Bound

Chapter 5 - The Scent

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Dmitri

"I need you to closely monitor the builders and ensure they keep to the schedule. We need the relocations to the new properties done as swiftly as possible to make room for the recruits," I say to Ivan, sitting opposite me, sipping a Coke.

We are currently in a booth in the only diner in Willow Falls. Fred's Diner seems to have become an instant hit with Ivan as they apparently make a 'mean breakfast,' and his obsession with bacon is unrivaled. Nearly all the tables are full of a mixture of the town's folk and some of our relocating pack members who accompanied us to the new housing site for an inspection. As newcomers to the town, the rumor mill is churning, our physique fueling the fire. Werewolves and Lycans are by no means small in stature.

"Will do. I have already arranged with our security team to review what is needed to beef up the security on the properties. They will install the best security systems after renovations are complete." Ivan finishes just as I hear the door of the diner open.

As I have my back to the door, the first thing I'm aware of is a scent. I can smell something spicy. Cinnamon and another scent I cannot place, its faintness making it hard to catch even with my Lycan senses. There is also a floral undertone of jasmine and apple. The jasmine and apple are quite subtle that even a werewolf would struggle to scent them without being closer. 

The combination is appealing, more so because it's unusual to smell a human who smells so spicy and floral naturally as opposed to using perfume. As a Lycan, we can easily tell natural smells from artificial ones. Whoever owns this smell has a unique scent I won't forget soon.

Keeping my eyes forward is a mental battle. With my back to whoever it is, turning around would be too obvious.

"Hey Anton, the usual, please," I hear the scent say—a woman's voice, not high-pitched like some, just even and sure. There's an authority in it that I doubt the owner of the voice is even aware of. I'm sure every person in the diner is staring at her based on just her voice.

"It's the woman who owns the shop down the block, Sky's Naturals," Ivan says as if reading my mind and my piqued interest. "She makes handmade creams and stuff, really good according to the locals. Some of them claim her creams are a 'miracle,' they even say the longer they use it, the more it feels like their ailment is reversing as if it never existed."

Ivan is staring at the woman, an intense expression on his face.

"There's something wrong with her." If he didn't have my full attention before, he has it now.

"I can't scent her. I don't know if it's something to do with her creams, but as often as I've been in her vicinity over the last week, I cannot catch her scent." Frustration clearly laced his tone. 

His admission is not surprising. Even for me, it proved difficult, and there was still the other scent I couldn't quite pin down.

"She's not a werewolf," I tell Ivan, who whips his gaze back to mine.

"You can tell?" he asks, eliciting a nod of confirmation from me.

Each supernatural species has a specific underlying scent, distinguishing each species from one another. She didn't smell like any of them.

"That's odd. You can smell her, but I can't?" he says more to himself than me, deep in thought.

"What does her file say? Any irregularities cropping up?" Fixing my gaze on him as I ask only mildly aids with fighting the urge to turn around. Her eyes are on me. I can feel her gaze scanning the back of my head and traveling down my body. Seconds later, her heart skips a beat. I wonder if she overheard us, but I know it's impossible for a human to hear from that distance.

"Her file is amongst those pending submission from the sheriff. I've already told him to fast-track hers in particular. We should have it soon," Ivan says, his gaze once again returning to mine.

I hear the owner of the diner hand Sky her order in exchange for money, and a mumbled "thank you" leaves her mouth before she rushes out the door. Not before another smell reaches my senses. She's aroused. And then the other unknown scent falls into place. Rose. She's a virgin.

Skylar's POV

I walk into the diner, tugging on my tank top, which has ridden slightly up while walking.

"Hey Anton, the usual, please." He looks up at me from one of the tables he is cleaning.

"Sure thing, Sky." He carries the empty glasses from the table to the kitchen in the back while I stand at the counter and wait for him to start on my order.

Looking around, I notice that the diner is busier than usual, with nearly all the tables occupied. Strange, considering it's not a tourist vacation period at the moment. While there are a couple of locals, there are quite a few faces that I don't recognize. Good looking muscular people. Geez, am I missing something? Is there some fad diet or exercise program I'm not aware of?

Scanning the diner, my eyes eventually land on burlo sitting in his usual corner spot. He, too, is looking at me. This seems to be our thing. We just eye each other out. One day I'll ask him what his problem is, but today is not that day. He has company.

My eyes shift to his companion and then remain there for some time. While I am conscious that I am staring, it can't be helped. I can only see the back of him and a tiny bit of his side profile. What gets me is his hair. It's white. Long enough that it sits just on his shoulders. Not dyed that way, natural. An off-white, not that that makes it any less unusual. He has it pushed back off his face. The bit of stubble he is sporting matches his hair color.

I didn't think it was possible, but this man was a giant. Bigger than burlo. This is burlo intensified. You can see by how he sits in the booth that his bulk is unaccustomed to such small spaces.

Looking at the back of his head makes me wonder what color his eyes are. My eyes drift down, following the side of his neck, to his broad shoulder, and down his left arm, the only one I can see. Dear lord above, does this man have biceps. For a big man, his muscles are proportional to his frame, which makes them, well, delicious, frankly. From what I can tell, he must be 6'3", if not taller.

My gaze continues down to his hand fisted on the table. He has big hands. That's all, ladies. Big, gorgeous, rough hands. I assume they are rough because this man looks rough. I doubt he got those muscles sitting behind a desk trading stocks.

My heart skips a beat as I start wondering what it would feel like for him to be gripping my ass with those hands, legs around his waist, him pushing me up against a wall. I tear my gaze away from him as Anton places my order on the counter.

Flustered I mumble a thank you, hand him the money, grab the coffees, and rush out the door. Air, I need air. I don't know when last just looking at a man made me aroused. Oh yes, I remember, never. Hopefully, this will be the last time I see him as I am definitely not looking for any trouble. And burlo intensified has trouble written all over him. And that was just the back of him, I mumble to myself, the cool breeze outside fanning my inflamed cheeks.

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