Unscentable Novels & Stories

A few minutes later, Lucas broke that awkward silence as he spoke in his gruff and deep voice, “I didn’t attack you. None of those Lycans wanted to attack you.” “Huh? Why did you chase me then?” I asked promptly. Sighing loudly, Lucas leaned back, stretching his long, viking legs, “My Lycan went out of control. Your scent- Your scent is just- What is wrong with your scent? Why does your scent drive all the Lycan’s crazy?” “My scent! How is that even possible!” I was too surprised to react at first. Thinking for a second, I asked again, “I heard that Lycans can’t endure the scent of werewolves. They feel disgusted. How can my scent even attract-”

A single flower opened, and its scent, carried on a wind that blew between dimensions, found the weary being. The being, in the midst of cataloging a particularly painful memory as "A Standard Betrayal Arc, Subtype 3-B," stopped. It smelled jasmine. A scent that had no genre. A scent that was not a symbol for anything. It was just a smell. A real, specific, and utterly pointless smell.

"You reek, and your stench has contaminated all the potions, making them unusable! Alpha Xander bought these at a high cost, and all of it is worth 500 thousand dollars. There's also compensation for causing me emotional distress—that's another 200 thousand. "Altogether, that's 700 thousand dollars. Will you pay by cash or card?" My scent is a mix of violet and amber. It's noble and cool, like a winter dusk. Of course, not everyone loves this scent, but "contamination"? Please! I can't fathom why the infirmary in Xander's territory is operating like a scam. I laugh out of anger and say, "I'm Alpha Xander's cousin. I don't pay a single cent in his territory. If anyone has a problem with that,

Ethan was in a meeting, so I waited in his office. That was when Sophia walked in. She politely brought in coffee, and when she bent forward, I caught the familiar scent of cologne. Just as Joy had described, it was Ethan's scent. "Don't you have anything to say to me?" I asked suddenly. Her hand trembled, spilling hot coffee on herself, leaving red marks instantly. She looked fragile and helpless as her eyes darted away. Flustered, she crouched down to clean the mess and did not answer.

“Count to 10 Shadow, and then walk around the room to identify the scents out loud and try to find me” As if finding her scent would be difficult. I breathe it as oxygen most days. I take deep breaths again and start to focus with Jace. I move over to the right as something is over there. It's sweet. As I take another deep breath, the scent takes on the form of green smoke in my head. I can feel the sweetness on my tongue. Apple. I take a few more steps and I'm overcome with a really rotten smell. I know it instantly as the Stilton cheese I saw earlier. I start to move away as it is overwhelming when Jace snaps in my mind.

He says calmly. “You’ve really planned this thoroughly huh?” “Yes,” he replies stiffly. I understood that our stocks have truly been plummeting slowly and we are on the verge of releasing our new scent ‘Noir classique’. I guess that’s why my uncle seems to be so bothered about the sales. We’ve also had some problems with the press recently, anonymous people have been sending complaints to the media that our perfumes are causing skin reactions. It’s currently being investigated, but it has really put us in a tight spot.

"And very loud. And it smells different from other water." "Different how." "Like something old," Margaux said. "Like something that has been there longer than everything else and knows it." Seren looked at this information from several angles. "Mr. Roof would like it," she decided. "He likes things that are not scared of being big." Something moved across Margaux's expression that she did not manage or contain just let be there for a moment, the specific expression of a woman receiving something from a four year old that she had not known she needed.

Seraphina doesn’t answer immediately. That is answer enough. I feel sick. “Can you remove it?” “I can weaken it.” “Can you remove it?” Her eyes meet mine. “Not directly.” My heart sinks. “Then what am I supposed to do?” “Child, your scent.” I frown. “My scent?” “The mark is connected to your natural scent. If we alter your scent enough, the witch will have difficulty recognizing the connection.” “So you can hide me from her?” “For a while.” “How long?”

Our strides fell into rhythm without effort, instincts aligning in a way that sent a strange ache through my chest. His wolf brushed against mine mentally. It was curious, warm and familiar. Mate, his wolf murmured. Mine responded with a low hum that felt like acknowledgment. We found the first trail near a dry riverbed. My nose catches a rotting scent as if something died. And someone tried to cover it up with a bottle of perfume. “What is that horrible smell?" I asked as we stopped to shift back into our human self. “Rogue scent. That was the terrible job of a sloppy rogue. He must have been impatient to go out.

The scent inside the boutique was thick, almost suffocatingly sweet—a dense, humid mixture of crushed eucalyptus leaves, wet moss, and greenhouse earth. It was an artificial oasis designed to screen out the harsh gray exhaust of the city outside, yet to Elias Hawthorne, it felt entirely like a funeral parlor.