The Alpha And His Omega

3

Tristan

The scent was following me.

Or rather, I was following it. I paced the length of the second-floor gallery like a caged animal, my skin itching with a restless, frantic energy. Vane was clawing at the surface of my mind, his hackles raised, his predatory instincts dialed to a frequency I couldn’t shut off.

Find it. Find her, he snarled.

"Shut up," I muttered under my breath, my boots thudding rhythmically against the Persian rugs.

I was the Alpha Heir. I didn’t "find" things; things were brought to me. But this—this pull—wasn’t something I could command. It was a physical ache, a tether pulling me toward the servant’s stairs. It was infuriating. It was beneath me.

I rounded the corner near the dining hall, my temper frayed to a thin, dangerous wire. That’s when I saw her again.

An Omega. The girl from the hallway.

She was kneeling by a large decorative vase, a polishing cloth in her hand. She looked small—fragile, even—in that drab gray uniform that was designed to make her disappear. Her hair was pulled back, but a few loose strands framed a face that was far too delicate for a life of manual labor.

As I approached, she didn't see me at first. She was focused on her work, her movements careful and methodical.

Then, she sensed me.

I watched the way her shoulders stiffened. I watched the way her breath caught, her small chest hitching. The air between us began to vibrate with that same electric charge I’d felt earlier. My wolf didn't just stand up this time; he roared. The sound echoed in my skull, a demand for dominance and proximity that made my vision blur with gold.

I hated it. I hated the way a girl who held no rank, no power, and no wolf could make my pulse hammer like a novice's.

"You're in the way," I snapped.

The words were harsher than I intended, vibrating with a cruelty that was born purely of defense.

Rena flinched as if I’d struck her. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide and swimming with a mix of fear and something else—that same recognition that was currently tearing me apart.

"I—I’m sorry, Alpha," she stammered, dropping into a low, submissive curtsy. "I was just finishing the..."

"I don't care what you were finishing," I cut her off, stepping into her personal space. I wanted to scare her. I wanted to push her away so far that this tether would finally snap. "This hall is for guests. You should be in the kitchens where you belong."

Up close, the scent was overwhelming. Rain. Honey. Something sweet and wild. It hit me like a physical blow to the gut. My wolf pushed forward, wanting to tuck his nose into the crook of her neck, to claim the scent as his own.

My hand moved instinctively, reaching for her, but I caught myself at the last second, gripping the edge of a nearby table instead. The wood groaned under the pressure of my grip.

"Please... forgive me," she whispered, her voice trembling. She looked up at me, and for a second, the fear in her eyes was eclipsed by a flash of raw, unfiltered attraction.

The bond—whatever this sick joke of a connection was—pulsed.

"Tristan? Darling, there you are."

The spell shattered.

Nora appeared at the end of the hall, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She looked radiant in a deep crimson gown, the color of blood and status. She walked with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where she fit in the world.

She reached me and slid her arm through mine, her fingers proprietary as they gripped my bicep. She didn't even look at Rena at first. To Nora, the girl was just part of the architecture.

"The Alpha is looking for you," Nora said, her voice smooth as silk. "The delegates from the Southern Pack have arrived. You shouldn't be wasting your time in the service halls."

Finally, Nora’s gaze flickered to Rena. Her eyes narrowed, taking in the girl’s flushed face and the way I was standing just a breath too close to her. A flash of sharp, cold territorialism crossed Nora’s features.

"Is there a problem with the staff?" Nora asked, her tone dripping with condescension.

"No," I said, my voice tight. I forced myself to look away from Rena. I forced myself to look at Nora, the woman I was supposed to want. "She was just leaving."

"Then leave," Nora commanded, looking back at Rena with a sneer. "And learn to move more quietly. You’re distracting the Alpha Heir."

Rena bowed her head lower, her knuckles white as she gripped her polishing cloth. Without a word, she turned and hurried away, her footsteps disappearing down the back stairs.

As she left, the air seemed to go cold. The scent vanished, leaving me with nothing but the cloying, heavy perfume Nora was wearing.

"She’s a bit bold for an Omega, isn't she?" Nora remarked, her hand sliding up my arm. "I’ll have a word with Martha. We can't have the help loitering in the main halls."

"Don't bother," I said, pulling my arm away from her. "It’s not important."

But it was. Inside, Vane was pacing, snarling at the walls of my mind. He didn't care about delegates or southern packs or Nora. He wanted the girl in the gray dress. And for the first time in my life, the Alpha Heir was losing the war against his own wolf.