Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 115

Chapter 115: Heritage

Jumping onto this opportunity, I ask, "What is a Catalyst, and why am I so important?"

"A Catalyst is both historically significant and insignificant in many ways—" Marcus starts.

"I don’t want the history. What exactly is a Catalyst?"

He sighs. "Catalysts are mixed-blood supernaturals."

"That’s not special. Half-breeds exist all over."

"Those are bred with humans, not each other." Mild distaste crosses his face; while half-breed supernaturals aren’t hard to find, they don’t assimilate well in either aspect of their identities. At least, that’s what the general consensus is. "And it’s highly likely you aren’t human at all. At least not in the traditional sense. What do you know about your parents?"

I shake my head. "Not much." Just the few memories of my mother I’ve kept with me, but I’m not going into those unless I have to.

"I discovered you were adopted as a child."

I shrug. "That was never a secret."

"Might as well have been. No one knew about it." He drums his fingers on his knee and straightens in his chair. "Well, that’s neither here nor there, I suppose. In some old records, Catalysts are shifters who can shift into anything, or can use magic of any kind. A jack-of-all trades, if you will."

A laugh escapes me, a little hysterical. "I’ve never shifted in my life."

"What about your magic?"

My throat tightens. "Nothing special." The memory of my mother’s stern face flashes through my mind, her words echoing: never use it.

Marcus checks the timer—two minutes left. "A Catalyst is special because of their bloodline. Heritage-class, dating back before the age of shifters and magic. Some called them gods because of the powers they held. And, much later, it was found that they could breed with the lower supernaturals. When they did, they brought out power far beyond normal capabilities."

So... I’m important because of what babies I can bear? As terrible as the kidnapping was, it didn’t seem like they were preparing to breed me to anyone.

"And it is said that their blood increases the powers of those who ingest it."

Ah.

The purple lines under my skin itch, even though no one can see them. Invisible, but always there.

"Heritage-class supernaturals were thought to be hunted to extinction, but some bloodlines survived in secrecy." He gestures toward me. "Such as you."

"What exactly is a Heritage-class supernatural? I’ve never heard of that before."

"No, you wouldn’t have. Their existence isn’t known to many. Their eradication is the shame of supernatural history. However—" Marcus leans forward to grab his phone, which gives off a shrill ring. "Our time is up and cameras back on. Smile, Ms. d’Armand. They’re always watching."

"But I have other—"

"Another time, Ms. d’Armand." He adjusts his impeccably tailored suit, offering a charming smile in the face of my frustration. "There is only so much I can do for you. I hope I helped."

* * *

Logan returns a few minutes after the enigmatic lawyer leaves the room, having left me with a thousand more questions and no real answers.

I want to pummel Logan with all the things I want to know, but his tight eyes and grim set to his jaw leave me a little worried.

"Are you okay?"

"I’m fine." frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

Logan’s lips brush my forehead, soft and warm. The mattress dips as he settles beside me, and something crinkles against my palm. My muscles tense at the touch of paper.

"Want a back massage?" His voice carries a forced lightness.

"Yes, please."

I roll onto my stomach, using the motion to peek at the crumpled note. Five words make my blood run cold: Can’t negotiate any more time.

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