The limo comes to a smooth halt, and I step out into the night air, inhaling deeply. I can still detect traces of cherry blossoms hanging in the chilly air.
So beautiful. So calming.
“Francine,” I whisper quietly into the night. Even her name feels right on my tongue. It feels like I’ve been waiting to say it my entire life. The brief encounter at the store wasn’t enough for me.
I’ve dated my fair share of omegas, but never has my alpha instinct roared to life like this. It’s as if my wolf recognizes her as mine, has always known her as mine, the moment I saw her in distress in the store, dropping all her groceries.
Looking up at the apartment building, I grimace. The place is a shithole. Crumbling brick walls, broken security door, flickering exterior lights that look like they’re about to die.How can an omega like her be living in a place like this?Is anyone even taking care of her? This just proves to me that she’s unmated.
My fists clench as I feel a protective urge rise in me.
Using my real estate developer’s eye, I scan the building. Six floors, four units per floor based on the window configuration. Corner units are slightly larger. Her car is parked in the lot, that beat-up Honda with the dented fender. I mentally calculate which unit would be hers based on where I see lights still on. Third floor, east corner. Probably apartment 304 or 306, depending on their numbering system.
I’ve built enough apartment complexes to know exactly how these cookie-cutter buildings are laid out. It’s my business to understand spaces, to envision homes before they’re built.
The security door to the building is locked.
Fuck.
My opportunity comes when an elderly couple approaches the front door, the woman fumbling with a ring of keys while the man steadies her arm. I jog over, pasting on my most charming smile.
“Let me help you with that,” I offer, reaching for the door as they unlock it.
“Thank you, young man,” the beta woman says, her rheumy eyes squinting up at me. “Are you visiting someone?”
“Yes, my girlfriend,” I lie smoothly. “She’s expecting me.”
They shuffle inside, and I hold the door, slipping in behind them. The lobby smells of mildew and cheap cleaning products. The elevator looks questionable at best, so I head for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
The third-floor hallway is dimly lit, with empty beer bottles lining the baseboards.
I count doors until I reach 306, which should be the corner unit based on the building’s layout. This has to be hers. I stand outside, hesitating for the first time and wondering why the fuck I’m stalking this omega. She’s different, I tell myself. I’m not going to let my brothers’ words get into my head.
I test the doorknob, expecting it to be locked. To my surprise, it turns easily in my hand. Hmm… I need to have a serious talk with her.
Anyone could walk in and hurt Francine. The thought makes my blood simmer with protective anger and panic. I slip inside, closing the door silently behind me.
Her scent hits me immediately, stronger here in this small space. Her sweet cherry blossoms undercut with the salty tang of tears and grief. But there’s another scent too, fading but still present. It’s an older omega, female. Family. Mother, most likely. The scent is stale.
Understanding washes over me. She wasn’t just having a bad day. She’s grieving. But I’m not totally sure.
I move quietly through the small living room, taking in the details. Wolf figurines on every surface. Books stacked on a coffee table. A large, worn armchair.
A short hallway leads to what must be the bedroom. The door is ajar, and through it, I can see a small bed pushed against the wall.
My heart stops when I see her at last.
Francine is curled on her side, her red hair spilling across the pillow like silk. I pause in the doorway, watching her for a good fifteen minutes as she breathes deeply in her sleep. I could stay here all night in the shadows watching her beauty. Suddenly, her eyebrows crease, and her breath hitches. Tears stream down her face.
She’s crying in her sleep.
My chest tightens painfully.
Without thinking, I move to the foot of her bed, watching her face in the dim light. Tears slip from beneath her closed eyelids, tracking down her cheeks to dampen her pillow. Her lips quiver with each shuddering breath. She’s wearing flannelpajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, looking vulnerable and so fucking beautiful it makes my heart ache.
This is crossing every line. I know it. But I can’t leave her like this, crying alone in a shitty apartment.
Slowly, carefully, I toe off my expensive sneakers and set them beside her bed. I ease myself onto the mattress behind her, moving with stealth. The bed creaks slightly beneath my weight, but she doesn’t stir.
