Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 113: Wanting Answers

Dr. Blackthorn peppers me with questions about magical theory, resonance, what training I’ve undertaken, and more. All are met with the same answers.

No idea. No training. I don’t use magic.

It’s not really a lie, since I don’t know how to use it like I should.

But I can see it in her face. She doesn’t believe me. And, at the very least, I could probably answer a few questions about magical theory, considering that I have a background in anti-magic security.

However, I see no need to cooperate with this random woman when there’s been no transparency about who these people are. If Logan wasn’t tied down by a magical contract, I’d have to stomp him where it hurts for keeping things a secret.

Though that begs the question—are they all under a similar contract? Interesting thought.

"...d’Armand?"

My eyes snap to Dr. Blackthorn’s blue ones. They’re frigid, like a winter lake. I just can’t bring myself to like her. She reminds me of a smarmy car salesman. "Yes?"

Dr. Blackthorn stands with a sigh, smoothing down her pencil skirt. "We aren’t getting anywhere, Ms. d’Armand."

That’s because I was trying very hard not to.

"Very well. I’ll stop by tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll feel a little more honest then."

A grimace twists my lips as she turns her back. The door opens, and Logan appears in the doorway. His face drains of color at the sight of Dr. Blackthorn.

My heart skips. That’s not the reaction I expected. Logan’s eyes dart to mine, worry etched in the lines around his mouth. Without a word to Dr. Blackthorn, he shoulders past her, making her stumble back a step.

"Hey. You’re awake." Logan’s hand finds mine, warm and solid.

Dr. Blackthorn lingers in the doorway, her attention fixed on Logan’s back. Irritation flashes across her features—gone in an instant when she catches me watching. Her face smooths into that practiced pleasant mask, and she turns on her heel.

The click of her heels fades down the hallway, my glass enclosure shutting silently behind her.

"You okay?" Logan’s thumb traces circles on my palm.

"Fine." I study his face, searching for clues about his reaction to Dr. Blackthorn. "You know her?"

"No."

My eyes narrow. I’m about 99.9% positive that’s a blatant lie, but I can’t tell if he’s lying to me, or if he’s lying for me.

"Your throat seems to be better?" His voice rises a little at the end, one eyebrow winging up as he looks me over.

I shrug one shoulder. "She did something when she came in, I guess. My throat feels better." Would have been nice if someone had done that from the start, instead of leaving me to suffer, but magical healing is actually pretty rare.

"What did you two talk about?" Logan’s tone aims for casual but misses by a mile.

"No idea, really. She introduced herself as Dr. Victoria Blackthorn, Chancellor of Thornhaven Academy." The title rolls off my tongue with the same pompous air she delivered it. "Asked a bunch of questions about magic and training, but never explained why she was here or what she wanted." Also knew way too much about my life, but I haven’t shared that kind of thing with him yet.

Logan’s face remains neutral, but his jaw tightens. A muscle ticks beneath his eye. His shoulders bunch under his shirt, and his fingers drum an uneven rhythm against his thigh.

"Come here." I pat the empty space beside me on the bed. "You’re making me nervous hovering like that."

The mattress dips as he settles next to me, his hand finding its way to my hair. His fingers card through the strands, gentle and soothing. "Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up."

"Where were you?"

"Chain of command." His voice turns dry as desert sand. "Even alpha wolves have to follow it."

His fingers pause in my hair as he adds under his breath, "No matter how stupid they are."

Hopefully there’s no audio recording in here.

I lean into Logan’s warmth, letting my head rest against his shoulder. His fingers continue their gentle path through my hair, and for a moment, I close my eyes. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my ear grounds me in ways I can’t explain.

"You know, I almost lost it when I woke up alone." My voice comes out softer than intended. "But I managed to keep control."

His hand freezes mid-stroke. A sharp inhale breaks the rhythm of his breathing.

"I’m sorry." His words brush against my temple. "I should have been here."

Perfect opening. I lift my head to meet his gaze. "If you’re really sorry, you could make it up to me by answering some questions. Now that I can actually talk."

His eyes flicker around the room. "Nicole—"

"Nope. I’m owed some answers. I’ve been kidnapped, experimented on, nearly killed by dragons, and apparently killed five people. You guys rescued me, and that’s great. But who the hell are you all, and why am I here? What’s their interest in me? Who can I trust? Why are there dragons, and why the fuck are they shifters? There’s no such thing as a dragon shifter."

Logan’s jaw works beneath his stubble. His eyes dart to the glass walls surrounding us, then back to my face.

"Tell me what you can. Work around your stupid contract." My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, hands shaking. "Please, Logan. I need something."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything." At his pained expression, I amend, "Start with Dr. Blackthorn. Your reaction when you saw her—you know her, don’t you?"

"I can’t—" He stops, reconsidering. "Let’s just say she’s not someone you want to trust."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the best I can give you right now." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "But I promise, when I can tell you more, I will."

"Fine." I shift against him, mind racing through my questions. "The dragons. Why are they after me? You know they were experimenting on me, right?"

"That’s... complicated."

"Uncomplicate it."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "You’re not going to let this go, are you?"

"Not a chance."