Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 143

Chapter 143: What About Marcus?

Spending a night at a swanky hotel does wonders for a girl’s confidence.

Highly recommend, 10/10.

But three days later, it still hasn’t made my magic any easier to access, so—that blows, and not in the fun way.

I sigh, adjusting my position on the couch. My body’s flat against the cushions, legs up in the air like I’m some weird human L-shape, holding my Fundamentals of Glyph Construction textbook high above my face. I snagged it from the library, hoping another textbook might... I don’t know. Help.

The words blur together after three straight hours of reading. I’ve gone through this Chapter four times and the only thing I’ve learned is that whoever wrote this textbook hates students.

A triumphant shriek pierces my concentration.

"Nicole! Look!" Penelope bounces on her heels, pointing at the coffee table where two candles now burn with steady flames. "I did two at once!"

"Great job," I mumble, not lowering the book.

There’s a beat of silence, then the distinct sound of my best friend’s annoyed huff. "Seriously? That’s all I get? I’ve been working on that all week."

"No, really. It’s awesome. You’re awesome."

I feel rather than see her looming over me. Then her face appears, upside-down from my perspective, blocking my view of the textbook.

"Why are you being such a gloomy butthead?" She narrows her eyes. "Did Logan say something stupid? I’ll cut him."

I drop the book to the floor, giving up. Again. "No, it’s not Logan."

"Then what? Because you’ve been staring at that page for twenty minutes, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t blinked once."

Sitting up makes my legs feel strangely light and my head dizzy as blood rushes out of my body, trying to regain balance.

"I sent an email to Dr. Blackthorn’s office three days ago about the magical examination. No response."

She flops down next to me. "So? Send another one."

I grimace. "I did, so now I look desperate." Which rankles. A lot. Mainly because of a certain chthonoid with attitude manning the desk.

For someone who’s supposed to be a special case, I’m getting no help at all. It feels deliberate, but I can’t imagine what the end game is for these people.

"You kind of are desperate."

I shoot my best friend a look of murder and mayhem, but it doesn’t faze her in the slightest.

She shrugs. "What? It’s true. You need the test, and we’re kind of stuck until you get it."

My stomach twists into a tighter knot. And this is exactly the problem.

What if I’m a failure? What if this stupid university doesn’t fix whatever Catalyst-level issue I have with magic control? The Conclave seems to want me around, sure. But we all know they’d have no issue nixing me from this world if I remain a loose cannon.

Groaning, I collapse to the cushions once again, my brief spurt of energy flatlining to zero as I snag the book off the floor and return to my half-blind perusal of glyph creation.

Every student on campus can do more than me. I’m not used to being a failure.

Mediocre at times? Sure. But not a complete loser.

"I have to figure this out. There has to be something I’m missing." My voice hardens with determination. "Dev was right—I’m approaching this all wrong."

"Mmkay." Penelope sits by her two candlesticks, watching me from a safe distance.

I must look crazy. I feel crazy, like my soul’s being torn apart with all my worries and concerns. At first, coming to Thornhaven felt almost like a punishment. Who wants to go to a university coded as a magical high school? No self-respecting, independent adult of my age, I’m sure.

Now, I’m starting to feel it. The anxiety dancing around my gut, wondering if I’m going to explode again. The what ifs of my future if I can’t figure this out. Under no circumstance did I think I wouldn’t be able to use my magic; after all, I’d used it. On multiple occasions. Without really trying.

Ergo, it’s possible.

But possible doesn’t mean easy.

I slam the book shut and hurl it onto the coffee table. The textbook skids across the surface, nearly toppling Penelope’s precious candles.

"Hey!" she squawks, lunging forward to blow them out before disaster strikes. Tendrils of smoke curl up from the extinguished wicks. "I worked hard on those!"

Flopping onto my belly, I bury my face in the seat cushion like I’m trying to suffocate myself. It doesn’t work.

My brain feels like mush. Fried, overcooked, disappointing mush.

"What’s your deal?" Her voice carries a suspicious edge I know too well. "Do you need another sex break? Is that why you’re all twitchy and irritable?"

[LOGAN: Almost home. Princess Paws handled her booster shots like a champ. What’s the plan for tonight?]

I smile despite my frustration. Logan taking my cat to the vet without being asked is weirdly domestic, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. What I do know is "what’s the plan for tonight" is absolutely code for "am I staying over?"

She sighs dreamily, collapsing back into the armchair across from me. "Not really. I’m surrounded by boys, not men. The other day, I watched two sophomores have a contest to see who could fit the most marshmallows in their mouth while reciting an incantation." She wrinkles her nose. "One of them turned his ears into actual marshmallows. It was both impressive and deeply, and I mean deeply, unsexy. There’s probably a metaphor to boobs in there, but I’m not feeling it, you know?"

I tap out a noncommittal response to Logan, telling him we’re just hanging out tonight and he’s welcome to join—in other words, Penelope’s home, so no sex—before tossing my phone aside.

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