I abandoned my shopping and left the store with my jaw clenched and my suppressant patch suddenly feeling too tight against my skin.
This was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid. Small town gossip. People making assumptions. The idea that I needed a pack, needed alphas, needed anything other than the carefully controlled life I’d built for myself.
Except the gossip wasn’t entirely wrong, and that was the problem.
I walked toward my car with my head down, trying to ignore the way my suppressant patch felt like it was burning against my skin. The dose I’d been using for five years had always been enough before. Strong enough to keep my omega dormant, my scents muted, my biology firmly under control.
But lately, control was getting harder.
My phone buzzed before I reached my car. A text from Kit Morrison, the photographer omega who’d been trying to befriend me since she’d moved to town.
Coffee this week? I promise I won’t ask about your love life. Much.
Kit was kind. Perceptive. Exactly the kind of friend who’d see through my carefully maintained walls. Who’d ask questions I didn’t want to answer about why three alphas were suddenly part of my daily routine. Who’d probably already heard from her pack mates about the emergency coordinator spending suspicious amounts of time with Beau, Silas, and Dane.
I typed back quickly.Busy. Maybe next month.
The lie sat heavy on my screen. I wasn’t busy. I was avoiding anyone who might make me examine too closely why my life had suddenly gotten complicated.
I sent the message anyway and climbed into my car, grateful for the enclosed space where no one could ambush me with observations about my personal life.
Except I couldn’t escape my own thoughts.
Mrs. Patterson was right about one thing. I had been closed off since arriving in Hollow Haven. I’d moved here specifically to be closed off, to build a life where no one knew about the humiliation of being rejected mid-ceremony. Where I could be competent and professional and completely self-sufficient.
For five years, it had worked.
And then three alphas had somehow worked their way past my defenses through coffee and lunch dates without me even realizing it, and now my carefully controlled life felt less like protection and more like a cage.
I drove home slowly, taking the long route because I needed time to clear my head before facing my empty apartment. The evening was cool, autumn settling into the valley with the kind of crisp air that made everything smell sharper, clearer.
The route took me through downtown, past all the places that had become landmarks in my daily routine.
The fire station came first. I could see lights on in the bay, could make out figures moving inside. Beau was probably still there, running equipment checks or reviewing protocols. The scent of cedar smoke and charcoal drifted on the evening breeze, and my omega stirred despite the suppressants.
I kept driving.
Past the medical clinic where Silas worked. The building was mostly dark now, but I could smell vanilla and cardamom lingering in the air, sweet and warm and making my suppressants work harder than they should need to.
I kept driving.
Past the county sheriff’s office where Dane would be finishing paperwork before heading home. Leather and gunpowder andsandalwood, distinctive even from across the street, making something in my chest ache with want I absolutely could not afford to feel.
By the time I reached my apartment, my suppressants were barely holding.
I made it inside and leaned against the door, breathing carefully through the wave of want that threatened to overwhelm me. My skin felt too warm. My apartment smelled wrong, empty, lacking the scents my omega was suddenly insisting I needed.
Cedar smoke. Vanilla and cardamom. Leather and gunpowder.
All three of them.
The realization settled over me like cold water. I wasn’t just attracted to them individually. I was scent-compatible with all three. The odds of that were astronomical. Most omegas never found one perfect match in their lifetime, let alone three.
And they were compatible with each other. I’d noticed it during that emergency coordination last week, the way their scents layered together without clashing, complementing instead of competing. The way they worked together like they’d been designed as a unit.
Pack-compatible. All four of us.
My biology knew what it wanted before my brain had caught up, and now that I’d recognized it, I couldn’t unknow it. Couldn’t pretend I didn’t notice the way my suppressants were struggling harder every day. Couldn’t ignore the way my omega was waking up after five years of forced dormancy, crying out for something I’d sworn I’d never want again.
