Marked by Her Scent

Chapter 5 May I Taste You?

Iris refused to believe it was a coincidence. Even if that Alpha actually lived in the building, there was no way they'd end up in the same elevator two days in a row.

She'd been marked.

He had his eyes on her.

Her fingers still remembered the strange sensation of the polar bear's tongue…

Looks like I can't keep working at Grandma Emily's either.

What a run of terrible luck.

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Worn out, Iris arrived at the Anderson estate. The Black Belgian Malinois was already at the kennel, earlier than her as usual—its tail wagging happily back and forth. But the moment Iris came closer, the tail froze.

The Malinois twitched its nose, sniffed the air, and let out a low, threatening growl.

"What's wrong?" Iris crouched down, reaching out to soothe the dog with a head scratch—but the Malinois shrank back, avoiding her hand.

Then it bared its teeth at her.

Iris yanked her hand back in fright and stumbled, landing on the grass.

The Malinois went rigid—and the next second, it dissolved into mist and vanished.

With the danger gone, Iris slowly caught her breath. Then it hit her: her hand must still carry the scent of that polar bear. The Malinois had smelled it.

As soon as the Malinois disappeared, the three Malamutes snapped back to their usual selves. They circled around Iris, jumping up, trying to climb into her lap.

"All right, all right, settle down. No roughhousing."

The Malamutes were big and strong. Iris lost her balance and toppled backward onto the grass.

She knew these three all too well. Quickly, she covered her face with one hand and shooed them with the other. "No licking!"

They weren't spirit forms. They'd cover her in sticky drool. No, thank you.

After waving them off a few times, she noticed they weren't crowding her anymore. She moved her hand—

Silas was standing right there, looking down at her in quiet stillness. The three dogs had retreated to their house.

From her angle on the ground, he seemed impossibly tall. And he was so… pale.

He wore casual loungewear—a loose white T-shirt. A breeze swept through the yard, lifting the hem. Iris, lying flat on the ground, couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the porcelain-white slice of abdomen beneath the fabric.

Eyes to yourself. Iris immediately dragged her gaze upward and met Silas's face.

His expression was blank. Different from usual.

He almost looked… angry.

Iris's heart began to race—then soured into frustration. I'm not some loyal citizen of this world anymore. I've been contaminated by it. Facing Silas, who was months younger than her, she had absolutely no confidence. I haven't done anything wrong—why do I feel so small?

But then she remembered her place in this world's social hierarchy, and her stubborn spine softened a notch.

In this ABO society, people were divided into three classes:

First-class citizens—mostly noble heirs, high-ranking Tarra officials, High Council leaders, A-rank and above Alphas, and all Omegas.

Second-class citizens—B-rank and below Alphas, Tarra and High Council employees, and third-class citizens who had risen through exceptional merit.

Third-class citizens—everyone else. Ordinary people.

Iris was a third-class citizen. The lowest of the low.

Before a first-class citizen, a third-class citizen was worth less than a weed.

You couldn't cross that gap with a stiff spine and a stubborn heart.

She was just an ordinary person. She didn't have the fire or ambition of some manga hero. All she wanted was a quiet, unremarkable life—to survive and stay hidden. And for that, she could compromise, as long as it wasn't too much to bear.

She'd been lost in thought too long. She only snapped back when Silas's hand appeared in front of her.

Iris scrambled to her feet and stepped back two paces.

Like he was a snake.

Silas's beautiful brow furrowed. He stepped forward, caught her arm, and pulled her toward him. The faint scent of cedar wrapped around her.

She nearly collided with his chest. She stepped back again. "Young master?"

The beautiful boy ignored her completely.

Her arm was lifted. Iris watched in horror as Silas tilted his head, his nose drifting toward her skin.

He's going to smell me.

"Let go!" She threw all her weight into pulling away—but it was like fighting against iron.

His nose stopped less than a centimeter from her skin. She could feel the warm whisper of his breath brushing her arm, traveling slowly down to her wrist, then to the center of her palm.

Both her hands were caught now. She was pinned.

The boy with half-lowered lashes finally looked up at her. His eyes were dark and bright—but the light in them was cold.

"I thought you were avoiding me because I'm an Alpha."

His grip tightened. He seemed even angrier now.

"But your hands. Your arms."

He leaned closer. His breath ghosted over her ear, her neck.

"So many places on you. They all carry the scent of a strange Alpha's spirit."

"So… you're not afraid of Alphas, are you?"

What kind of twisted logic is that?

"No, that's not—" Her words were cut off as Silas suddenly pulled her into an embrace. Her thin frame was crushed against him like a ragdoll in a child's arms.

He buried his face in the hollow of her neck. A moment passed. Then came his voice—a little hoarse.

"Iris… can I lick you?"