Page 17 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

The scent kept surfacing beneath the sweat and metal.

I stepped back under the bar and started my next set.

Down. Up. Down. Up.

Every time I rose, Jackson was in my peripheral vision, sliding a plate onto the bench press with an easy strength that made the metal look lighter than it was. His shirt clung damp at the neckline. A few strands of dark hair had fallen loose near his forehead.

Alpha. You could see it even if you didn’t know what you were looking at.

Naomi hovered beside him, leaning in. My shifter hearing caught her words easily.

“Coach said the relay lineup might change before the meet,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t know why he’s so impressed. Transfer from nowhere. For all we know she was cut from her last school.”

Jackson didn’t look at her. He lay back, gripped the bar, and pressed it cleanly. Muscles tightened under the strain.

Naomi kept going. “I don’t know why Coach keeps Harper on the relay list. She’s so antisocial. It’s weird. Honestly she gives me a bad feeling. Like something’s not right with her. Girls like that always have a reason for being alone…”

The bar came down once more. Up again. Then he racked the bar with a solid clank and sat up. “You shouldn’t talk about teammates like that.”

It was the first time I’d ever heard him speak. His voice was low, deep, a little rough from exertion. It slid through the noise and settled under my skin. My breath caught. My cat pushed forward, ears pricked.

Curiosity killed the cat, I warned.

She flicked her tail at me, unimpressed.

Naomi faltered. “I’m just saying—”

“Don’t,” he said. “It’s not a good look.”

He turned his head. His eyes found mine across the room.

The moment stretched, heavy with something I didn’t want to name.

Then Naomi noticed where he was looking.

Her expression twisted, and she yanked her barbell off the floor with far more force than necessary, the plates rattling as she jerked into her reps.

I looked away first. I had to. But even then I felt him watching me, heat crawling up my spine.

I finished my set, stepped out from under the bar, and shook out my legs. The scent drifted toward me again, stronger now with the air currents.

I wiped my palms, grabbed my towel, and moved toward the dumbbell rack. At the same time, Jackson left the bench and headed toward the cable machines.

We crossed paths in the aisle. As I passed him, the scent hit me fully.

Familiar. Unmistakable.

My step stalled for half a second, then I forced myself to keep moving.

Shifter scents shifted between forms — muted in human shape, raw in animal. That was why I hadn’t placed it sooner.

Last night, I had smelled the wolf.

Now the two overlapped.

Not perfectly. Not cleanly.

But enough.