Knot A Trace: Part One

River smells like Skylar, all sweet and vanilla, and I fight the urge to growl.

I’m not envious—I like to think I’m above acting like a teenager.

But something is different about him.

I sit in the passenger seat of his car, and the vehicle is nothing but musk and sugar.

Nothing but delicious Omega.

“How was it?” I ask as evenly as I can. “Did she sleep okay?”

He chuckles to himself, a smirk forming on his face. “Yeah. She did.”

“I didn’t expect you to spend the night,” I add.

That gets his attention. “What are you saying?” he asks, suddenly irritated. “Of course I spent the night. She had a fucking concussion.”

I remain silent.

We pull out of the neighborhood, and suddenly it clicks for him. “You think I fucked her?”

I shrug. “It’s not my business if you did.”

It is my business, though. Everything about her is slowly becoming my business.

What the hell is wrong with me?

River yanks the wheel so hard my head jostles. “You piece of shit. You think I would take advantage of her like that?”

“Can you stop throwing a tantrum for two seconds? You’re going to get us both killed!” I yell at him.

He corrects the car and grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. “Listen, asshole,” he growls. “Think what you want of me, but I don’t want any harm to come to her. And I sure as shit would never do something like that. To fucking anyone,” he snaps.

I sigh. We may not get along, but I’ve worked with River long enough to know that even if he’s insufferable, he does have morals.

“I’m sorry,” I say honestly. “That was a fucked-up thing for me to say.”

He huffs, then nods. “Sure.”

We drive on in silence until I receive a text.

“Hey, they caught a kid selling O and want us to come talk to him. The location is only forty-five minutes away,” I say.

River sits up straighter. “Just tell me how to get there. I’m ready.”

I’m not surprised when we show up to a suburban neighborhood. The kid is a high schooler and doesn’t know the power of what’s in his little plastic baggie.

O is powerful and deadly. It mimics the euphoric feelings of an Alpha’s Rut and is laced with synthetic Omega pheromones.

The stuff has shown up everywhere in the past three months and is responsible for an alarming number of deaths.

They haven’t arrested the kid yet. It gives us time to question him.

River barrels past the police officer standing in the doorway of the home. I glance at a middle-aged woman, presumably the teenager’s mother, who looks stricken with grief.

“What will happen to him?” I hear her ask the officer.

I should catch up to River before he terrifies the teenager, but my thoughts are consumed with Skylar.

I’ve barely known her two days, yet already I want nothing more than to just inhale her scent—the sweet musk mixed with vanilla.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes.

Hey. What kind of cookies do you like?

I can’t help but grin.

You should be resting, Miss Bloom.

The last thing she needs to worry about is what flavors I enjoy.

Although, anything Skylar flavored would be nice—

“Landon,” River says, snapping me out of it. “We going to do this or not?”

I catch a gawky teenage boy sitting on his parent’s couch, scared out of his mind, while River stares him down.

Our schtick works well. River terrifies them, then I come in and coax answers out.

Once they find out we’re not the police, usually the softer ones come around.

And this kid doesn’t look like he’ll put up a fight.

My phone buzzes again.

Don’t tell me what to do, Detective. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Now answer the question.

I fight a smile, and both River and the kid stare at me.

Vanilla. It’s a new favorite of mine.

I text my answer quickly, then put my phone back into my pocket.

I do my best to push her out of my mind, but it doesn’t work.

She’s in the back of my brain. If I’m not focused on work, I’m focused on her.

Take Omega. Claim Omega. Help Omega.

Save Omega.

As we leave the neighborhood, River decides to start a conversation for once.

“So…” he trails off, and I glance at him.

“So?”

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, scowling. “How much have you researched her friend?”

“Who?” I know he’s talking about Skylar, but making him squirm about it entertains me.

Maybe he has a valid reason to hate me, after all.

“The Omega,” he grunts.

“Skylar,” I correct him, and I can hear his teeth grinding.

“Yes,” he growls. “You’ve looked at the police report, right?”

“Of course. I also researched her friend. No wonder Skylar came to us for help. There’s really nothing on April.”

“Exactly. Well, I was thinking,” River continues to tap the steering wheel, staring ahead. “We could take turns. Visiting Isleton and debriefing Skylar on our investigation.”

“Debriefing her,” I deadpan.

He narrows his eyes and grips the wheel tighter.

“When’s the last time you actually tried to date someone?” I ask him pointedly, fighting a laugh. “You want to go all the way out there just to debrief her?”

“And they say I’m the asshole,” he mutters under his breath.

“You are,” I say simply. “But yes. We’ll make sure she’s not alone anymore in this.”

My phone buzzes again, and it’s Skylar.

Vanilla is pretty boring. Are you sure you’re not more adventurous than that?

She’s much more flirtatious over text, and it makes me smile.

Like I said, vanilla is my new favorite. I’ve been inspired recently.

River glances over at my phone. “Are you texting her?”

“Yup,” I say, not caring about his jealousy.

Care to elaborate, detective?

I grin.

Nope. Not until I know you won’t slap me if I tell you why.

Yes, this is unprofessional.

No, I don’t do this.

But here I am, breaking all my rules.

Maybe this is how River normally feels—he does what he wants and likes to exist in the blurred grey lines.

My phone buzzes again, and I anticipate her response.

But it’s from a different number.

Fuck you.

The fact that he even replied at all is a good sign.

“I asked Vincent to help us,” I say casually, knowing it’s better to let River know now than later.

His response is exactly what I expected.

“You did fucking what?”