We stand there in the rain, two alphas in rut, both completely fucked.
“I’ve never—” Dax starts, then stops.
“Yeah.”
“The ruts I’ve had before, they were manageable. Uncomfortable, but manageable. This is?—”
“Different.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s putting it mildly.”
Another wave of her scent cuts through the rain. We both tense.
“I need to think about something else,” I mutter.
“Good luck with that.”
I try anyway. Force my mind toward work. We have a clientwe’re trying to win over, but Sierra’s proposal for their wedding…
Sierra.
Everything circles back to her.
“I’m going to check the generator,” I say abruptly.
“You checked it an hour ago.”
“Then I’ll check it again.”
I push past him into the house. Her scent is stronger inside, wrapping around me as soon as I step in. My knot throbs, and I grit my teeth against it.
The utility room is better. Cooler. The concrete walls and mechanical smell of the generator provide some relief.
I inspect connection points I already know are fine. Check fuel levels that haven’t changed. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied.
But even in here, I can still smell traces of her.
I sit down on the concrete floor, back against the wall, and let my head fall back.
This is absurd. I’m ex-military. I don’t lose my composure.
Except apparently I do when there’s an omega in heat down the hall who landed the Vander wedding after I’d spentweekscourting the client, only for her to turn it into the event of the season.
Who shows up at venue walkthroughs and captures the focus of the owners by simply smiling at them.
Who watches me across crowded ballrooms with this look, like she’s already three steps ahead, already knows how my next pitch will fail before I’ve even made it.
I’ve spent months stealing glances at her portfolio online, studying how she transforms spaces I’d written off as unusable. Trying to decode the secret behind her flawless reputation.
And now my rut has decided it’s done playing detective.
What does she do when she’s not working? Does she have hobbies? Friends? What does she read? What makes her laugh?
Does she ever let her guard down, or is she always this perfectly controlled?
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, expecting work emails, but it’s a message from Dax.
Her scent just spiked again. I’m heading back to the garage.
