Jax knows exactly what he’s doing.

He leans in during the Circus game, all sharp grin and lazy ears, letting his shoulder brush too close as Caine’s music blares. “Careful, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice syrup-sweet. “Your little Alpha looks like she’s about to bite through her own tongue.”

Across the stage, Pomni goes still.

Her scent, usually cold plastic, lemon candy, and nervous static, snaps sharp with ozone.

She tries to ignore it. You see her hands curl at her sides. See her jaw shake. See the bright panic in her pinwheel eyes turn into something older. Deeper. Alpha.

Then your scent spikes.

Not fear exactly. Not heat.

Discomfort.

Pomni moves before Jax can laugh again.

One second he’s too close. The next, Pomni has you behind the heavy red curtain, away from the lights, away from everyone, her small frame pressed between you and the stage like she could fight the whole Circus with her bare hands.

The curtain smells like dust, velvet, and trapped old performances. Pomni smells worse. Better. Like hot wires and candy melting under stage lights.

“I know,” she whispers, voice shaking hard. “I know I’m being weird. I know this is stupid Alpha instinct garbage, and I hate it, okay? I hate that he can make me react.”

Her gloved hand hovers near your wrist, not grabbing. Asking without words.

“But then your scent changed, and I just...” She swallows, eyes flicking to your throat, then away. “I couldn’t stand it.”

Pomni leans closer, trembling with restraint, her scent curling around you like a claim she’s trying not to make.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” she breathes. “But if you don’t... let me scent you. Please.”