Page 141 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“Again,” I whisper.

Roman looks down at me. His hair clings damply to his forehead, and his eyes hold the same feverish hunger burning through me.

Wes presses his face to my neck. His teeth settle over the place where a permanent mark belongs. Every part of me opens toward the pressure.

“Bite me.” The request leaves my mouth before thought catches it.

Wes freezes.

Heat rages around the pause. My instincts push toward his teeth, demanding the bond, demanding every door closed behind them.

Wes lifts his head. “No, sweetheart.”

The refusal cuts through me, sharp and burning. I make a wounded sound and reach for him, but Roman catches my hands and brings them to his mouth.

“Scarlet.” His use of my name forces my eyes toward him.

Wes remains buried inside me, his knot holding us together while his hands cradle my face. “I will bite you when you ask me outside the heat.”

“I’m asking now.”

“You’re asking for relief.” His thumb strokes my lower lip. “I want forever.”

His words should comfort me. The heat hears denial. Rejection. My scent spikes bitter at the edges.

Roman presses his forehead to mine. “Stay with me, love. We’re right here.”

I breathe him in. Cardamom. Warm cinnamon. Roman.

My certainty flickers. For one terrible second, his scent shifts. Cardamom becomes too sweet, unfamiliar, layered beneath the chemical trace that clung to the poisoned bundles.

My stomach drops, and I pull away from him. “Who are you?”

His face goes pale.

Wes’s purr stops mid-vibration.

The room tilts. Cedar remains sharp behind me, but the other scent slips beyond recognition, close enough to touch and impossible to name. It’s wrong. Fear crashes through the heat.

He doesn’t grab me. He brings my hand to his face and presses my palm against his cheek. “Scarlet, eyes on me.”

I study the shape of him. Dark-blonde hair, damp at the temples. Hazel eyes, widened with fear. The faint scar near his chin. My fingers trace it. “Roman.”

His breath shudders out. “That’s right, love.”

The cardamom and cinnamon return all at once.

I fold toward him, sobbing into his shoulder as Wes holds both of us. His knot remains locked inside me, anchoring my body while Roman repeats my name against my hair.

Wes’s voice is low above me. “That was loss of scent recognition.”

Roman’s hand closes around mine. “Cole said hospital.”

“I know.” Wes reaches for the phone. “As soon as the knot releases, we’re going.”

The outdoor security lights flash on. Wes’s body stiffens over mine, alpha turning from mate to defender in one breath.

Roman reaches for the tablet on the nightstand and opens the camera feed on the greenhouse. A hooded figure moves between the rows, carrying a narrow metal case toward the back door.