Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 146

Chapter 146: The Great Emotional Glacier

I’m still grinning like an idiot when the mini-whirlwind dissipates. Princess Paws yowls from the bedroom, and when I glance over I can see her in the doorway, ears flattened against her head as she stares at me with the distinct disdain only cats can muster.

"Sorry, girl. Mama’s still trying to figure this out."

My hands tingle with residual energy. Not exhaustion, not the drained feeling that other students describe after casting and depleting some of their internal mana. It’s just a feeling of... I don’t know.

Awareness.

Like my skin remembers what it touched.

I need to try again. Just to be sure.

This time, I close my eyes and search for the sensation of recognition. Not resonance—not yet. No, I’m looking for the moment when understanding clicks into place and the essence of something becomes truth. Not air this time. Something simpler. Light.

What is light, at its core? Not just science. Not photons or wavelengths. I’m looking for something... more.

Revelation. Clarity.

The banisher of shadows.

The revealer of truth.

The resonance comes slower this time, a faint hum beneath my consciousness. When I open my eyes, a dim glow surrounds my fingertips—not bright enough to read by, but unmistakably there.

"Holy shit," I breathe, watching the soft luminescence fade. "I’m not broken."

I’m not failing at magic; I’ve been trying to speak the wrong language. While everyone else deals with glyphs—the magical equivalent of training wheels—I’m somehow connecting directly to the source code.

As if someone handed me a tutorial to hack my way into the system.

Thanks, Professor Tiny. You’re the fucking best.

Maybe I should get him a gift card for a local coffeeshop.

Or some heels.

Whatever.

The euphoria bubbles up like champagne, and I hop into a ridiculous little shimmy dance around the living room. Princess Paws watches with feline judgment.

"Don’t look at me like that." I wiggle like a witch with Wi-Fi. And what do witches with Wi-Fi watch? A lot of dancing music videos. Trust me; I’d know. Penelope does it all the time. "This is a breakthrough moment."

A yodel-adjacent meow.

Ignoring her inability to appreciate my victory, I pop it, drop it, lock it, and fall to the floor when my ankle gives out.

Okay. So maybe dancing isn’t really my thing, and Princess Kitty over there has a point.

Then reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water, ruining the fun of my little witchy glow-up. This is why I’m a Catalyst. This different way of touching magic—connecting to runes instead of glyphs—is what makes the dragons and the Conclave so interested. Do they know?

If they find out...

Groaning, I fall back on the floor, letting my limbs rest wherever they flop. My ankle has a stabby kind of throb going on, the kind you forget about after a few minutes, only to realize some time later you’re able to walk again.

Nothing serious, then.

More importantly, should I tell anyone? Logan? Penelope?

Well, let’s see. Logan’s mad at me, and my apology sucks. So he’s out. Penelope’s out with her little goslings, so nope.

Later. I can tell them later.

For now, I should plot how I can practice enough to pass a standard magic user without revealing how I’m actually doing it.

A buzz from my phone interrupts my spiraling thoughts. My heart leaps into my throat—Logan? An apology? An acknowledgment? Anything?

I snatch up the device, suddenly clumsy with anticipation.

[LOGAN: New wards going up today.]

I stare at the text. Read it twice. That’s it? No "got your apology" or "we need to talk" or even a perfunctory thumbs-up emoji?

An all-about-business text. As if our fight never happened. As if I never apologized.

I mean, I know it was only two words, but they are arguably the most important words.

The bubble of happiness my breakthrough breathed into my chest deflates like it never existed.

Logan knows. Knows! Wards are my specialty. Before Thornhaven, before discovering I’m a Catalyst or whatever, I was damn good at my job. I designed security systems to keep the most determined supernatural threats at bay.

I stroke her soft fur, still stewing. It’s not like it’s about the money. He can waste his money and turn into a hobo for all I care. It’s about my domain. The one area of magic in which I excel.

Logan fills the doorway, his imposing frame tense. His jaw is set and his green eyes dart everywhere except at me. No flirtatious smile, no raised eyebrow, no swank or swagger. He looks more awkward than I’ve ever seen him.

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