Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 70: "I Don’t Like Him."

"I don’t like him."

Penelope storms into my apartment later that night, apparently having spent the last few hours stewing over Marcus Ashby.

Jabbing a fork full of stir-fried vegetables into my mouth, I just raise my eyebrows at her in an invitation to expand upon her pronouncement.

"Marcus Ashby," she clarifies, like I didn’t already figure that out. "That sleazy bastard of a lawyer."

Chewing methodically, I think of the man. He doesn’t strike me as sleazy. Maybe a little too good at his job, but sleazy, to me, is portly old men with gelled back hair and charm at the level of creep.

"Why was he interrogating you like you’re the suspect? Isn’t he Logan’s defense lawyer?"

I swallow the mouthful of stir-fry and shrug. "Marcus is just doing his job. He needs all the information he can get to defend Logan properly."

Penelope’s nose wrinkles as she sniffs the air. "There’s a good way and a bad way to treat people on your side. That wasn’t it."

Her gaze drifts to my plate, eyes narrowing. "Is that even edible?"

"It is." I push the plate toward her. "Try it."

She spears a piece of broccoli, examining it before popping it in her mouth. Her eyebrows lift. "Not bad."

"I’m working on cooking more often."

Penelope’s anger at Marcus seems to fizzle out. She slumps into the chair across from me. "How’s work going?"

I shrug, pushing a piece of carrot around my plate.

"Are you going to stay with the company?"

Another shrug. "I don’t really know what to do. Feels like I’m in limbo until everything dies down."

"Has that panther guy come by again?"

I shake my head, stabbing at a mushroom.

"It’s weird," Penelope mutters. "Everything’s gotten so quiet after all those strange things happening one after another. I’m on edge."

"Mhm." I take another bite, chewing slowly.

Penelope leans forward, her eyes searching my face. "How can you be so calm about it?"

The fork clatters against the plate as I set it down. Calm? Is that what I am? I look at my hands, steady as they rest on the table. No tremors. No cold sweat. Just... stillness.

"I’m not calm," I say, surprising myself with how level my voice sounds. "I’m just waiting. We’re going to win Logan’s case, and then I want to find the real killer. I want my life back on track. And I want to feel safe again."

Penelope snatches my fork, helping herself to another bite of my stir-fry. Her eyes watch me with an intensity that makes me wary.

"I think the panther did it." freewebnøvel.coɱ

I give her an odd look. "Did what?"

"Killed Scott." She waves the fork for emphasis, a piece of broccoli dangling precariously. "I think the panther killed Scott."

"Why do you think that?"

Penelope leans forward. "Think about it. We already know he can sneak in while you’re asleep. And he claimed to kill Officer Nancy to protect you."

"He didn’t exactly say that," I counter. "He just said I didn’t know what Officer Nancy had planned for me."

Penelope waves off my objection, nearly flinging the broccoli across the room. "Details, details. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, Nikki. I’m positive it’s the panther who killed him."

I reach out and reclaim my fork.

"I’ve thought the same thing," I admit, stabbing at a piece of carrot. "But I’m not going to jump to conclusions. Things are too strange right now. We need more evidence."

Penelope cups her chin in her hand. "Fair enough. Have you found any information on that Catalyst thing he mentioned?"

"Nothing. Didn’t really expect it to be blasted across the internet, though."

As I chew, Penelope’s gaze sharpens, her tone shifting to something more serious. "Nicole, when are you going to talk to me about your magic?"

The food catches in my throat. I cough violently, eyes watering as I struggle to breathe. Penelope jumps up, alarm replacing her earlier intensity.

"Shit, Nikki! Are you okay?"

I wave her off, gulping water from the glass she thrusts into my hand. When I can finally speak, my voice is raspy. "What are you talking about?"

Penelope’s eyes narrow. "Don’t play dumb with me. I’ve known you for years, Nicole. And the word Catalyst practically screams magic."

I’ve been so careful, or at least I thought I had been. "Pippa, I—"

"Don’t lie to me," she cuts me off, her voice soft but firm. "Please. Not about this."

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of my secrets. When I open them again, Penelope is still there, waiting patiently.

"How long have you known?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"A while. You’re too good at your job. Doesn’t make sense for someone without magic to be so hands-on, from what I gathered."

Yeah, there’s that. I’ve had comments like that, but I’ve always been able to brush them off to logic and magical science. I can fudge a lot of it with tools, and it’s always passed muster before.

"That’s all?"

"No." She smiles. "But I’ll keep my secrets."

I narrow my eyes. "Penelope, I’m serious. How did you know?"

Penelope’s eyes soften, and she lets out a long sigh. "You glow, Nikki."

"What?"

"At night. After Scott died. When you were having nightmares."

The room spins. I grip the edge of the table. "I... what?"

"You heard me." Penelope’s gaze is steady, unwavering. "You glow. Like a freaking nightlight."

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. I’m a fish out of water.

Unable to meet her gaze, I stare down at my plate.

"Why are you keeping this a secret? Magic isn’t something to be ashamed of. Hell, magic-users are in high demand for all sorts of jobs."

I take a deep breath, running my hands over my face, as if I can scrub my surprise off.

"It’s not that simple, Pippa. My magic... it’s different."

Penelope nods, her eyes bright with understanding. "Because you’re a Catalyst or whatever, right?"

A weak laugh escapes me. It sounds hollow even to my own ears. "I don’t know. My mother... she told me to keep it quiet. She died to keep it a secret."

Penelope winces, her face contorting with sympathy. "Shit, Nikki. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories."

I shake my head, waving off her apology. It’s not her fault. None of this is.

"Your mom’s death..." Penelope hesitates, her voice soft. "You told me your parents were abusive. That they disappeared when you were younger, leaving you in a well to die. Is that...?"

"Those were my adoptive parents." I cut her off before she can go down that rabbithole, not wanting to revisit those memories.

Penelope’s mouth falls open. "Adoptive parents? What the fuck, Nicole?"

I can almost see the gears turning in her head as she processes this new information, so I just stay silent.

"So, your real parents...?" she finally asks.

I close my eyes, memories flooding back. A warm smile, gentle hands, the scent of bar soap. "She died." I don’t want to say more.

She gets the hint.

"And your father?"

"No idea. Mom didn’t talk about him."