Pregnant After One Night With The Lycan

Chapter 37

Pregnant After One Night With The Lycan By Kellie Brown

Chapter 37 Perfume Compet*ition

Tanya’s POV:

The pipette between my fingers quivers uncontrollably as my arm freezes in the midst of adding oil drops. My thoughts draw back to before the start of the first round, I remember that one of the staff members came up to me, saying that I had two hours to complete my perfume. Hence, I chose to craft a fragrance that required more time to blend and combine, and that fit nicely within the two-hour mark.

Course I now realize that either she was mistaken, or the person had deliberately lied, for in fact I only had one hour. Some inner sense within me considers it was the latter a*s*sumption, which was highly strange, for I hadn’t even known the staff member, so why would she deliberately sabotage my chances?

Title of the document

None of that matters now however, the bell sounds like a ma*s*sive gong in my mind as I realize I only have fifteen minutes left to finish my perfume fragrance. And I can’t proceed with the original one because I certainly won’t be able to finish it in time. My thoughts begin to spiral with considerable doubt.

My weeks upon weeks of preparation, the hours spent crafting and identifying best methods and specific fragrances in my laboratory all gone to waste as I’m left cheated. A sense of disaster overwhelms me at the thought of losing in the first round, when I have put my entire heart and soul into this compet*ition.

It’s with this in mind that I suddenly reestablish the reason I’m here. Not for the fame, or the glory, but to save the Blue Moon Tree. It’s so important to me and Marco, a place that somehow connects us, and forever remains a prominent reminder of my future child. But most of all, it’s the essence of the Blue Moon Pack, and I know I have an obligation to them to save it.

Recalling my purpose suddenly simmers the panic in my system. I don’t have time to spare on the notion of fear and embarra*s*sment, I have a responsibility. And with this in mind, my brain starts whizzing of new ideas and alternatives. I skim over my notes and establish quickly what I have to work with and where I can go from there. My half-completed perfume can still be of use, and I alter it into a different perfume that takes less time to set. I take note of the fragrances I’ve already used, which sparks a new concept.

I begin to add other oils, deciding that I want to create something summery with hints of childish nostalgia, like afternoons on vast farmlands with fields of apple trees.

I use floral and oriental notes in combination with sandalwood to embody my idea. With lOmins to spare, I add the ethanol and swirl my flask of restored fragrance before placing it over the bunsen burner, whilst praying that all my calculations are correct.

I’m nearly ecstatic as the concoction boils at the right moment. I’ve got less than five minutes, and while my heart patters erratically, I keep my hands steady. I take the flask off the flame and give it a final swirl and sniff. I smile, highly pleased with the final product. I pour the smooth liquid into a perfume bottle, add the topper, and set it down on my table just as the bell chimes for a final time.

I sigh in relief as I pass the first round of the compet*ition. And after speaking with Marco and some of the judges, I elaborate the interaction with the staff member who faulted me. Because of this, she’s punished and dismissed. Although, I’m still slightly uneasy about the whole ordeal, not having ever met her before, it seems strange for her to target only me.

The following days pass in a blur as I complete and positively progress through the rounds. In no time I’ve successfully entered the final round. There are only two finalists, Lily, and me. There are no restrictions on the ingredients or utensils permitted in this final round. And we are required to create a perfume related to the theme of “love”, with a three-day allowance.

We have two days to prepare, and then we must show the entire production process step by step in front of the judges and the audience, within a daily time limit. And at first, everything goes splendidly. I have no trouble coming up with a perfume concept surrounding the Blue Moon Flower, since the Blue Moon Tree is also known as the lover’s tree and a*s*sociated with ancient folklore surrounding love, and courtship. Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

Therefore, the Blue Moon Flower is the ideal main ingredient to base my perfume on, and it feels only right to have my notes, formulas and calculations written down in the black journal Marco gifted me for Valentine’s Day. It’s almost as if a piece of him is with me in the room as I work tirelessly over the first two days.

I’m very conscious of my time restraints and maintaining a good pace. But I still take my time ensuring the perfection of each additional oil that I add to the mixture, annotating each step as I go to have a well-written notation of every decision I’ve made.

It’s the final day of the compet*ition. And although Marco and Caspian have incredible faith in me and believe that I can win. I recognize that Lily is a very famous perfume designer who has won many perfume compet*itions, while I am a nobody. With nothing to my name.

There’s a betting system set up for our compet*ition, and I’m not surprised when nearly everyone is betting on Lily. It does make sense, her reputation far proceeds mine, and I understand that no one would want to risk their money on someone like me who comes from a low status life. And no one knows of my true capabilities in perfumery other than Lady Vivian and Marco.

However, I notice Marco’s reaction to everyone betting on Lily, portraying nothing but an eyebrow raise as he watches them chose Lily over me. But to my surprise, in front of everyone, he suddenly walks over to the booth and openly bets on me to win. I therefore can’t help but let a shy smile slip onto my lips from seeing this.

Just then the final round is about to start. In this round, we are allowed to bring our own utensils for our creations, and I excitedly unveil the leather tool kit cover that protects them. But when I reveal my perfumery instruments, my expression falls into utter despair.

My separatory funnel is shattered. It’s what I use to separate the solutions in my mixture. This particular one is immeasurably precious to me, made out of a special type of glass that makes it truly one of a kind. Worse of all, there is no equivalent instrument on site that I could use instead.

The absence of a separating funnel could ultimately destroy my entire creation. Droplets of water edge dangerously to the edge of my optics as I come to terms with accepting failure. And I can’t help but notice the corners of Lily’s mouth slightly curling up as she quietly stands at her station.

Almost as if he could sense my distress, Marco rushes over to one of the judges and asks. “What’s the latest time to submit perfumery equipment for the compet*ition?” “The judges need at least five minutes to check if the utensil is up to standard. The final round starts in fifteen. So, there’re only ten minutes left for the submission of any utensils,” he says.

I see the unsure faces of people in the audience. Shaking their heads and muttering amongst each other that there just isn’t enough time. The item is so rare, it would be impossible to find it anywhere in the capital. I seem too internally agree with the audience, I slump my shoulders in defeat, believing I am going to lose without even putting up a fight.

Just then Marco comes up to me, his walk depicting purposeful intent. “I will bring that tool for you in time for the compet*ition.”

“But how?”

“Trust me. Remember your Valentine’s Day gift?” he then dashes off. I watch as he shifts into his wolf form and gallops away. My eyes widen as I finally understand what he meant.

Although the now fractured separatory funnel is indeed precious. One such replica does exist. Marco’s gift to me included a wide range of rare and specialized equipment for perfumery, and one such tool is a separating funnel that is of the exact same make as the one broken in front of me.

But none of that would matter if Marco doesn’t get back in time. I nibble on my fingernails in an anxious display, feeling utterly restless as I wait for him to return. I do indeed trust him, with all my heart. But the logical segments of my brain argue that it’s impossible.

I watch in apprehension as time ticks away. The final round is about to start in five minutes, which means my last chance is about to disappear in 10, 9, 8, 7…l!