Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 148: Rational Thoughts Deleted

Logan’s entire face tightens, turning my good mood sour.

I keep my eyes fixed on positioning the last wardstone, running my fingers along its cool edges with deliberate precision. This is where I’m comfortable—in the meticulous, methodical creation of security. When I place each stone, I feel whole again, competent. I press my thumb against each glowing glyph, as if to assure myself they’re working. That my magic is working.

Their magic hums in the air.

I can’t help but smile as I complete the connection, watching the faint shimmer of protection ripple across the room. For a second, I forget our tension in the pure satisfaction of crafting a perfect ward network.

"You’ll tell me if you want to," he says, voice low.

What the heck? This wasn’t a relationship test. It was an invitation for him to ask, not seeing if he cares.

My brief high is squashed under all the tension again.

Relationships suck.

"I figured it out." I dust phantom grit off my hands. "Turns out I’ve been approaching magic all wrong. Rather than forcing the glyphs to work, I need to understand the fundamental nature of the element I’m trying to manipulate." A rush of pride flutters in my chest. "Created a mini cyclone right here."

Logan’s expression shifts, eyes narrowing slightly. "And Dev helped you figure this out?"

There’s something in his tone, and my little flicker of pride crashes and burns. He’s tense while trying to sound casual. He’s picking a fight. Over Dev? Really?

"He suggested I think of myself as a conductor rather than a source." I move to check another wardstone, deliberately keeping space between us. The network’s already running, but it gives me something to pretend to do rather than stare at someone who’s clearly got a problem with me again. "He’s actually pretty smart—sat there brainstorming alternative approaches. Clever kid."

"Dev seems to know a lot about your magic." Logan’s voice is controlled, but his inflections are off. "You trust him?"

I shrug. "He’s just a classmate who’s been helpful."

"Did you tell him about the Specter?"

My hands freeze mid-adjustment. The way he says it, with an undercurrent of accusation, pricks at my pride. Like I’d go spilling my secrets to the first helpful person I meet.

"No," I say, turning to face him. "Of course not."

But instead of leaving it there, my irritation bubbles over. "He’s just naturally helpful. Unlike some people, he actually respects what I know."

The words hang in the air between us, sharper than I intended but too late to take back.

Logan goes completely still. Not the normal kind of still, but the predatory stillness of something dangerous deciding what to do next. His eyes darken, pupils dilating slightly.

"You think I don’t respect your intelligence?"

The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. I should back off—I know I should—but there’s something about the way he’s looking at me. My spine stiffens, and something inside me insists on doubling down.

Go for broke.

"You acted like I was stupid when I said it wasn’t a Specter, didn’t you? You didn’t even consider I might know what I was talking about."

"I know exactly how smart you are." He closes the distance between us, his eyes intent on mine. There’s so much pheromone output in here, I’m about to choke on it. "What I don’t know is why you’re suddenly putting so much trust in people you barely know."

"Like you have a monopoly on my trust?"

His nostrils flare, and I catch a subtle shift in the pheromones cloying the air, going from dark and heavy to sharp and intense. It hits some untamed, visceral section of my brain, and my heart races.

"I’m trying to protect you." His voice drops lower, a growl threading through it. I shiver. "While you’re off making friends with Dev, who conveniently appears right when you need magical guidance."

"He’s a student, Logan. Not everyone is a conspiracy."

"And the fact that he knows exactly what kind of magic works for you doesn’t strike you as suspicious when no one else figured it out?" He’s circling me now, each word precise and cutting. "How many classes has he attended with you? How many times has he watched you fail before offering his helpful insights? Did it feel good to have someone finally understand you?"

My cheeks burn. Enough is enough. "Will you stop acting like I can’t choose who to trust?"

He scowls. "I’m not questioning your judgment. I’m questioning his motives."

"That’s bullshit and you know it." I spin to face him directly, tired of this strange cat-and-mouse he’s playing. "This isn’t about Dev. This is about you not being able to handle the fact someone else might be helpful when you’re not around."

His eyes flash, a hint of amber bleeding into the green. "Is that what you think this is? Jealousy?"

"I think you’re being territorial over something which isn’t yours to claim."

The words hit their mark. Logan’s entire posture changes, shoulders squaring, jaw tight. The air between us crackles, and I straighten, trying to meet him inch for inch. It’s impossible—he’s much larger than I am—but I’m not backing down without a fight.

"Not mine?" His voice drops to a dangerous whisper as he steps closer. "Then what was that in the elevator? What was that in my bed? What was that text apologizing to me? If you’re not mine, Nicole, then what exactly are we doing here?"

Anger and desire tangle into something impossible to separate. My jaw clenches even as my thighs quiver. "You don’t get to just decide things on your own. And you definitely don’t get to show up whenever you want, demanding explanations for how I—"

"I’m not demanding anything." His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist. He doesn’t hurt me, but I won’t be able to break his grip if I try. Of course, that’s assuming I have any interest in doing so.

Which I don’t.

"I’m asking you to be careful," he continues.

Oops. He was talking, and my brain was... definitely not where it should be.

"Let go." My voice comes out breathier than I mean for it to. Really, why is it so hard to suck in oxygen?

Pheromones, obviously.

"Make me."

My free hand connects with his chest, but instead of pushing him away, it just rests there, feeling the thundering of his heart.

Every beat matches mine.

"You’re being a possessive asshole," I add, even though my words lack conviction. I’m undermining all of them with how my body unconsciously leans toward his. His breath smells sweet, like mints and chocolate. I like that.

"And you’re being deliberately provocative." His grip slides from my wrist to my hand, fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture somehow more intimate than the grasp. "You want me to back off? Say it like you mean it."

That’s going to be hard, since my body’s begging for more contact. More restraint. More angry Logan claiming his territory.

What happened to all my independence of thirty seconds ago? Nowhere to be found.

The rational part of my brain is screaming we need to talk, to resolve this tension with words instead of whatever is about to happen.

But then his other hand is on my waist, and my brain short-circuits into a whole different zone of heat.

"That’s what I thought," he murmurs.

Before I can form a coherent response, he’s moving, spinning me around and propelling me backward. My feet barely touch the ground as he half-guides, half-carries me through the apartment, his eyes never leaving mine.

My back hits the bedroom doorframe, knocking the air from my lungs in a gasp. Logan’s body presses against mine, one hand still intertwined with my fingers, the other braced beside my head.

"Tell me to stop, Nicole." His breath is hot against my neck.

I should. Conversations need to be had. Emotions need to be untangled. We’re arguing about the stupidest shit, and it’s all because we aren’t facing our first fight in a mature, rational manner.

But the weight of his body against mine, the scent of him filling my lungs, the heat in his eyes...

Yeah.

Every logical thought process in my head?

Deleted.

Gone.

Bye-bye, intelligence.

Hello, spice.

"I hate that you make me feel this way," I whisper. It’s a lie. I love it.

But this is not the time to pet his enormous ego. Other things, maybe. But not his overinflated confidence.

He makes a sound that’s half-chuckle, half-growl. "The feeling’s mutual."

He lifts me in a single, fluid motion. Must be nice to have werewolf strength. His hands grip my thighs as my legs instinctively wrap around his waist. Two long strides and then I’m tossed onto the bed.

I should be too angry to notice how fucking sexy it is, but here I am, flooding my panties.

Logan looms over me, eyes wild, breathing hard. The predator who’s caught his prey but hasn’t decided exactly what to do with it yet.

I prop myself up on my elbows and meet his gaze with way too much defiance. Or maybe we’re playing a new game. "Then are you going to do something about it?"