Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 107

Chapter 107: Making Things Awkward 101

The warmth of his touch seeps through my hospital gown, and a tiny part of me preens at how quickly he abandoned her to tend to me. Which makes me feel like a terrible person because who gets jealous of their own kitten? fгeewёbnoѵel_cσm

Me, apparently.

I probably need to go to confession for that one. How does that work? Does it only work for Catholics?

Princess Paws, oblivious to my internal crisis, bats at my IV line like it’s her favorite toy. The tubing swings back and forth, only enticing her to play with it even harder.

"Hey now, princess." Logan catches her paw mid-swipe. "That’s not a toy."

She switches targets, attacking his fingers instead. Her tiny teeth barely make an impression on his skin, but he plays along, wiggling his hand while she pounces.

My breathing steadies under his other hand’s gentle pressure. The coughing subsides, leaving behind that familiar burning sensation. Logan reaches for the cup of ice chips on the bedside table, but doesn’t move away from me.

"Here." He presses a small piece against my lips. "Let it melt slowly."

The ice soothes my raw throat, and I close my eyes in relief. When I open them again, Logan’s watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.

Princess Paws chooses that moment to abandon his hand and return to investigating my IV line.

"Princess." Logan snatches her away from the IV line again. "No. Bad kitty."

A silent laugh bubbles up, but I suppress it before it can trigger another coughing fit. Exasperated, Logan unlaces his shoe, using the lace as string to dangle in front of her face, wiggling this way and that like wounded prey. Princess Paws gives him a look that can only be described as feline disdain.

My amusement fades as I watch him distract her. Questions crowd my mind, things I keep trying to avoid thinking too hard about. Where are we? This doesn’t look like any hospital I recognize. The room lacks that sterile hospital smell, replaced by something earthier, almost like pine needles.

Logan’s tactical team—who are they? Those armed men moved with military precision. Didn’t seem very police-y, and I didn’t see anything marking them as SED.

I tap his arm to get his attention. When he looks up, I mime writing in the air, hoping he’ll get the hint.

"No paper." He shakes his head. "Doctor’s orders. No strain, no stress, no questions until tomorrow."

My eyes narrow. That’s convenient. Too convenient.

He must read the suspicion on my face because his expression softens. "I know you have questions. But right now, you need to rest."

I point at him, then at the door, raising my eyebrows in what I hope translates to ’where are we?’

"No walks, either."

Damn it, that’s not what I was asking. For being my mate, he’s shit at reading my mind.

Princess Paws abandons his pathetic string-prey to attack his fingers again. Logan lets her, but his eyes stay locked on mine.

I gesture at myself, then at him, trying to ask how they found me.

"I don’t know how long before you can talk. They said it varies."

Son of a bitch. Still not what I was asking about.

Frustration burns hotter than the pain in my throat, but then another wave of his pheromones overcomes my overthinking brain.

Oh.

That’s why he’s doing that.

Keeping me all soft and pliant and not-questioning-y.

I tap his arm again, more insistent this time, now that I know what he’s doing.

Slumping back against the pillows, I hope he at least reads my body language as you suck, don’t talk to me.

Indignant, I do my best with various movements of my arms to explain that I was not thinking about that. Maybe I was a few minutes ago, but not right now. I want answers, not sex!

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