Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 158

Chapter 158: I Don’t Like It

Logan looks horrified.

I must look terrible.

I blink away the stars dancing at the edges of my vision. My body tingles from head to toe like I’ve been struck by lightning, but Logan’s expression is what sends ice through my veins. Not cautious. Not confused. Outright horrified. Like I have a pig’s face and horse’s ass.

Before I can ask what’s wrong, Brynn snaps her fingers, smug satisfaction radiating from her like heat from a furnace. Despite being thoroughly human(ish), I can practically smell the victory wafting from her direction.

A full-length mirror materializes from thin air, its ornate frame hovering upright just a few feet away. If there was a museum for old things (so basically, any museum), it would fit right into something from the Renaissance era or something.

I’m no expert in historical genres, but you know—one of those. Heavy, overly-detailed, belongs in some castle somewhere and reflecting the images of ladies in silk gowns before they head to a ball.

Yeah. You get it.

"What the—" I physically jerk away from the mirror.

Then I realize it’s me in there.

Brynn’s smile widens as I step toward the mirror, drawn by morbid curiosity and dread. My feet move without conscious thought, until my eyes catch up to my brain and I freeze.

Holy. Shit.

The woman staring back at me is... gorgeous. Not regular-person gorgeous. Fantasy-goddess gorgeous. Photoshop-filter-but-in-real-life gorgeous. My face is flawlessly symmetrical, with high cheekbones to make an elf weep beneath eyes now bigger and bluer, framed by thick, curly lashes. My lips are a plump Cupid’s bow, my nose slimmer. My hair—yep. My hair is blonde. Platinum blonde waves cascading over tiny, frail shoulders.

I can see my collarbone.

Like, every dip and hollow, I can see.

My gaze drops lower and my jaw follows. My breasts belong in magazines. Defy-all-laws-of-physics perfect, perky and full, sitting high on my chest despite their size. Sure, they look straight from the plastic surgery factory, but they’re the dreams of porn-loving men worldwide. My stomach is flat. Flat.

I haven’t had a flat tummy in... I don’t even know if I was born with one, honestly.

My waist nips in dramatically, before flaring to hips that would make an hourglass jealous.

My hands hover over this new body, afraid to touch it. Am I shorter? I look shorter. I take a hesitant step forward and immediately wobble on legs too long for my new height.

Logan catches me reflexively, his hands steady on my bare arms—but not like usual. There’s nothing intimate in his touch. No heat. No recognition, at least not on his end. My body clenches and squeezes and twists itself into a horny little spiral just from the brief touch alone.

The second I steady myself, he releases me. Quickly. Like my skin burns him.

Okay; new body is a horny bitch. Noted.

Brynn claps her hands together like a kid at a birthday party, which, yes, is very weird on her old woman face. "So? Do you like it?"

Logan stares at me, looking like someone’s ripped something precious from him. His head shakes once, definitively.

"No."

Just that. No elaboration. No softening. It’s a freaking slap to my new, perfect face, but also a warm snuggle to the real version of Nicole still inside me. Somewhere. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

My frown deepens. He’s lying. He has to be. I’ve never looked this good in my life. I run my hands over my now-sculpted stomach, turn slightly to check out my ass (which is, frankly, ridiculous in the best possible way), cup my breasts experimentally, and even tug at my hair. The blonde strands feel silky between my fingers.

The markings Brynn painted are completely gone. No trace of ink remains on my skin, but the magic feels embedded, humming just below the surface. Not temporary. Not painted on.

"This feels... permanent," I say slowly, horror creeping into my voice as the reality sinks in.

I swallow hard, throat suddenly dry. "This is temporary, right?"

If he didn’t like it, he’d be looking at me. He’s avoiding it because he doesn’t want me to know how much he does like it.

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