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“My alpha sent fudge. Can I tempt you?”
Rumor’s out.
I’m awakened, unmated, and a total slut for anything sweet.
I lick my lips, staring down the label of the best bakery in the city. I used to dream about their cakes when I was biding my time at the Omega Cultivation Center, and the other girls came home from the events I skipped loaded with treats from their admirers.
For the first time in my life, I have admirers.
Turns out, I hate having admirers.
I’m building my own fan club from the guards and nurses mooning over me like a toffee lollipop they want to lick until there’s nothing left but stick.
No thank you.
When Doctor Sorensen was assigned to my case and showed up with the first box of cupcakes, I made the nurses check for poison.
But he holds himself back, not pushing my boundaries or tipping off my well-honed skeez radar.
Even if I’m reading him wrong and the guy’s here to assassinate me, if I have to die, I choose death by chocolate. “Thank you.”
His eyes crinkle behind his face shield, and he rolls the tray table to my bed, setting down the box. “Jason made this batch just for you.”
Did I mention that his alpha owns the best bakery in the city?
He’s the pastry chef.
I’m not loving this new state of want-you-for-your-pheromones attention, but that doesn’t mean I say no to free fudge.
“Which flavor would you like?” He pops open the box to reveal a sampler of fudge bites topped with everything from marshmallows to breakfast cereal to edible glitter.
I pluck out a rainbow monstrosity made of food dye and diabetes.
“Unicorn.” He hmms. “Good choice.”
My eyes roll back when the sugar hits my tongue, and I can’t keep down a soul-deep moan. “It’s so goooood.”
“I’ll tell Jason how much you liked it.” Doctor Sorensen leans away from my elephant-tranquilizing pheromones, gripping his arms. “He said mini cheesecakes tomorrow. Kipp and Rhett want to send gifts too, but I told them to slow down.”
I choke mid-bite. “Doctor Sorensen. My debt—”
“Call me Cale,” he says. “Your debt’s not a problem. Wyvern Pack only owns half the city. Who do you think owns the other half?”
Weird flex, but okay.
I’m definitely not attracted—the man’s a Smurf, all blue medical gear, nothing showing but his eyes—but the way he looks at me is nothing how the betas always looked at me when I was growing up at the OCC.
Nothing like Craig’s creepery, either.
They watched me like a toy or an asset. A failure or an enemy. Someone they could boss around or treat like trash.
Cale looks at me with hope.
It makes me just as sick.
I can’t be what his pack or any pack wants—the smiley, happy omega who anchors their bonds—but if he keeps looking at me like that, treating me nice, offering to buy my freedom, and feeding me sweets…
I’m gonna wanna take the safety he’s offering.
