It usually takes a lot to shake me while I'm on the clock, but these political gatherings are tough to get through for most single women. I am no exception.

I grit my teeth and pretend like my system isn't being bombarded with alpha pheromones. As I glance to the side I can tell I'm not the only one in the throng of reporters who is on edge from all the airborn aggression—a couple of the other female journalists are fidgeting, and a burly man holding a video camera on his shoulders is flexing his free hand. Probably an alpha himself, judging by the size of him. But he's been through this before, as have we all, and we're all pretending like we're not noticing the testosterone rolling off the mayoral candidates in thick waves.

I clench my pen tighter and squirm in my chair from discomfort at the latent aggression as I take in the five candidates. Every single one is so obviously alpha, which I think is just another sound reason to avoid any and all politicians. When your job is not to cover them for the most volatile election in recent memory, of course.

"I'd like to offer you all my warmest welcome to this our third debate." The current Lord Mayor smiles from his podium up front, in what I'm sure his PR team meant to be a jovial manner. Lord Mayor Bremen is a man is his sixties, with dark gray hair and sharp eyes, and he has ruled Mattenburg with an iron fist for eight years. If there is one thing he's not, it's jovial.

"With only two weeks to election day, we have a busy schedule ahead of us, so let us get started with the evening's topic of CO2 emissions and recreational planning."

I start to write notes on my trusty notepad, not bothering to look up while Bremen continues his introduction to the third subject the candidates have to discuss in a public forum before the elections.

"To get us started, I am certain Mister Peter Leod will enlighten us on the Liberals' viewpoints."

I look up, my pen pausing in time to see the Lord Mayor step backward and allow for one of the other candidates to take the floor. It is well known that he and Leod have been butting heads since before the election campaigns started, and as far as I know, Bremen has never allowed him to open a debate.

If Leod is as surprised by the gesture as I am—as the rest of the room appears to be—then he doesn't show it. He is a very tall man, who hides his alpha physique as best he can underneath an immaculately pressed, white shirt and a blue suit. No doubt in order to appeal to the liberal citizens his party represents—the ones who don't care for archaic roles and biologically dictated power structures. I probably would have voted for him myself, if it wasn't because I've been exposed to the lies and corruption within our city council for a few years now, thanks to my job. There are no Santa Claus, no Tooth Fairy and definitely no trustworthy politician in this city.

"Thank you, Lord Mayor." Leod lets his eyes sweep over the cameras and gathered reporters, the air of confidence that has made him rise from a relative nobody to a serious contender within the span of two years vibrating from him like a near—tangible entity.

I frown and stare at his defined features in the hopes of seeing even a glimmer of surprise or annoyance, but there is nothing but cool, calm self—assuredness. Maybe I'm just grasping at air, hoping to see something—anything—that will make a three—hour debate on CO2 even slightly interesting.

I've barely had the thought when his sweeping gaze catches mine.

A jolt shoots through my body, almost like someone's sent an electric current through me. I blink, startled, and immediately proceed to drop my pen. I hurriedly close my knees and catch it in my skirt before it can clatter to the floor.

What the hell was that?

I clutch my pen tighter as I suppress the odd tingling sensation in my tailbone left behind by whatever the hell that electric jolt was.

But when I look back up, he is still looking right at me, his cool, gray eyes seemingly boring into mine.

I am vaguely aware that my mouth hangs open and that tendrils of sensation are running down my arms until my fingertips buzz, but mainly, I'm just quietly freaking out. Why the hell is he staring at me? He looks… angry. His nostrils flare and a small frown makes its appearance on his forehead.

This makes no sense. I am certain he doesn't know me personally, and I've never written anything remotely exciting enough for a man like Leod to take notice.

It seems to dawn on him that he was meant to be talking right now, because he jerks his gaze away, smoothing the small frown as he resumes his speech.

I breathe a shaky sigh of relief at the loss of his attention, but I can't stop my hands from trembling. I don't understand what just happened—I don't understand why he was staring at me, and I certainly don't understand why my body is… is doing whatever the hell it is it's doing. The buzzing in my tailbone seems to intensify for every shuddered breath.

My bewildered thoughts come to an abrupt halt when my abdomen suddenly contracts in cramps. I manage to bite down on my yelp of surprise and pain, stifling it to a grunt.

The woman next to me gives me a puzzled look, but no one else seems to have noticed.