Page 56 of Mask and the Magnolia
Hence proving I am a hot fucking mess because I was just attacked down in the parking lot and ready to go into hiding, but now I can’t seem to think of anything other than how these two men would look naked while those fantastic scents surround me.
Thunderstorms and spice.
It’s what I imagine it would smell like if I were sitting in a cabin in the woods, late at night in front of a fire while the rain pelted the window outside. Cozy, inviting, a touch unsettling butnot in a bad way. The extra edge on the back of those dominant scents are what account for the unsettling. It’s the same edge both of these men wear on their faces.
Granted, Desmond is usually grinning like a cat who got the canary and I sometimes wonder if it physically hurts Korvin to smile since I’ve seen it less than a handful of times, but still. They wear the malice well, just in very different ways.
“Who the hell put their hands on you?” Korvin grunts, leaning down to get a better look before he growls in a way I have never heard anyone growl before. “Fuck.”
He takes a few steps back, gritting his teeth as he buries his fingers in his hair, tugging hard on those dark brown strands.
My eyes widen as he starts to pace, breathing heavily while every muscle in his body seems to go rigid.
“Korvin?” I take a step away from the wall as the urge to comfort him starts to build in my belly. “Korvin, I?—“
“Don’t,” he barks, side stepping away. “Don’t fucking move.”
My heart sinks as I follow his commands, his tone almost icy. My stomach starts to twist over the conflicting feelings he clearly has and the way I can feel them race through my body. I look between him and Desmond, ready to burst into tears over the weird sense of panic and worry, over the possibility of rejection, over a million different things I haven’t ever really experienced before.
I blink a few times, trying to keep myself from crying because I don’t really understand what’s happening right now and the last thing I want to do is fall apart over a damn mystery.
”It’s your scent.” Desmond leans against the counter, centering himself between me and Korvin. “You’re lucky it didn’t set him all the way off until now.”
I frown as I look between them again. “My scent?” He nods. “I thought, well, I mean, I thought that was supposed to be a”—my cheeks flame as a blush blooms over my skin—“I thought it was supposed to be a good thing in these kinds of situations.”
One very expressive brow arches as he tilts his head, his grin turning to something devious. “What kind of situation, Maggie?”
”Well, you know.”
”Enlighten me.” Desmond crosses his arms against his chest while he stares holes in my head.
I swallow hard, dropping my gaze briefly before I decide I shouldn’t be weird about this. It’s not a bad thing that these two are my scent matches. Inconvenient maybe, considering our meet cute took place in an asylum they aren’t allowed to leave. And yeah, there’s the little matter of the whole doctor-patient thing, but I’m sure I can work around it. So what if they’re both murderers? I’ve never felt like I was unsafe around them, never felt like they wanted to murder me. I have my flaws, too.
Somehow I don’t think leaving my clothes all over the floor and biting my cuticles are in the same category as killing people, though.
To hell with it.
If these two men are my scent matches, then there's a reason we were thrown together under these circumstances.
But what if I’m wrong?
What if I want them to be something they’re not, just because I’m trapped in a forced relationship with someone who might actually kill me? What if I’m making this up because I so desperately want to believe that someone could want me, that someone could love me entirely and for who I am, not because of what I represent? What if I’m so tired of fighting to free myself from this prison that I’ve lived in my entire life, that I’m willing to conjure up a scent match scenario with two men I should be terrified of, just so I can live the fantasy a little while longer before that same life comes to an end?
Or worse yet, what if I’m right?
What if I’m right and both Desmond and Korvin are my scent matches, but they don’t want me?
Which is insane because how the fuck could we be together right now, anyway, but the idea of either of them rejecting me makes me want to cry. I’d rather not have that happen and have to figure out how to get them out of here, not stay on this ward as a living corpse who wasn’t even good enough for her scent matches.
”Maggie.”
I lift my eyes from the tile floor, turning slowly toward Desmond. A single tear manages to roll down my cheek and it annoys the fuck out of me. That bothers me more than the fact that I just answered both of their barks with my actions. Which has to mean something since I think the last time I answered one was when I was little and my father lost his shit over something I did. It was so long ago I can’t remember the specifics, but I know it was the last time because I spent the majority of my life in that house dissociating from reality.
Can’t respond if you don’t hear it.
”Oh, sweet little Magnolia,” he says with a sigh, a more genuine smile pulling at his lips. “Say the words. We both need to hear them.”
”You’re my scent matches,” I whisper while maintaining eye contact with Desmond. “Both of you.”
