Cherry blossom.
Frosted sugar.
Seraphine.
Her scent is everywhere now.
It's been three days since she officially moved into the pack house, and her presence has permeated every corner of the space. The couch where she curls up to read. The kitchen where she makes tea at odd hours. The training room where she dances when she thinks no one is watching.
Herscent.
Ours.
The possessive thought surfaces before I can stop it, bringing with it a complicated tangle of emotions I'm not equipped to process.
Excitement.
Anxiety.
Something that feels dangerously close to hope.
I'm not used to this.
Not used to feelinganything, really, beyond the cold satisfaction of a job well done. My training stripped that capacity from me years ago—carved out the parts of my brain that processed attachment, connection, the messy human need to belong to something bigger than yourself.
Or so I thought.
But standing here in the dark, surrounded by the evidence of violence, all I can think about isher.
The Omega sleeping somewhere inside that house.
The girl with pink hair and mismatched eyes and a kill count that rivals my own.
The broken, beautiful, absolutelyinsanecreature who looked at four damaged Alphas and decided we might be worth keeping.
For once in my life, I have something I actually want to protect.
The realization is terrifying.
Exhilarating.
Completely fucking foreign.
I look down at the body at my feet—another of the endless assassins Kai's father has been sending, another test of our defenses, another reminder that the sword hanging over all our heads hasn't fallen yet.
Soon.
It has to happen soon.
The waiting is worse than the violence.
We've been trying to act nonchalant about it.
All of us.
Pretending that having an Omega isn't reshaping everything we thought we knew about ourselves, about each other, about what we're capable of feeling. Pretending that waking up to her scent every morning doesn't make something in our chests feelfullin a way we've never experienced.
Pretending that this is just strategy.
