Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 147: Don’t Touch

"Oh, beautiful baby, you’re going right by the window," I murmur, holding the glossy black wardstone up to the light. Even fluorescent bulbs can make it gleam brighter than diamonds. "You’ll be my sentinel, keeping watch over the me. Nobody gets past you."

Logan clears his throat from where he’s leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. I ignore him. He can judge my ward-whispering all he wants.

"And you," I continue, selecting another stone with a faint blue vein running through it, "are going into the bathroom. I know it’s not glamorous, but plumbing is a classic entry point for nasties."

"Do they... respond better when you talk to them?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

I place the stone on the table with its siblings, arranging them in formation by glyph. "No. They’re inanimate objects." I shoot him a look. "But it helps me think."

I’m very careful not to say talking to the wardstones feels safer than talking to him right now. The air between us still crackles with unresolved tension from our fight. There’s some sort of unspoken truce, a ceasefire of sorts, but neither of us seems to know how to navigate back to solid ground.

I’m sorry would probably work, but I kind of did say it already. Through text. And he hasn’t exactly responded. Am I supposed to do it again? Probably. But can a man not acknowledge the first one?

I pick up a particularly responsive stone, this one warm to the touch. These Aegis wards are so much more sensitive than the previous Sentinel-grade wards. They also come primed, so I can feel the magic humming inside, ready to be activated once I set it into an array.

"This one’s a greedy little monster," I tell it, stroking its smooth surface. "You’ll want to draw power from everything. We’ll need to link you with the bossy one over there so you don’t drain the whole network."

Logan pushes away from the wall, coming to stand beside the table. He picks up one of the smaller stones. "Where does this one go?"

I pluck it from his fingers. "Don’t touch." The words come out sharp, but damn it, he’s touching my babies. He doesn’t know which one goes where or what purpose it serves.

His eyebrow rises high, but he drops his hand. "I’m just trying to help."

"I know. But these need to be tuned to me specifically. Your energy signature will confuse them."

It’s mostly true, too. Wardstones do respond better when handled by only one practitioner during installation. But it’s also a convenient excuse to maintain the bubble of space around me—a buffer against the gravitational pull he always exerts. It’s part pheromones, part alpha presence, and part... I don’t know. Sex appeal, maybe.

Silence settles between us as I continue sorting and planning. I’ve missed this—the methodical process of security design. It feels like home more than anything else, except maybe Penelope.

"So," he says, breaking the silence again. "Have you seen the... hologram again?"

My hands pause briefly over a wardstone before continuing their work. "No."

"But you’re not concerned?"

It isn’t like I’m not concerned, but...

A weary sigh escapes my lips, and I linger a little too long over the last of the stones, flipping it around in my fingers. The Shield glyph and its Flow modifier are clear at a glance, but I pretend like I’m still looking for it. "It’s not that I don’t care—it’s that caring doesn’t change what I can do about it."

As fun as it is to ogle my tiny fortune of wardstones, I already have plans, and he’s brought me everything I need. So, instead of continuing the conversation like a well-adjusted adult with the ability to communicate properly and not hold grudges because someone’s not acknowledging my apology text, I grab the four stones I’ve already eyeballed and place them in each corner of the room.

Logan’s jaw tightens as he follows me, step for step. "You’re not supposed to just endure it, you know. If there’s danger, we should be facing it. Keeping you safe. Fighting back."

"Do you want me to scream every time something creepy happens?" I ask, keeping my voice even as I tuck a stone into a kitchen cabinet. "I wouldn’t have a voice left."

The tension in the room shifts. We’re not fighting—not exactly—but there’s a fundamental disconnect between us. Logan sees threats as things to be eliminated. I see them as weather patterns to be navigated. How many things have happened to me recently? It’s no wonder I’ve become desensitized to danger.

"You should have told me when it first happened," he says, his voice low.

I straighten up, finally looking him directly in the eye. "I’m not going to argue this point. Yes, I should have told you. Now you know. And you’re the one with resources, backup, legal leverage. You can look into it. I can’t even get an email reply about my magic test, so it would be pointless for me to even try."

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. He nods once. "Next time, just tell me. Please."

I brush a stray hair from my forehead, suddenly aware of how tired I am. "Yeah. I will. I’ve just had a lot going on, and..." And what? I don’t even know how to finish my own sentence.

And it’s easier to ignore things when they haven’t done anything particularly damaging in the moment? Sounds about right.

"I know." His voice softens. "Just... put your safety first, okay?"

A small, sardonic laugh escapes me. "I am. But right no, I’m so used to having danger standing around... Unless it’s about to kidnap me again, it just sort of blends in."

He grunts, and I realize my explanation probably sounds silly or demented to someone who deals with greater dangers on a daily basis. But he’s also trained to deal with them. To fight back. I was just an anti-magic security specialist until things in my life went cattywampus.

Logan frowns at me, making me think my assumption of his thoughts are correct until he says, "What magic test?"

It’s as clear a sign as any Overthinking Nicole has entered the room without permission.

I wave a hand dismissively. "Oh, just a diagnostic that might explain why I can’t do magic the normal way. Dev mentioned it could help me. But it’s gatekept by a goblin secretary with grandma glasses who treats the Chancellor’s email address like nuclear launch codes."

"Dev?" His voice sharpens slightly.

"From the Supernatural Research Club. Nice guy. Helped me figure out that I’m doing magic wrong. Or right, but differently." I return to my wardstones, picking up the sentinel stone for the window again. "But it turns out I don’t need that test after all. Want to ask me why?"