feral heat. But what if it's something worse?" Her eyes flick to Patrick, then dart away. "What if I had a mate, and I messed them up too?"

Dead. Her fucker of a father has taken his last breath, even if he doesn't know it yet.

I try to reign in my rage, but Patrick surprises me by saying in a soothing voice, "Maybe the drug altered a few things, Jasmine, but you're still you. No matter what happens, that won't change."

He takes her hand, and when she doesn't pull away, something inside me shifts. This is what she needs. Proof that she's more to us than a bunch of omega traits cooked up in a lab. Somehow, we need to convince her that she's a worthy mate, and that whatever happens in the future, it would be a privilege to stand at her side.

But my instincts tell me to tread softly. She's worn out, confused, and coming down off an adrenaline high. Confession can be cathartic, but it can also leave you hollowed out and exhausted. "We can talk to Peter, if you like. See if he knows someone who works in this area. Your father isn't the only one looking into hormone enhancers."

She pulls a face, but I don't think it's about our pack doctor specifically. "Maybe. But I need to think about it some more."

"Of course."

I give Garth a pointed look and he clears his throat. "If you'd like to freshen up, there's an ensuite right through there." He points at a door, and she nods, Patrick half-rising as she brushes past us and disappears into the bathroom.

As soon as I hear water running, I grab his shoulder. "I want to know everything her father said."

He shakes me off, his gaze fixed on the bathroom door. "I barely had to rough him up to get him talking, you know? The fucker was boasting about his so-called accomplishments."

My knuckles creak as I ball them into a fist. "I want him transferred to my custody. I've got some questions for him, as will the authorities. And Jasmine deserves the right to face him if she wants."

Patrick's brow wrinkles, but he gives a reluctant nod. "We should also be on the lookout for Tampa. That fucker cooked up the drug, so he'd know what happens if she stops taking it." He narrows his eyes at me. "I'm guessing you didn't demolish the dungeon in the basement when you took over the club?"

"It's hardly a dungeon," I scoff, although it probably seems that way to some of the assholes we've dragged through there. "And what do you know about it anyway?"

"More than a decade as one of Quinn's dogs? I know how those clubs run."

I just grunt and look at Garth. "Sawyer made it pretty clear he's coming for Grace whether he gets his hands on that drug or not. If you focus on him, I'll take care of the Quinn angle."

"You need me on both," Patrick says quickly. "They're all connected, yeah? You should put me on your team part-time."

There's no doubt he's only offering so he can stay close to Jasmine, and petty jealousy rears its head once more. "I can take care of Quinn," I tell him. "You should focus on shoring up your own backyard."

But Patrick steps up to me, a few inches short of my height but bristling with menace. "Let me get one thing straight, big fella. Jasmine is my backyard, along with my front yard, my cozy cottage exterior, and my fecking zip code. Anything that affects her, affects me. Got it?"

I glance at Garth, wondering how he puts up with having a yapping pup in the house. Which of course makes me think of Chewie, and Violet, and right back round to Jasmine again...

Who's stepping out of the bathroom, her eyes on Garth. "Can I talk to Grace now?"

He stands, a flicker of something crossing his face. "She's asleep, I'm afraid. She's been under the weather lately, which is why we didn't go with the rest of the pack to LA."

Jasmine instantly looks worried. "Of course. I didn't realize it's so late. But she's okay?"

"She's fine. And she'd love to see you in the morning if you'd consider staying over. We have a suite just down the hall you can use."

But Jasmine is already shaking her head. "We should go home." Her eyes flick to me. "Back to the club, I mean."

"As you said, it's late." Garth is using the boardroom voice that built a multinational company, and I can see Jasmine wavering. "Grace would love to see you at breakfast," he adds, sweetening the deal.

Jasmine glances at me. "What do you think? The other guys…"

"Know where we are. But we can call them before bed." I can't resist shooting Patrick a smug glance. Being under the same roof isn't quite as good as sharing the same suite, and we both know it.

"Then thanks," Jasmine says, then looks tentatively at Patrick. "And maybe we can talk tomorrow? About this scent match stuff."

She doesn't sound convinced, but he seems to grow an inch. "That'd be grand. And maybe I could take you on a date. Dancing?" His gaze skims over her dress, his tongue all but hanging out. "Whatever you'd like, I'd be up for it."

That's stating the obvious, but she just gives him a tentative nod as Garth directs us down the hall. He opens a door to an elegant suite, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "We have plenty more, if you'd prefer separate rooms."

It's not the sort of thing you'd say to prospective mates, but my scent is the weakest on Jasmine's skin, and this bastard knows it. "The room's fine," I tell him curtly, ignoring his murmured good night as I shut the door. Jasmine seems to miss my display of poor manners, kicking off her heels and heading straight to the bed. She groans as she leans down and runs her hands over the silk comforter. "The club rooms are great, but there's nothing like a Richard Rose bed."

My brows shoot up, and she smirks. "He designed it, I mean."

I nod and walk around to the nightstand, eyeing the bed. Gray comforter, a bunch of pillows, and a fancy blanket folded at the foot. It looks like any other bed outside of an army bunk, but I'm not stupid enough to say that to an omega. "You know you can decorate the residence any way you want," I tell her as I remove my jacket and holster, placing the firearm on the nightstand. "Xavier has changed a few things since we moved in, but we're open to anything."

Her gaze clings to the gun for a moment before drifting back to my face. "But do you think you'll stay long enough to make it worth your while? I mean, you'll be putting a new management team in soon, won't you? When you head off to your next club."

I frown, my hand pausing on my belt. "This is a last stop for us," I say slowly. "Didn't Xavier tell you that?"

She licks her lips, her eyes searching mine. "No. I mean, he said you've cleaned up a dozen clubs. I just assumed you'd move on to the next one as soon as you're finished."

"I've trained up a team to take over, and some undercover law enforcement will be working with them." I strip off my henley and step out of my pants, leaving just my boxer briefs. "You must have wondered what was going to happen. Were you worried we'd just pack up and leave?"

"Casper doesn't like strange places," she says quietly. "And the residence could be a real home. If you add a few designer touches, I mean."

She tries to smile, but I can see the wobble in her lips. I strip back the comforter, taking her hand and leading her over to the bed. "Let's get you comfortable and call Xavi. We can check up on Casper and make sure they're settled in for the night."

She nods, her head tipping forward as I unclasp the back of her dress and let it slide down her body. I catch sight of a wisp of lacy panties, Xavier's fingerprints winking at me on her thighs, and bite back a groan. But before I fuck up completely, I grab my henley off the bed and tug it over her head. When it settles on her much smaller frame, she snorts, bunching up the extra fabric as she crawls into bed.

The image is enough to make my head explode, but I follow her under the blankets and reach for my phone. Xavier, predictably, answers on the first ring. "Just checking in. We've decided to spend the night with Grace, so we won't be back until morning."

I wait for Xavier to let me have it with both barrels, but he just says, "I'm glad. You both need a breather. Do you want to talk to Casper? He's insisting we use video."

I'm a little surprised, but as soon as their faces flash on the screen, Jasmine gives a sigh of relief. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry, Casper. I did it again, leaving you in a strange place."

"With two of our alphas," he reminds her. "And I told you I can look after myself. Besides, Xavi said you needed some space, and I know all about that."

He's clearly trying to reassure her, but Jasmine shakes her head. "It's not about space. I love your company and want to be with you more than anything. I just got overwhelmed, I think…"

"Because of the dressing room?" Casper bites his lip, looking uncertain. "Did Dec and I go too far?"

"No! I loved that. Tell him…" She glances up at me, her face strained. I know she's thinking about the Siren of San Antonio, and I brace for her to blurt out the truth. It's not something we've shared with Casper, since he's never been to the club and witnessed Declan in action. Not that it excuses us for keeping things from them. The last thing we want to do is hurt the pack, but Dec deserves his secrets, same as anyone.

I think Jasmine can sense what I'm struggling with because her eyes soften, her hand brushing the back of my knuckles. "I'm sorry I ran out," she tells Casper. "But I feel better now. And I can't wait to see you in the morning."

"Oh, yeah?" He stretches back, a cocky grin on his face, and I realize he's lying in Xavier's bed. It's the biggest in the residence and the closest to a traditional nest with curved sides, a deep base, and more silky fabrics than one man can ever justify. But Casper looks pretty damn attractive leaning back against a pile of pillows, his bare chest glowing in the lamplight. "Tell me about your room," he says with a cheeky grin. "Is it like sleeping in a magazine spread?"

"It's pretty fancy," Jasmine admits, stroking the nearest blanket. "But Erik said we can redecorate the residence if we want. We could ask Grace and her guys for some tips."

"Shopping spree!" Casper makes a ka-ching sound, nudging Xavier. "Get the black card ready for a beating, Alpha."

Xavier's lips quirk. "What's mine is…"

"Mine! I know. Because this courting business is the best." He smacks a kiss on Xavi's cheek, then leans forward, his pink lips quirking. "And don't think I've forgotten about those sex toys we need to buy, Jasmine. Now I know you and Erik have a favorite porn site, we can compare notes."

The phone jerks, Xavier looking at me with raised brows. I can't quite hide my smirk, especially because Jasmine's cheeks are a pretty shade of pink. "I think that's enough for tonight," she says quickly. "But will we catch up for breakfast?"

"I've got an early doctor's appointment," Casper admits, some of the sparkle going out of his face. But then Xavier nudges him and he gives an exaggerated sigh. "I'm going to go see the specialist Peter's been talking up. Some overachieving omega with like five degrees to his name. I guess that means he's an expert in headcases like me."

Jasmine finds my hand in the covers and squeezes it. "I'm so glad! Want us to come meet you?"

"No, stay and have some time with your friend. We'll catch up right after, okay?"

Jasmine leans against me, the tension draining out of her body. "Okay. You know I love you, Casper, right?"

The way his face softens, I'm pretty sure it's the first time she's said the words to him. But he doesn't hesitate, reaching out to stroke the screen. "Me too, sweetheart. See you in your dreams."

We finish the call, but the look in Xavier's eyes is seared into my brain as I turn out the light. How long have we been looking for this? All the cities, all the missions, and nothing feels as worthwhile as this moment.

"You love him?" I ask, propping myself up on an elbow so I can look down into the faint outline of her face.

"I do. I've never said that before, but it feels right. I can't imagine waking up tomorrow without him."

My heart clenches at her sweet words, and her hand finds my face in the darkness. "You think it's too soon?"

"I don't think there's a schedule for falling in love."

She makes a soft, happy sound. "I've spent twenty-three years wondering if love is a lie. Now that I've found it, I want to grab it with both hands. Even if we still have to grow into it a bit."

I think she's doing a damn good job so far, and I can't help but wonder if she's got more to give. "A home, a mate… The next logical move is a pack." My heart is speeding up, but I reach out and gently tuck a curl behind her ear. "You think you might want to grab that too, someday?"

She looks up at me, her green eyes dark as moss in the dim light. "Is that what you want? Even though we come with all these…" Her voice trails off, her fingers feathering over the injection scar on her throat. "Casper is amazing, but you have to admit, there are easier omegas than us out there."

"Easy has never interested me." I capture her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers. They taste like her tears and the musk of my packmates, with a whisper of that salted caramel sweetness. "I know you think your father changed you, but you're not fake, Jasmine, and you're not a liar. In fact, you're one of the most genuine people I've ever met."

She goes up on an elbow, copying my pose. "What do you mean?"

"I see it every time you explain something to Casper so he won't feel left out. And how you listen to Violet, even though she's told you the top three tips to puppy rearing a hundred times over. And Xavier? You let him take care of you, even though your father taught you to fear men like him." I brush my thumb over her bottom lip. "That's love, sweetheart."

She studies my face, her eyes wide and searching. "Is that really how you see me?"

"I'm the one in dark rooms, watching your every move, remember?"

She doesn't reply, except to reach up and cup my neck. When she pulls me down, I'm enveloped in her scent. Not just my packmates imprinted on her skin, but Patrick, too, and it's official. Petty jealousy aside, the little shit doesn't smell half bad.

But then I'm only thinking of Jasmine, because her tongue is touching mine, her kiss slow and deep. When we pull apart, she runs her fingers down my cheek, like she's seeing me with new eyes. "Thanks for coming after me. I know you think it's your job, but it's the first time someone's done it for the right reasons."

I cup her face, hoping she can hear the truth in my promise. "Always."