My roommates were still in the dining hall, their bunks empty, their laughter echoing faintly through the walls. I had the room to myself. I lay down on my bunk and stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the ranch settling into evening. Cattle lowing in the distance. Crickets starting their nightly chorus. The soft whinny of a horse from somewhere near the stables.
Underneath it all, that scent. That damned scent. Eucalyptus and honey, drifting through my memory like a ghost I couldn't shake. Something stirred in my chest. Something I'd spent years learning to ignore, to suppress, to crush before it could take root.
Instinct. That deep, primal part of me reaching toward that scent like a flower reaching toward the sun. I turned over and pressed my face into the pillow, forcing myself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady. It didn't mean anything. He was just a vet. Just an Alpha who happened to be good with animals. The fact that he'd beengentle, that he'd given me space, that his scent made something in my hindbrain go quiet and still—it didn't mean anything.
I couldn't let it mean anything.
Tomorrow, I would work. I would keep my head down and my mouth shut. I would avoid the stable and the Alpha with the green eyes and the gentle hands.
I would not think about him.
I would not.
But as I lay there in the dark, waiting for sleep that wouldn't come, I could still feel the ghost of his gaze on my skin. Could still hear that low, calm voice, murmuring easy, easy like I was something precious. Something worth being careful with.
No one had ever been careful with me before. I didn't know what to do with that either.
CHAPTER THREE
NOLAN
I couldn't get her out of my head.
I finished up with Bella on autopilot, my hands going through the familiar motions of checking vitals and administering anti-inflammatories while my mind stayed stuck on pale green eyes and clenched fists. On the way she'd stood in the shadows like she was ready to bolt. On the faint, barely-there scent that had hit me like a punch to the chest.
Omega.
Feral. Malnourished. Terrified.
Something else underneath all of that. Something that had made every protective instinct I had snap to attention. Bella nickered softly, nudging my shoulder with her nose, and I realized I'd been standing there with my hand on her neck for god knows how long, staring at the empty doorway where Aster had disappeared.
"Sorry, girl." I gave the mare one last pat, my voice coming out rougher than I intended, and gathered my supplies, shoving them back into my kit with less care than usual. "Got distracted."
Distracted. That was one word for it. I'd seen plenty of Omegas in my life. Treated them, talked to them, worked alongside them. I'd dated a few, back before I'd moved to Thornwood, back when I thought I knew what I wanted. None of them had ever made me react like that. None of them had ever made my hands shake with the urge to reach out, to touch, to soothe.
She'd been so thin. That was the first thing I'd noticed, even before the scent registered. The sharp angles of her cheekbones, the way her clothes hung loose on her frame, the shadows under her eyes that spoke of too many missed meals and not enough sleep. Her hands had been callused, her nails bitten short, her dark hair escaping from its braid in wisps that framed a face that might have been pretty if it weren't so gaunt.
She'd looked like something that had been running for a long time. Something that had forgotten what it felt like to stop.
And those eyes. Pale green, striking against her dark hair, watchful and wary. She'd cataloged every exit and every threat before she'd even registered that I was there. When she'd finally looked at me, it had been the way prey looks at a predator—calculating distance, measuring speed, figuring out exactly how fast she'd need to move to get away if I made a wrong move.
I'd stayed still. Kept my voice low. Given her space.
It was what I did with frightened animals. Approach slow, don't make sudden movements, let them come to you. I hadn't even thought about it—just slipped into that mode automatically, treating her the same way I'd treat a spooked horse or a feral cat.
She wasn't an animal. I knew that. But something about her had triggered the same instincts, the same careful gentleness that I used with wounded creatures. And when she'd growled her name at me—actually growled, like she was daring me to makesomething of it—something in my chest had twisted in a way I couldn't explain.
Aster. Like the flower. Delicate but hardy, my grandmother would have said. The kind of flower that blooms late and survives the frost.
I shouldered my kit and headed out of the stable, squinting against the midday sun. The ranch was busy around me—workers moving between buildings, the distant sound of cattle, the clang of metal from somewhere near the equipment shed. Normal sounds. Normal day.
Except nothing felt normal anymore.
I found myself scanning the property as I walked, looking for a dark braid and a defensive hunch. Looking for her. I didn't see her—she was probably out on fence duty by now if Hank had anything to say about it—but that didn't stop me from looking.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I'd come to Longhorn Ranch to check on a pregnant mare. That was it. A routine visit, same as I'd done a hundred times before. I wasn't supposed to walk away with my head full of green eyes and the ghost of lilacs clinging to my clothes.
