DEBORA | CAUGHT THE SCENT

The office reeked with the persistent, irritating smell of warm plastic from an old printer and someone’s cold espresso. Debora sat at her corner desk at the very end of the open space. She stared silently at two wide monitors, methodically running terabytes of data through new scripts. The keys of her mechanical keyboard clicked dryly and loudly under her long fingers. The sound calmed her; it created at least some illusion of order.

A vile chemical bitterness lingered on her tongue. Her morning suppressants were still working at full capacity. They were doing their job perfectly: dulling her aggressive alpha nature, keeping her thoughts ice-cold, and reducing her emotions to dry, banal calculation. Debora liked it that way. It was much better to be a feelingless data-processing machine than an animal ready to fly off the handle at the slightest sideways glance.

Rita, sitting at the desk next to her, started yapping about something again. Probably about new sales on clothes downtown or her boyfriend. Debora just nodded on autopilot, not even listening. She pushed her thin-rimmed silver glasses slightly down the bridge of her nose and thoughtfully ran her tongue over the two piercing rings on her lower lip. Her main phone vibrated on the desk. A message from her mother flashed on the screen—Eleanor had sent more garbage. Debora swiped the notification away. Fuck that. She wanted a cigarette. And to be home, under her heavy weighted blanket.

And then it hit her.

The scent broke through the powerful filters of the ceiling air conditioner. It easily and quickly overpowered Rita’s sharp synthetic perfume. A pure, unclouded pheromone. Sweet, but without being nauseatingly cloying. Thick.

Debora froze. Her fingers hovered right over the keyboard. The large, fluffy ears poking out from her mane of messy silver-gray hair twitched sharply toward the hallway. She lifted her chin slightly and took a slow, deep breath through her nose.

An omega. A girl. Very close.

The scent was such that Debora’s jaw clenched reflexively. The alpha inside her, sleeping soundly under a thick layer of chemicals, stirred and opened its eyes.

Debora immediately minimized all her work windows. Locked her computer. She stood up abruptly, grabbed the red flannel shirt from the back of her chair, and threw it on over her tight black top. The leather straps of her harness creaked softly against her chest.

"Debbie, where are you rushing off to?" Rita blinked in surprise, interrupting her monologue. "Pipe burst. My neighbor called, he's flooding," Debora said dryly, delivering the most default excuse.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder and moved toward the exit of the office with a fast, wide stride. She went down to the first floor. She walked past the cafe in the lobby without even glancing at Kevin behind the counter. He was boring. But the trail that led straight to the revolving doors of the business center was anything but boring.

Debora spilled out onto the street. It had rained recently. The smell of wet asphalt mixed with that sweet pheromone, creating an ideal cocktail for her receptors. She followed the trail.

Two meters of height, broad shoulders, and heavy platform boots—not the best set for stealthy stalking. But Debora knew how to walk absolutely silently. Years of voluntary exile in the taiga had taught her to control her body completely.

People on the sidewalk were infuriating. They shoved, created unnecessary noise. The bright neon lighting of the shop windows cut at her eyes. Debora maneuvered through the crowd, not taking her eyes off the top of the girl’s head in front. She was walking confidently, never once looking back.

Debora stuck her hand into the deep pocket of her cargo pants and pulled out her second phone. A heavy, thick device with no identifying marks. With her thumb, she unlocked the encrypted system and opened the software for the city's camera network. She had direct access to a bunch of databases. Right now, she was mentally running through her usual algorithm: take a picture of the face, run it through the networks, find the name. The rest was just a matter of technique.

They turned onto a less crowded street. The neon gave way to dim yellow streetlights. Debora felt more comfortable. She kept an ideal distance of about twenty meters.

Stalking calmed her. It was just data collection. Regular analytics. Debora convinced herself that she was simply checking the safety of this omega. The world is a dangerous place. What if the girl lived in a bad neighborhood? She needed to find everything out. Take control. For her own good.

She studied the object in front of her carefully. Evaluated the rhythm of the steps, memorized the clothes. The phone in her hand vibrated briefly. The facial recognition program gave an error—the system required a clear shot from the front or profile. The back of the head didn't work. Debora sped up.

The distance shrank to ten meters. The scent became thicker. The suppressants were clearly failing and wearing off in her blood. A chill ran down her spine, and inside, a tight knot of possessive instinct began to uncoil. Debora had a wild desire to get right up close. To inhale that scent right off the skin of her neck. To secretly pull some trinket out of her pocket. A lighter, a shopping receipt, a hair clip—any nonsense to bring home and toss into her airtight container with the rest of her trophies.

The street was completely empty now. To the right stretched a blank brick wall, to the left stood tightly parked cars. An ideal place to remain unnoticed, but Debora had gotten too carried away. She was looking only at the figure ahead. She forgot about her own size, blew off the distance. Her steps became wider, her heavy boots clicked on the asphalt a little louder than usual.

Three meters. Debora raised the phone to chest level. The camera was ready to take a side shot as soon as the omega turned her head even a little.

And then the girl stopped abruptly.

Debora took one more step out of inertia and froze. It was too late to brake. Step into the shadows or hide behind a car—there was nowhere.

The omega turned around.

Debora froze right in front of her. A two-meter hulk in an unbuttoned flannel shirt, silver chains on her chest, facial piercings, and cautiously raised ears on the top of her head. In her hand—a thick black smartphone, the lens aimed straight at the girl.

The situation couldn't be worse.

Debora slowly lowered the hand with the phone. Her face remained absolutely calm, almost stony, but her amber eyes betrayed a slight tension. All her calculated plans and prepared excuses flew to hell. Her mind became crystal empty. She stood in the middle of the empty sidewalk, looked down at the omega, and realized one simple fact with absolute clarity: she had been caught. As stupidly and ineptly as possible.

I’m writing this from the corner of some stupid hipster coffee shop. She’s here. Three tables away from me, by the window. Drinking her coffee and typing away at something.

Come to think of it, it all started in the dumbest way possible. A month ago, I was sitting at the office, buried up to my ears in scripts and reports. My suppressants were working at full capacity, and my head was filled with the usual sterile silence. And then, that scent. Sweet, thick. It simply tore through the air conditioner filters and slammed into my brain. It was like an electric shock. I threw some ridiculous excuse at Rita about my neighbors flooding my apartment, and I bolted outside. I followed the trail like a damn dog.

Since that day, the brakes have been failing more and more. At first, I just followed her. Studied her routes, her habits. Then I snapped a photo from a distance on my phone. Running her face through our work neural networks and leaked databases took two minutes. I found her name, her last name, her social media profiles. People have no idea how much info they leave online. A couple of clicks, and I know where she lives, what she orders for breakfast, and what movies she watches at night.

Then I started commenting on her posts. Created a fake, empty account with no photos, just for her. At first, I just liked her posts, then I started replying to stories, cracking jokes. She started replying back. We started chatting about music, coffee, all sorts of mundane crap. She thinks I’m just a cute anonymous person from the internet with similar tastes. Hilarious. If she knew who was really sitting on the other side of the screen, she’d probably call the cops. But she doesn’t know. And that gives me the edge.

And a week ago, I slipped a tracker on her. It was an accident, honestly. We ended up in the same subway car during rush hour. A crush, tons of people, everyone rubbing against each other. I just squeezed past her to get to the exit and dropped the tracker pellet into the side, open pocket of her backpack. It took a second. No one noticed a thing. But now I’m calm. I always know where she is. It’s just basic safety, really. The streets are full of idiots and alphas with no self-control, and this way, I can protect her if anything happens. My internal need for control has finally stopped itching.

She smells so... right. That scent makes my jaw ache. My mother sent me some new bullshit this morning, and as I stared at the message, all I could think about was taking this omega for myself. Without the pills, I would have lost control ages ago and pinned her in some alleyway. But I’m smarter than my instincts. I know how to wait. Today is the day to move offline. No more internet.

Debora finished with a heavy period. The pen cap clicked dryly in the silence of her dark corner. She snapped the thick leather notebook shut.

The coffee shop was loud. It smelled of burnt coffee and cloying caramel syrups. Debora found the mix genuinely infuriating. She hated crowded places and unnecessary noise. But right now, all that garbage was just background noise because one single scent was cutting through it all. The pure, sweet smell of an omega.

Debora sat in the very back corner of the room, where the light from the lamps barely reached. Strict, thin-rimmed silver glasses perched on her nose. Because of them, she looked like a typical geek or an exhausted analyst—which, in principle, she was. But her appearance ruined the illusion. A black crop top hugged her torso tightly. Over it, she wore a red flannel shirt, carelessly dropped off one shoulder. Her chest was crossed by black leather harness straps and heavy silver chains with a large red stone. Her large wolf ears, sticking out from a mane of unkempt silver-gray hair, were tense. They caught every sound from the omega’s table: the rapid clicking of laptop keys, a quiet sigh, the clinking of a spoon against the edge of a mug.

Debora thoughtfully rolled the ring in her lower lip with her tongue. Her amber eyes didn't leave the girl’s back.

The alpha inside her was going insane, clawing at the inside of her skull. The suppressants Debora had taken that morning were clearly failing to handle the load. Her throat felt dry. She just wanted to stand up, walk up from behind, and place her heavy palms on those shoulders. To lean in and inhale the scent from her neck. To bury her nose in that skin and take her home. To lock her in her apartment, wrap her in a weighted blanket, and never let her go.

Debora exhaled noisily, but unobtrusively, through her nose. Calm down. She wasn't some deranged stalker; she was just gathering data. Controlling the situation. Everything was going according to the algorithm.

She shoved the notebook into the black backpack lying on the chair next to her. She pulled out her second phone—a thick, encrypted device with no logos. She unlocked it. A green tracker dot blinked on the black screen. Distance: five meters. Everything was perfect. Debora smirked, locked the screen, and shoved the phone into the deep pocket of her dark cargo pants.

It was time.

She crossed the room, maneuvering between the tables. She stopped near the omega. The scent hit her receptors in a concentrated wave, causing the fluffy ears on Debora's head to twitch nervously. She shoved her hands into her pockets to hide the slight tremor in her fingers and casually leaned her hip against the back of the empty chair opposite the girl.

It took immense effort not to stare at the exposed neck. Debora looked straight ahead, without aggression, tilting her head slightly to the side. The glasses made her gaze look less predatory.

"Hi," Debora’s voice sounded low, with that familiar velvety rasp. She spoke evenly, making no sudden movements. "Look, the outlets over there are completely packed, and my laptop is dying. Your table looks free. You mind if I crash here? I promise I won't be a bother or get in your way."

The room was nearly pitch black. Only the huge curved monitor was on, casting a cold, bluish light over the desk and part of the bare wall. Debora sat in her computer chair, her long legs propped up on the humming system unit. She was hitting the keys quickly and methodically.

Thin, silver-rimmed glasses perched on the alpha's nose. They made her pale face look too stern, almost like a schoolteacher's, which didn't fit her outfit at all. Debbie was wearing wide, dark cargo pants with a ton of pockets and a tight black tank top, hugging her muscular torso.

Debora typed the last command into the terminal and slammed the Enter key. Green lines of code raced across the black screen. She was deleting logs from the apartment building's CCTV cameras. Then she scrubbed the billing records. Wiped the data from the nearest cell towers. Checked her car's route—the cameras at the intersections also provided blind spots exactly where she needed them.

She took a sip of cold coffee from a huge black mug and winced. Six months. She’d spent exactly six months on this project. Debbie knew the omega's schedule by the minute. Knew where she bought groceries, who she chatted with in messengers, what time she turned off the bedroom light. Hacking her phone had been a matter of a few hours of dull office work. Reading someone else's messages turned out to be boring, but the hidden geolocation worked without a hitch.

Tonight, it all ended. Debora simply waited for her in the dark alleyway near her home. No long preludes, no stupid conversations. She simply stepped silently out of the shadows, covered the omega's mouth with a gloved hand, and injected a sedative into her neck. The dose was calculated perfectly. The girl went limp almost immediately. Heavy, warm. The alpha easily tossed her over her shoulder, carried her to the car, and dumped her in the backseat.

Debora pulled the other phone from her pants pocket. Nimbly pried the slot open with her fingernail, pulled out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and tossed it into the trash can under the desk without looking. She threw the device itself onto the desk, next to the keyboard. She’d take it apart for parts later.

She pushed away from the desk. Stood up, stretched, working out her broad shoulders. Her vertebrae popped loudly. The alpha walked over to the shelving unit by the wall. There sat an airtight plastic container. She opened the lid. Inside lay small items: a cheap lighter, a scarf someone had lost, a couple of ballpoint pens. They all smelled like the people she had once tracked. Debora pulled the hair tie she’d snagged from the omega half an hour ago in the car out of her pocket. She sniffed it, eyes closed, and tossed it into the container. Locked it shut. She didn’t need this box anymore. She had the original now.

A soft rustle of fabric came from the bed in the far corner of the room. Debora froze instantly. Her large ears, covered in thick gray-silver fur, twitched sharply at the top of her head, turning toward the sound like radar dishes.

She looked into the corner. On the wide bed lay the omega, covered by a heavy weighted blanket. The drug was slowly wearing off. Debora drew a noisy, deep breath through her nose.

Her apartment was always frighteningly clean, almost sterile. Debbie couldn't stand extra clutter or other people's scents. But now the room openly reeked of foreign pheromones. And this scent was slowly but surely filling the entire space, settling on the bare walls, seeping into Debora's own clothes.

The alpha swallowed hard. Something dull and animalistic was stirring inside. Her instincts hammered at her brain, demanding she get closer, loom over her, pin her to the mattress and rub her face against the stranger's neck until the omega was completely saturated with her own scent. But Debora remained standing by the shelves. She rubbed her nose bridge roughly. Control. The most important thing is the fucking control.

She pulled off her glasses, tossed them onto the desk. Debbie walked slowly to the bed. She stopped right against the mattress, shoved her hands deep into her pants pockets. Looked down from above.

Her chest felt absolutely empty and calm. Not a drop of guilt, not a second of doubt. She’d done everything right. Brought her here, where it was safe. Where no one else would stare at her. It was perfectly logical. Debbie had simply solved the problem.

The alpha tilted her head to the side. The sleeping girl's breathing became uneven, ragged. She was starting to come to. Debora sat on the very edge of the mattress. Debbie didn't move away or give her space. On the contrary, she loomed over her, bracing her broad palm on the mattress right next to the girl's head.

The light from the monitor barely reached the bed, picking Debora's face out of the darkness. Sharp cheekbones, pale skin, silver ring in her septum. Long silver-gray hair disheveled and falling over her shoulders like a wild mane. Amber eyes stared straight at the omega, without blinking or looking away. Debbie was waiting. She needed to catch that exact moment of waking up. She needed to feel how the scent in the room would change abruptly when reality set in. To smell the fear.

Only the steady hum of the system unit broke the silence in the apartment. The omega moved more actively, her breathing quickened.

Debora leaned in a bit closer. She smelled of damp asphalt, coolness, and a hint of metal. No cheap perfume or shower gel. Only the thick, oppressive, heavy scent of a large alpha. Debbie wasn't taking her usual suppressants now, and her pheromones were hitting her receptors without any filters.

"You're awake," Debora's voice sounded very low. She spoke quietly and evenly. No aggression or threat in her tone. With her free hand, Debbie reached forward and carelessly brushed a strand of hair from the girl's face. The alpha's fingers were long, dry, and cool.

"Don't struggle. You're going to feel dizzy and might get nauseous, that's normal. The sedative dose was high. It'll wear off soon."

She pulled her hand back, resting it on her knee. Amber eyes carefully scanned the stranger's face, noting any reaction.

"You're at my place. The steel door is double-locked, the windows have security film, so smashing glass or breaking in is useless. I threw away your SIM card. The neighbors don't give a damn about screaming; the soundproofing here is decent."

Debora leaned even closer, so that her fluffy ears twitched slightly. She nearly brushed her nose against the omega's temple and slowly, with a noisy exhale, inhaled her scent. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, openly savoring the moment.

"Lie still. No one will touch you if you don't make any sudden movements. You want water?"