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My mind races, trying to process the perfume in the air. Is it real? Am I in control? God, what if go in there and hurt them?
I hate the answer my body gives me. Because it does not care. Nothing short of dropping dead will stop me from getting to the omega filling the air with gentle lavender and bubbling honey.
The door disappears. Did I open it? Melt it with the heat pouring off my body?
Who gives a shit?
I step inside the plush hotel-like suite, finding my most self-involved, least-emotionally-mature packmate cuddled into the sofa with a small omega bundled in his arms.
The way he’s holding her, I can’t see her face right away. But her sweet, honeyed scent strokes its way into my lungs, curling there until my nerves vibrate in pure pleasure.
Holy fuck.
Was that a purr?
I swear to God, I’ve never made that noise before.
They both startle at the sound, turning in unison to look at me.
Damon could be a piece of furniture for all that he fades into the background. My eyes loop over the omega’s face, desperate to drink it in. She’s beautiful and delicate, with the most unique honey-brown complexion and shining black curls and hazel-blue eyes that look like?—
Butterfly’s wings.
“Remi?”
The name is torn out of the very bottom of my soul. I haven’t said it in years.
Now, as it rolls off my tongue, it feels like some secret hope I didn’t know I had. Could it really be her? Here? Now?
Where is “here”? I don’t know. I can’t remember where I am or how I got here.
All I know is her.
That skin. Those eyes.
And this is her scent???
The lush aroma of fresh honey cake swirls off her. A complex, deeply sweet fragrance; almost caramelized, but with the distinct edge of something delicate and floral. I hear myself grunt, but I don’t have enough blood left in my brain to parse why.
Because my cock and knot are throbbing.
The need to rut prowls under my skin, pushing its way to my blood, stripping my sanity away beat by beat.
For one manic moment, it seems like I might not be the only one on edge. The omega scrambles to her feet. She makes a strangled sound, confirming that she’s the girl I used to know when she breathes my name.
“Cassian?”
Before I can find the ability to think, fresh sweetness soaks into the air. Thick and warm and hot—each lungful is straight from an oven full of my favorite things. I feel the scent roll into my entire body. Every nerve crackles, a wash of hot sensation blazing over my skin.
Fuck. Fuck.
The moan that pours of out her is new. Very fucking different from the little giggles and sighs she used to make when we were teenagers.
No, this is the sound of a full-grown woman who’s just scented something that’s making her wet and weak.
How is this?—
Am I?—
