My blood runs cold at his admission, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach like lead. Different? What does that mean? The question flits through my mind frantically as I try to piece together what he could possibly mean by that. But there’s no time to dwell on it because his grip tightens further on my wrist—a silent reminder of just how precarious this situation truly is.
“Let go,” I whisper.
He doesn’t let go. Instead, he inhales deeply at the crook of my neck again, as if committing every detail of my scent to memory.
“Why do you smell of fear?” he asks suddenly, his tone sharper now but still carrying that unsettling growl underneath.
“I… I,” What does he mean? He is the one scaring me. I am Omega, he’s an Alpha who could break me like a twig if he chose so, what kind of question
