Unscentable

Elara Vance stood in her bridal shop window, pinning the blush-colored dress to the mannequin. Its strapless A-line silhouette, the square neckline, and the bodice covered in hand-embroidered crystal beads were a testament to her craft. This gown was her latest creation, just finished yesterday, and it deserved to look its best to attract the discerning clientele of Portland. Her store, ‘Goddess Gowns,’ was one of three she now owned, a sanctuary of satin and silk where dreams were stitched into reality.

She liked her work. It had brought her stability, wealth, and a quiet life. She catered to everyone, from affluent socialites to everyday brides, and her designs were celebrated in the industry. As she stepped back to admire the gown, adjusting a pleat here and a ruffle there, the delicate bell above the door chimed. Tuesday was for walk-ins. Her assistant, Isabel, would handle them.

Then, the scent hit her. Wolves. Werewolves were inside her store.

A low growl rumbled in the back of her mind—Lyra, her inner wolf, was agitated. Over the past eight years, they had encountered all manner of supernatural creatures, but this scent was different. It carried the familiar, irritating signature of her old pack. Without turning, she could hear a woman’s excited laughter, talking about her “Ceremony,” and a man’s chuckle as he reminded her that “Damien” said to get whatever she wanted, cost be damned.

Damien Blackwood. Her former Alpha. Her mate, who had never scented her.

Pain, sharp and immediate, lanced through her chest. It seemed he had found another. No, not another. He had found his first Mate, the one he could actually scent. The one who wasn't her. The rejection she had performed eight years ago had worked; she hadn’t felt the sting of his betrayal since that night. It had been the right thing to do, an act of self-preservation for both her and Lyra. But hearing that his new mate was here, in her store, to buy a gown for her ceremony with him… it was a cruelty the Moon Goddess must have orchestrated just for her.

“Isabel, please attend to the customers,” she said, her voice flat, as she turned and headed for the stairs to her loft office. She couldn't bear to look at them, to breathe the same air.

"Of course, Elara," Isabel called after her.

Upstairs, the scent was fainter, but the pain remained a dull, pulling ache. Why here? Of all the bridal shops in all the states, why hers? A knock came at her door. “Elara? Sorry to bother you. The young lady downstairs wants one of your older gowns.”

“I don’t make those anymore,” Elara replied calmly. “Tell her to choose something from the racks. I don’t have time for a new commission right now.”

“Are you alright, Elara?” Isabel’s concerned voice came through the door.

“Fine, just a headache,” she lied. “Close my door on your way out. I can’t stand the smell.”

To hell with it if they heard. She glanced at the clock, praying they would leave soon. She had to pick up her son, Leo, from the bus stop.

Minutes later, another knock, but the door opened before she could respond. Her jaw tightened as Cooper, the Beta of the Black Haven Pack, stepped into her office, a charming smile plastered on his handsome face. He ran a hand through his dark hair, flexing the muscles in his arm, his stormy grey eyes trying to work their magic. He was a picture of practiced charm, the kind most human women would swoon for. He didn’t know she wasn’t human, and she wasn’t impressed.

“Hello, I’m Caleb,” he began.

“I don’t care. Get out,” she snapped, her voice cold as ice.

His smile faltered. “That’s no way to treat a customer. My friend here…”

“I don’t care,” she cut him off again, turning back to her design pad. “I already told my manager I’m not making a dress from an obsolete line.”

“Please,” he stepped further into her office, his tone shifting from charming to demanding. “We’ll pay whatever you want.”

“I don’t need your money,” she shot back, her eyes flashing. “Now, I am very busy. Have your friend choose something downstairs.”

His jaw clenched. “My friend wants a custom Elara Vance gown.”

She rolled her eyes. “Everything downstairs is an Elara Vance gown.”

“You are very rude,” he growled, his own wolf clearly bristling at the disrespect.

“Please,” he forced himself to calm down, “at least look at the picture. Chloe, come in here and show her.”

Elara’s teeth ground together. Chloe. So that was her name. She didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to know her. A young, pretty redhead walked in, her body trim and fit, every inch the perfect wolf. She exuded the scent of Alpha blood. Just Damien’s type, Elara thought bitterly.

“I’m sure she won’t bite, Chloe,” Caleb said, a warning edge to his voice. He guided the girl to the chair opposite Elara’s desk. “Show her the dress.”

“I told you… I’m busy,” Elara repeated, her voice tight.

“Look at it,” Caleb demanded, snatching the photo from the girl’s hand and holding it out to her.

“What harm can come from looking?” he pressed.

With a growl of frustration, Elara snatched the clipping from his hand. The moment her eyes landed on it, her world tilted. It was the dress. The one she had designed for herself, for her own Luna ceremony with Damien, a dream she had tortured herself with for years.

She would never let another woman wear it. Especially not her.

With a sharp, tearing sound, she ripped the clipping in half, then in half again. “I will not make that,” she spat, tossing the pieces into the bin.

The girl, Chloe, gasped and burst into tears, rushing from the room.

“Go,” Elara snarled at Caleb, “and don’t come back.”

He stopped in the doorway, his wolf, Titan, pushing forward, its eyes glowing. It was meant to frighten her, but all he got was a raised eyebrow.

“You don’t frighten me,” she stated, her voice unwavering. “Get out of my store.”

Shock registered on his face at her lack of reaction. He took one last, deep breath, trying to scent her, to figure out what she was. But he would smell nothing. Just as he had smelled nothing all those years ago in the pack. He turned and left.

“Yes, go away and don’t bloody come back,” she muttered, knowing his keen hearing would pick it up.

She waited until the bell chimed, signaling their departure, then walked downstairs. “I’m going to pick up Leo,” she told a worried-looking Isabel.

Three blocks away, the school bus pulled up. Her son, Leo, got off, his caramel-colored hair glinting in the sun, his eyes—his father’s eyes, blue with brilliant green flecks—lighting up when he saw her. He was seven years old and her one true joy.

“Hey, Mum.”

“Hey, sweetie. I was thinking… waffles?”

His grin was all the answer she needed. As they walked to the café, she made a decision. “I thought we could go on a little holiday. The long weekend is coming up.”

“No work?” he asked, his eyes wide with hope.

She chuckled, Lyra chortling in her mind. “No work. Why don’t we go snowboarding?”

“Sweet!” he cheered.

“You pick where,” she told him. “We’ll leave Friday after school.” As he excitedly pulled out his phone to search, Elara knew she had to get away. Away from this city, away from the past that had just crashed back into her life.