Author's note (3 Aug): MAJOR edit to this episode. Hector losing his temper and attacking Blaise isn't in line with his personality really, so I thought this restrained, but still fraught exchange makes a lot more sense. And I'm introducing more lore about their scents!

‘I was in the neighbourhood, and thought I would drop by.’ Hector takes a step into the shop, the door swinging shut behind him, and stiffens, his smile disappearing.

The place fills with the sharp-dead-rot scent of overripe fruit fallen on mud-brown leaves, pressing a thumb into soft pulpy flesh to reveal a wriggling mass of yellow maggots. Blaise claps a hand over his mouth, gagging, but the stench only thickens, as Hector scans the shop with hard eyes.

‘You keep close company with an alpha,’ he says, voice strangled.

‘What?’ Blaise stares, voice muffled behind hands clapped over his mouth, head throbbing from the godawful smell.

What is this? Rage, and impending violence, like Hector is on the precipice of his towering fury, and Blaise, teeth gritted, is barely resisting the inherent instinct in all omegas to cower before an angry alpha.

‘It’s Talon, I’ve told you about him before,’ he snarls. ‘He owns the shop. He was the one who took me in as an apprentice and trained me up. Could you get your fucking scent under control? He’s not even here!’

Rude, terribly rude to mention a bloke’s scent, but this is surely justifiable when he can barely breathe through the miasma of Hector’s anger, triggered merely because his alpha ego cannot handle being in the territory of another alpha. The bastard must have worked closely with other alphas before; he could not possibly be throwing tantrums whenever he meets one?

Unless of course, every alpha capitulates to him, and he has always been able to assert his dominance in every situation. Blaise would not be surprised, if that should be true for Hector Westbrook. Even so, he has no fucking right to come into a stranger’s shop and spray his scent around like this. He is being the rude twat, and Blaise has no compunctions being rude right back.

‘I—’ Hector is startled. ‘My scent?’

Pinching his nose and scowling, Blaise waves a hand in his general direction. ‘I would have thought you might have it under better control, you know, as a celebrity. For fuck’s sake, mate, do you usually throw temper tantrums in the public like this?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t quite …’ Hector takes half a step back, still looking flabbergasted, but his fury has abated, the honey-and-smoke scent now tinged sour with alarm. ‘You can … smell my scent?’

Blaise grimaces, dropping his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. Thalia and Iris said they could not smell Hector, so his control must slip every now and then. Has no one ever fucking told him? What, are they all too damned polite?

Thalia said he did not have friends, but his manager or assistant or anyone from the team it takes to manage a celebrity’s life must have told him—or his family? Oh, but he hardly talks about his family in the press, does he, and Wikipedia has only a line about being raised by a single mother in London.

Has no one truly ever told him? Fuck.

‘Fuck,’ he says emphatically.

‘No, it’s all right,’ Hector says quickly, his scent now a vague smoky scent, lingering cigarette smoke from the alleyway. ‘I’m … surprised. No one has said that to me before.’

‘Probably because I’m the only rude wanker you know,’ Blaise grimaces. ‘Sorry, mate, I’m sure you have under better control most of the time. Thalia and Iris couldn’t smell anything, so I’m sure it’s the same for everyone else.’

‘I … see, but no, thank you for telling me.’ The alpha manages a smile, walking closer to the counter. ‘And I am terribly sorry for barging in like this. I didn’t mean to … well, it is perhaps a good thing Talon is not here, or I would have embarrassed myself in front of your mentor. That wouldn’t do.’

Blaise laughs. ‘Mentor? Nah, Talon was a shite teacher. He is a man of few words, much more of a hands-on person, and he would demonstrate, and he has so much experience that it’s always a learning experience watching him, but it’s difficult for a noob to get the intricacies of technique if you don’t open your bloody mouth and explain properly, you know?

‘So, I just kept practising by myself and after a while, I got the hang of things. I had all these crazy ideas and concepts at the start, and Talon would be so patient, helping me figure out how I could translate that art on skin, because you need to think about the skin will age and stretch and move, and—sorry, I’m rambling.’

He flushes, looking down at the scattered drafts on the tabletop.

‘No, this is very interesting,’ Hector says vehemently. ‘I would never have known you would need to think about those things. Besides, I came here to have a chat with you. Are you closing up?’

‘Oh, yeah. I’m heading home. I’m having dinner alone today, but Talon has finally managed to take Cas out and I can’t ruin that for him—oh wait, did I tell you about how Talon is desperately in love with my idiot brother?’

‘No, but ooh, gossip! How delightful, do tell,’ Hector smirks. ‘Would you like to have dinner together then? I was going to have dinner alone at home too.’

‘Oh.’ Blaise blinks, and sees again, the headline Hector Westbrook is in love! ‘You don’t have a date tonight?’ Fuck, why did I say that? Fuckfuckfuck.

‘A date?’ The alpha repeats, eyebrows raised. ‘Who would I be going on a date with?’

Blaise starts gathering up the loose paper on the tabletop, his eyes lowered. He should not have asked, if he did not want to know the answer, so he only has himself to blame for this, idiot.

‘I saw it on Twitter: a French model, I think? She’s stunning.’

Hector braces himself against the counter top, his biceps bunching up beneath the dark denim jacket he has on. ‘French model?’ His tone is teasing. ‘I’m afraid you might have to be a bit more detailed than that, Blaise. I meet many models from France.’

Blaise shrugs, refusing to look up. ‘You were at that charity dinner together. The one with the orchestra?’

‘Ah. Brigitte Martin. Blast, did The Daily Mail make something of the photos?’ Hector groans. ‘Her father is some high-ranking executive in LVMH, and her people managed to convince the charity people to sit us together. My manager wouldn’t have allowed it otherwise. It’s always troublesome when the press tries to tie me together with an omega.’

Blaise looks up, surprised. ‘So, she wanted to be seen with you? That’s it?’

The other man is smiling wryly. ‘You know just what to say to compliment a fellow, Blaise.’

He gives a bark of laughter, locking up the register, doing his final checks on his and Talon’s stations. ‘I don’t mean it like that. Celebrities would have their difficulties too, I suppose, but it is always difficult to be sympathetic towards those who have so much more than the rest of us could even begin to comprehend.’

‘No, I understand that.’

Blaise nods, satisfied with his checks, and dusting his hands, turns back to Hector. ‘What do you—’

‘You know, it’s the same for me,’ Hector says abruptly, his dark eyes fixed on Blaise’s face. ‘I can smell your scent. I could from the start, when we met at the party. You don’t need to be jealous of Brigitte Martin—she is nothing to me.’