The crisp morning air carries the usual scents of the pack house – pine, damp earth, the faint aroma of breakfast still lingering.
But then it hits me, a delicate sweetness that makes my senses sharpen. Strawberries.
Tamsin. But… different. Cleaner.
The sharp undercurrent of dish soap, the tell-tale sign of her usual omega chores, is absent.
It’s just the pure, sweet scent of her. My jaw tightens. She’s not doing her duties. Of course she's not. With her now status of the Beta's lover, I doubt he would let her resume omega chores.
He’s coddling her.
I take a few more steps and I catch his scent, woven into hers like intertwined vines.
That familiar, comforting leather and something else, something possessive... arousal.They’re close. Too close.
“Ignore it,” Cyan rumbles in the
