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My pencil tumbles from my fingers, leaving a long black line that ruins my drawing.
I don’t see the pencil land on the soft grass. Or hear the sketchpad do likewise as it slips from my lap as I surge to my feet.
Because that scent…
It is doing…thingsto me.
A man in a suit is standing near the back door.
The moment I make eye contact with him, his dark blue eyes crease at the corners and somehow, he’s even more beautiful than I thought him before.
He smiles as he walks toward me. “She said you were beautiful. You are exquisite.”
An alpha.
I have an alpha standing in front of me, calling me exquisite.
Is this a dream?
His scent is burrowing under my skin, tugging between my legs, awakening urges and needs and wants in me I’ve never known before.
I want to tear off my skin and get to the itch.
The world is too hot. My skin burns, yet my teeth chatter and can't seem to stop.
“Wh-what’s wrong with me?” I stutter as I sway.
My skin burns from the inside out. A bird flaps its wings. And the sound...
I clap my hands over my ears and shrink away from it before it makes my ears bleed.
No one reacts so strongly to an alpha unless they are an omega.
I amnotan omega. I am a beta, like Mom and Della.
They perfume at eighteen. They are prized and they are valuable. They have the best of everything. Men included.
And they live in gilded cages their alphas build around them to keep them safe.
Why should an omega know freedom when they have an alpha to care for them?
But I’m twenty-one. Far too old to be perfuming.
I shake my head, my teeth still chattering. “I’m not an omega.”
The sweet vanilla-coconut scent drifting from my skin calls me a liar. So does the heat coiling in my veins, as I ache with the need to tear off my dress and rub myself against this alpha. Or any alpha. I don’t care.
A burn starts up between my thighs, and a sticky, syrupy sweetness coats my tongue, drowning out all other senses but need.
Pleasure and knowledge blast into me at once.
Because I recognize this man. Finally.
I’m a late-blooming omega at twenty-one. Lawrence Wentworth, the handsome alpha heir of one of the wealthiest families in the city, just triggered my heat when he stepped into my garden.
My knees are rocking together, not wanting to hold me up.
A woman yells faintly in the distance, a sound quickly cut off with a dull, ringing thud.
