Complications. Such a sanitized word for what we all know happens. If an alpha gets one whiff of an omega in their territory, especially one with a compatible scent, it can trigger a frenzy. And frenzies lead to a rut. Hard, desperate fucking that turns any sane alpha into a primal beast.
My thighs clench involuntarily at the thought. I’ve never experienced it myself, but I’ve seen the aftermath in omegas in online videos. The glazed eyes. The slight limp. The mixture of satisfaction and shame.
I’ve never been with a pack. Never even dated one. At twenty-six, I’m practically ancient in omega terms—most are claimed by twenty-two, twenty-three at the latest. But I’ve always been careful. Controlled. A few kisses with a beta here, a hot sigma there, but never anything serious. Never an alpha.
And definitely never sex.
I’m a twenty-six-year-old virgin omega. Mother was always pushing me to find a nice pack, settle down, and give her grandbabies, as Carmen and Lena did.
“Well, too fucking bad,” I whisper as I grab the strongest scent-blocking shampoo on the shelf. My cherry blossom scent is particularly potent, according to the one sigma I let get close enough to scent me.
“Like walking into a Japanese garden in full bloom,” he’d said, before promptly trying to get his hand up my skirt. I’d broken his nose for the attempt. End of that relationship.
I add more bottles to my already overflowing basket. Better safe than sorry. I wander to the cosmetics section, adding eyeliner, concealer, and waterproof mascara to my haul. Thebasket is getting heavy, pulling at my arm muscles, but I’m not done yet. I grab a bottle of scent-neutralizing hair spray, the last one on the shelf. My basket is now dangerously full, items threatening to spill over the sides.
At the checkout, the bored beta male barely glances at me as he scans my purchases. I wonder if he can smell anything through my current blockers, if the rain has washed away enough to let my natural scent peek through. But his expression remains neutral, bored. Either my blockers are holding up, or he’s completely uninterested in omega scents. Probably the latter.
“That’ll be $87.53,” he drones, bagging my items.
I wince at the price but hand over my credit card. It’s not like I have a choice. These aren’t luxury items for me. These are necessities.
The beta hands me two plastic bags, bursting at the seams. “Have a nice day,” he says, already looking past me to the next customer.
I’ve barely made it three steps when the handles on one bag give way with a sharp snap. Bottles of shampoo and lotion tumble to the floor, rolling in every direction across the slick linoleum. One bottle of lotion hits someone’s shoe with a soft thud.
“Shit,” I mutter, crouching down to gather the scattered items. My dress pulls tight across my thighs as I reach for a bottle of shampoo that’s rolled halfway under a display stand.
A large hand reaches for the same bottle, fingers brushing against mine.
Two
FRANCINE
“I’m so sorry,”I stammer all over the place. But when I look up, I suddenly forget everything that happened to me today. My eyes lock onto his emerald green ones, and time stops. I forget how to breathe as my heart pounds wildly beneath my chest.
I forget everything except the alpha crouched in front of me, his scent wrapping around me like a warm hug that I never had as he helps me pick up bottles off the floor.
“Hey, no problem,” he says, his lips curving into a smile. My heart beats faster, as if I’ve never seen an alpha before.
Truth was, I’ve never been this close to one. And close to one that was actually talking to me.
He grabs the bottle, then effortlessly reaches for another that’s rolled under the display. His movements are fluid and confident. He’s a pure alpha. Before I can even register what’s happening, he’s stood up and grabbed a new bag from the checkout counter.
“You don’t have to,” I start to protest, but he’s already loading my scattered bottles into the fresh bag.
“It’s okay, hun,” he says, and my brain literally turns to smush. His scent is like warm cinnamon and leather. God, his scent is so strong and masculine. My inner omega wolf flares tolife, and suddenly, my scent begins to escape the scent blockers. My skin prickles with awareness, too overwhelmed by this particular alpha’s presence.
His sandy blond hair is tousled in a way that looks effortless but probably costs a fortune to maintain. Broad shoulders under a casual hoodie that fits him perfectly. Expensive-looking cargo pants. And those white sneakers look good. I don’t know brands, but I know money when I see it. He’s tall too, at least six foot-two, making me feel tiny compared to him.
He hands me the new bag, our fingers brushing again. This time, I’m prepared for the electric contact, but it still makes my breath catch.
“Anything for the omega,” he says, and just like that, my brief obsession shatters.
Of course. That’s all this is. I’m a rare commodity—an unmated omega in her mid-twenties. We’re like unicorns, highly sought after for breeding.
My shoulders tense as I take the bag from him, careful not to touch his fingers again.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice noticeably cooler. I turn toward the exit, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave me be. But he clearly doesn’t.
