Chapter Three: The Poisoned Suppressant

For one terrible second, I forgot about the heat.

I stared at Ronan, then lowered my eyes to the injector in my hand. The cartridge looked exactly the way it always did. The liquid inside was clear, the seal appeared untouched, and the identifying code matched the medication prescribed by my physician.

Nothing about it looked wrong.

That was what frightened me most.

“What do you mean someone replaced it?” I asked.

Ronan moved closer, but I stepped away before he could reach for the injector.

His expression hardened.

“Give it to me.”

“No.”

“Adrian, this is not the time to be stubborn.”

“You entered a locked office after cutting the power, and now you expect me to hand you the only medication that can stop my condition. You will have to offer a better explanation.”

“I did not cut the power.”

The emergency light from the corridor cast a faint red glow across his face. Without his usual smile, he looked far more dangerous.

“Then how did you know the cartridge had been replaced?”

“Because the seal is wrong.”

I looked at the injector again.

“The seal is intact.”

“It is intact because whoever tampered with it knew how to replace one.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense if the person had access to Helix equipment.”

The name struck me immediately.

Helix BioTech manufactured the private line of suppressants my family physician ordered for me. Only a handful of laboratories had the tools required to open and reseal the cartridges without damaging them.

We were currently negotiating the purchase of that same company.

The timing could not be an accident.

I raised my gaze to Ronan.

“How would you recognize a laboratory seal?”

“Ashcroft Group attempted to purchase Helix two years ago. I studied every department they owned, including the restricted pharmaceutical division.”

“You expect me to believe you memorized the packaging of medications you do not use?”

“I remember details that matter.”

His eyes remained on the injector.

“This one matters.”

Another wave of heat moved through me before I could respond. My breath caught, and I gripped the edge of the desk until the sensation passed.

Ronan noticed.

He always noticed.

His voice lowered.

“How long do you have before your condition becomes dangerous?”

“I am not discussing that with you.”

“You may not have a choice.”

“I always have a choice.”

“Then choose whether you want to survive the night.”

The words landed more heavily than I wanted to admit.

I looked at the cartridge again. If he was wrong, refusing the injection could allow the heat to worsen until my scent blockers failed. If he was right, using it could poison me.

Both possibilities threatened everything.

“What do you think is inside it?” I asked.

“I do not know.”

“That is not helpful.”

“I can test it.”

“How?”

“My car has a portable chemical scanner.”

I almost laughed, but his expression remained serious.

“You carry laboratory equipment in your car?”

“I came prepared for a pharmaceutical acquisition.”

“You came prepared to steal trade secrets.”

“That too.”

Despite the situation, a familiar irritation rose inside me.

“You are unbelievable.”

“And you are wasting time.”

Ronan extended his hand.

I hesitated.

For years, giving him anything had felt like surrender. At the academy, I would rather have lost sleep than ask him for notes. In business, I had rejected partnerships simply because his name appeared on the proposal.

Now he was asking me to trust him with the one object standing between me and exposure.

I hated that I was considering it.

A faint sound came from the corridor.

Footsteps.

Both of us turned toward the door.

The steps were slow and deliberate, moving closer to the office.

Ronan immediately switched off the small light on his watch.

The room became almost completely dark.

“Who knows you came here?” he whispered.

“My assistant saw me leave the meeting.”

“Anyone else?”

“Everyone in the conference room.”

“That narrows it down to twenty people.”

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

My pulse quickened.

Someone touched the handle.

Ronan moved before I could react. He crossed the space between us, took my wrist, and pulled me behind the tall storage cabinet near the wall. The narrow space forced us close together.

His body blocked mine from view.

Under normal circumstances, I would have shoved him away.

My heat made the contact far more dangerous.

His scent surrounded me, even though he kept his pheromones tightly controlled. Cedarwood and smoke filled my senses. My body reacted with humiliating speed, warmth spreading beneath my skin until I had to bite the inside of my cheek to remain silent.

Ronan looked down at me.

His eyes sharpened.

He had felt the tremor that passed through my body.

I turned my face away.

The office door opened.

A shadow entered the room.

The person did not switch on a light or call my name. They moved directly toward the desk.

That alone told me they were not there to check on me.

Papers shifted quietly.

A drawer opened.

The intruder was searching for something.

Ronan’s hand remained around my wrist. His other arm rested against the cabinet beside my head, keeping me hidden behind him.

The stranger moved closer.

I could hear careful breathing and the faint scrape of shoes against the floor.

Then my phone vibrated on the desk.

The sound shattered the silence.

The intruder froze.

Ronan released my wrist and stepped out from behind the cabinet.

“Looking for something?” he asked.

The shadow spun around.

A metallic object flashed in the darkness.

Ronan moved sideways just as the intruder swung. The object struck the edge of the desk with a sharp crack.

I reached for the wall switch, but the lights remained dead.

Ronan caught the attacker’s arm. They struggled briefly, knocking a chair onto its side. I moved toward them, but another wave of heat weakened my legs.

The attacker broke free and ran toward the door.

Ronan followed.

Before he could catch them, the intruder threw something onto the floor.

A small glass capsule shattered.

White smoke filled the room.

My throat tightened immediately.

“Do not breathe it in,” Ronan shouted.

He pulled his jacket over my mouth and dragged me toward the window. My eyes burned, and the room tilted beneath my feet.

Through the smoke, I heard the office door slam.

The intruder was gone.

Ronan reached the emergency ventilation panel and forced it open. Cold air rushed into the room, slowly clearing the chemical haze.

I leaned against the wall, struggling to breathe through the fabric of his jacket.

“What was that?” I asked.

“An aerosol scent activator.”

I looked at him.

His face had gone pale with anger.

“It is designed to overwhelm blockers,” he continued. “Whoever released it knew exactly what it would do to an Omega.”

The last word settled between us.

Neither of us moved.

My scent blocker gave a faint warning beep.

Then it shut down.

A sweet fragrance began to rise from my skin.

Ronan’s pupils widened.

His entire body became still as the truth filled the room.

He looked at me with an expression I had never seen before.

“You really are an Omega,” he said.