The Scent of Us: Part One (The Bond Dissolution Omegaverse, #1)

by Eliana Lee

“Oliver Rivera. Preferred name Ollie,” Layla said with a gentle smile. “Of Pack Rivera-Gunnarsson.” “We’ll get their scent cards while you look.” Marco winked. Juno ran a finger over the photo. God, he was cute. Definitely an Ollie and not an Oliver. The photo was a little dated, his hair was much scruffier now and she was pretty sure he had a few extra freckles too. But that boisterous smile, those shining eyes behind glasses — it was him. He was 27, Filipino/Australian and a photographer.

Isaac Rivera. Prime alpha. 34. Filipino/Chinese Singaporean. CFO. Where Ollie was wild and untamed, Isaac was all structure and sharp edges. His jaw, his neatly styled jet-black hair and crisp shirt collar. She could see a slight familial resemblance there — the same golden tan skin and dark brown irises, but they were clearly half siblings at best.

Everett Gunnarsson. 32. Swedish/Australian. Civil Engineer. Could someone look tall in just a photo of their face? Because Everett looked tall. His dirty blonde hair was closely cropped and his icy blue eyes were electric. He was also the only one of the three that was tattooed. There was what looked like the start of full sleeves peeking out from the arms of his T-shirt. Juno stared more closely at his ink in the frustratingly small photo.

Isaac knew what Everett looked like when an omega was a scent match. This wasn’t it. But there was a tightness in his jaw, his expression calm on the surface, tumultuous beneath.

So Everett already had a scent match omega??? And our FMC isn’t his?? I don’t like that

Miles gave him a discerning look. “You’re not drawn to her scent?” Isaac hummed. “Not romantically. She feels like she belongs though.”

So they aren’t all going to be romantically involved with her??

All Ollie wanted to do was spoil her and cater to her every whim and desire. Cocoon her in blankets (that smelled like him) and feed her bonbons. He didn’t even know what bonbons were but he was going to find out and get them for her.

“Have you ever eaten pussy, Julian?” she asked off-handedly, like she was asking him a mundane question about his day rather than licking up her slickened cunt. He exhaled raggedly before finding his voice. “No,” he answered, thinly.

She traced a puckered scar on his shoulder (he came up second-best in an encounter with a tree branch as a child) and he kissed a little raised mole on her chest. He asked if she’d gotten it checked recently and she rolled her eyes and said yes. But deep down she liked that he cared enough to ask.

Juno’s next words etched themselves on his very soul. “Anger is poison, Ari. Compassion is free.”

“What happened to compassion is free?” he asked her mildly. “Not for homophobes,” Juno replied