But I also couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d stood her ground when she was furious with me. Or how she’d spent an hour fixing my tactical scenario without making me feel incompetent. Or the respect in her voice when she’d said I thought like a soldier.
I locked up the community center and drove home through streets lined with autumn colors, my mind on tactical problems and cedar smoke and the uncomfortable realization that three years of careful isolation might be coming to an end whether I was ready for it or not.
My house on the edge of town was dark and empty when I arrived, exactly the way I’d designed my life to be. The sheriff’s department was downtown, but I’d chosen to live out here, away from Main Street, away from the social expectations that came with being a public servant in a small town.
Safe. Controlled. Alone.
It had been enough for three years.
Tonight, for the first time, it felt like it might not be enough anymore.
Chapter 5
Sable
Ithrew the jacket in the wash the moment I got home, which was ridiculous because there was nothing actually on it. No visible stain. No dirt. Just the lingering scent of charcoal from where Beau Calder had brushed past me earlier that day at the fire station.
My omega had purred. Actually purred, like I was some kind of hormonal teenager instead of a thirty-two-year-old professional who’d spent five years building walls specifically to prevent this kind of reaction.
The washing machine churned to life, and I stood there watching it like I could personally supervise the removal of every molecule of alpha scent from the fabric. Like if I stared hard enough, I could wash away not just the scent but the memory of how my body had responded to it. The way my omega had woken up and taken notice despite the suppressants I wore specifically to keep it quiet.
Five years. Five years of carefully controlled biology. Five years of suppressants that had always worked before.
Until now.
My suppressants were working. I’d checked the patch on my arm twice today, and it was secure, delivering the steady dose of hormones that kept my omega biology muted and manageable. The dosage was correct. The patch was fresh, replaced just three days ago on schedule. Everything was functioning exactly as it should be.
So there was no logical reason why I should be able to smell Beau this clearly, or why the scent should affect me this strongly. No logical reason why vanilla and cardamom from the paramedic should make me want to smile, or why leather and gunpowder from the tactical trainer should make my omega sit up and insist I pay attention.
Except there was a reason. A reason I didn’t want to acknowledge because acknowledging it meant accepting that five years of running had brought me right back to the thing I’d been running from.
Scent compatibility.
Not with one alpha. With three.
The odds were astronomical. Scent matching happened, but it was rare enough that most omegas never found even one perfect match in their lifetime. Finding three who were all compatible with each other and with me?
That didn’t just happen. That was biology insisting on something I couldn’t afford to want.
I pulled out my phone and opened the photo I’d saved but never looked at anymore. Couldn’t look at without feeling the sharp edge of humiliation cut fresh every single time.
The photo loaded slowly, like my phone was giving me time to change my mind. I should have changed my mind. Should havedeleted it years ago and stopped torturing myself with evidence of my biggest failure.
But I opened it anyway, because apparently I was determined to punish myself tonight.
Me in a white bonding dress. Traditional cut, long sleeves, high collar. The kind of dress that said respectable omega, proper omega, omega who understood her place in a pack structure. I’d spent three months working with Nathan’s grandmother to design it, had endured countless fittings, had smiled through discussions about what kind of omega wore what kind of dress.
I’d thought I was building something. Thought the compromises and the fittings and the careful navigation of Nathan’s family’s expectations were investments in a future that would be worth the effort.
I’d been wrong.
Behind me in the photo, stood Nathan’s family. His parents, both looking proud and pleased. His two sisters, dressed in matching lavender as my attendants even though I barely knew them. His grandmother who’d helped design the dress, who’d spent hours telling me about pack traditions and omega responsibilities and how important it was that I understand my role.
They were all smiling. All of them ready to welcome me into their family, ready to mold me into whatever shape they’d decided I should be.
And Nathan himself, standing at the altar in his formal suit, looking at me with an expression I’d initially mistaken for nervousness.
It wasn’t nervousness.
