Holland
I didn’t run. My legs wanted to. My lungs wanted to. The hallway felt cooler by three degrees and I stood in it with my palm against the painted cinderblock, breathing like a person who had just learned how to.
Remy’s voice had been steady, a low current that could carry you if you let it. The words landed with weight—Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Omegas—ordinary job-description syllables sewn to extraordinary lives. But it was the mate talk that tilted the floor.
Compass not leash. Marking optional. Choose every morning.
My body had heard something before my brain could translate it. Heat had moved under my skin like a tide pulled by a moon I hadn’t agreed to but couldn’t deny. When he’d said scent recognizes scent, my palms had gone damp and my mouth had dried and I’d had to focus very
