I was thirty minutes late and slled like flowers.
Literally.
Spent the afternoon tangled with two weeds in one of our private testing gardens—purely scientific, of course.
Testing a new pheromone inhibitor for poisonous ogas.
From the way they were moaning my na, I think I deserve the five stars review.
I still had the scent of overripe honeysuckle on my skin when I stepped into the restaurant.
And for the first ti in a long ti, I felt... underdressed.
There he was. Luther Wilkers.
Tall, immaculate, and judging like I’d just tracked mud through a cathedral.
His tie was loose, but that stiff spine and those tightly crossed arms said everything.
Purple eyes- God, those eyes— looked over like I was the gum stuck to his Louboutin.
I grinned. Oh, he was going to hate .
A rare one.
A poisonous oga.
I couldn’t help the slow, amused smile spreading across my face.
Prude.
Arrogant.
High-maintenance.
Beautiful.
"Sorry I’m late," I said, sliding into the seat across from him shalessly.
"It was for the best. It excused from watching you get poisoned during appetizers," he replied dryly. "I already ate. And given your rudeness, I’m sure you’ll handle the bill as an apology, right?"
I raised a brow.
"An optimist at heart, huh?"
"I like to keep things realistic."
He tilted his head slightly.
"So... shall I let loose my scent and save us both the ti?"
I chuckled.
"Please do."
He inhaled.
Closed his eyes.
And unleashed hell.
It hit like a brick wall wrapped in velvet.
A full-force wave of scent so sweet it curdled in my lungs.
Not the cloying sweetness of a weed, but sharp, dark, addictive—like honey laced with arsenic.
My throat closed.My vision blurred.My knees knocked under the table.
I couldn’t breathe.
I clutched my neck and wheezed like I’d swallowed a wasp nest.
My body scread to shut down—my lungs begged for air that wouldn’t co.
My eyes watered uncontrollably.
I didn’t cough.I choked.
Luther stood up calmly and walked past , not sparing a second glance.
A normal alpha would’ve been on the floor by now.An alpha with half a brain would’ve called it quits.
But I wasn’t normal.
And I wasn’t quitting.
Gasping and still half-blind, I stumbled after him, grabbing his wrist before he could reach the door.
My hand trembled from the sheer shock still ravaging my body.
But my lips split into a grin so wide it hurt.
"You sll so incredibly sweet, darling."
His eyes widened.
Not with pride, but confusion.
Perhaps disgust.
He looked at like I was a lab rat that had grown wings and started singing opera.
"You’re still alive."
"Barely," I rasped, still grinning. "Your father’s not a bad matchmaker, huh?"
"I—I’m sorry. I can’t do this."
Ah.
There it was.
The panic. The fear.
He looked beautiful, breaking like that.
His posture, once sharp and self-assured, crumbled.
His mouth moved without words.
I tightened my grip just slightly—not to hurt him, but to ground him.
"What do you an, you can’t do this?" I said, my voice low and almost coaxing. "You’ve been looking for a mate for years. You need one to keep your position in Parliant, don’t you? So why run now?"
He yanked his wrist free.
"My flower didn’t shiver. You are not my mate," he said. "The fact that you survived doesn’t an anything."
He held my stare like he wanted to burn out of existence.
I felt sothing stir low in my chest.
Not arousal. Not desire.
Obsession.
"Give one more date."
"What?"
"One more. I know I can make it shiver. These things take ti. Like a fine wine. Or Stockholm Syndro."
He scowled.
"You think you’re an expert in making flowers bloom?"
"I’ve made plenty bloom," I said. "They’re practically sprouting behind ."
"I’m not interested."
And just like that, he turned and walked out of my life.
Or so he thought.
I barely made it to the restroom.
Threw water over my face.
Clung to the sink like it was the only thing keeping my insides from lting.
The poison still raged in my blood.
My stomach twisted.My limbs were jelly.My lungs wheezed like old machinery.
But my heart was pounding.
Racing.
Singing.
For the first ti in my life, I was poisoned.
And for the first ti in my life, I felt alive.
I looked in the mirror, soaked and shaking. My smile hadn’t left.
"Luther Wilkers," I whispered to myself. "I’ll rember your na for sure, honey."
That was the first ti.
.
I can count on my fingers like a toddler the rest of the four etings we had.
And then—silence.
He vanished.
No sightings.
No trails.
Nothing.
Not even Lucrezia’s informants could sniff him out, and they were the kind who could dig secrets out of corpses.
I told myself I’d moved on.
I hadn’t.
I beca unbearable.
Labs shut down early when I walked in.
I was irritated, angry all the ti like I was suffering from a withdrawal.
No one could match that scent.
That poison.
That pull.
Until I rembered sothing.
Three weeks ago.
The hotel parking lot.
Luther looking like he wanted to kill soone.
And Claus—Claus—cornered him.
I hadn’t thought much of it then.
Just a lover’s spat.
A rejected ex.
One of Luther’s many failed dates, maybe.
But now?
Now I knew better.
Claus hadn’t looked like a jilted ex.
He looked like a man about to commit a felony.
So I called him.
He didn’t answer the first three tis.
But by the fourth, I knew he was watching the screen.
I called again.
And again.
Finally, he picked up.
He didn’t say hello.
So I didn’t, either.
"I know you have Luther."
There was a sharp breath on the other end.
Panic. Shuffling.
A curse under his breath.
"You’re insane."
But before he could hang up—
Another voice ca through.
Soft.
Cracked.
Barely more than a breath.
"Claus... don’t..."
My lungs went still.
It was him.
Luther.
And then the line went dead.
I stared at the screen.
Then, slowly, I smiled.
Got you!
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