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It’s really Cassian. And he’s… here?
He’s here. In this room. One of the scent cards in the file Celine gave me.
He’s here. And he smells like everything I ever imagined my perfect mate would.
Dazed hope sails through my mind, but it can’t sink in. I’ve spent too many years denying it. Banishing it. Bashing it into pieces tiny enough to bury.
A manly version of the boy I once knew gazes back at me. Tension and ten lost years have turned his familiar features into something just new enough to thrill me, yet still so like the almost-alpha who appointed himself my unofficial protector.
His brows are thicker and more pronounced, but I recognize the scar slicing through the left one. The rest of his features are broader now: a slightly wider nose, a larger mouth, his cheekbones sharper and thicker.
Shining brunet lashes surround his dark green gaze, highlighting the whites of his eyes and the dusky half-moons under them. He also has a few creases on his forehead and a fair bit of dark stubble along his firm, flexing jaw.
But his hair is still too long—thick and deep brown, the color matching his dark chocolate scent. And the cleft in his chin still makes me want to smile.
He growls, low and pained, saying my name again. “Remi.”
The air shifts, pressing his thick, aroused alpha-maleness into my skin. My body reacts instantly. Every nerve sings, hitting a high note. My vision tunnels, the edges blurring while my heart pounds harder and harder, sending fresh waves of prickles over my skin and shivers down into my core.
Another whine slips up my throat when I feel myself perfume—the tingly, wet release that always sends a skitter up my spine. It’s hard for me to feel appropriately horrified about it when my body aches like this, though.
A sudden desire to nest overwhelms me. I want a dark, quiet place, surrounded by fuzzy blankets and cushions and smelling exactly like these alphas. Just the thought of going home to my closet-nest makes me want to burst into tears.
Cassian reaches for me, his hands curling under my forearms to offer support. “Remi?” he repeats, then steps closer, murmuring the other nickname he had for me. He only called me butterfly in private, as a joke. But, usually, around the others, I was: “Rems?”
“I—I?—”
Should I run? Hide? I’ve never been so mortified or overwhelmed. He hasn’t done anything to deserve being abandoned, but that isn’t what stops my feet.
It’s the sound of him trying to strangle a purr in his chest… and sort of failing.
Usually, purrs are reserved for intimate partners. The fact that he’s working overtime not to make the sound for me finally spills the tears pooled in my eyes.
Is he trying not to scare me? Or is he rejecting me?
A rough, dry palm cups my cheek, lifting my face. I look up to find solemn green eyes, staring just inches away from mine.
“Sorry,” he grumbles, voice vibrating with the rumbly edge of a growl. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll give you back to Damon?—”
Another whine flies out of me, even sharper than the last. Cassian heaves out a gust of relief, instantly snapping me closer, cradling me tightly against his enormous chest, and the crisp white button-down stretched over it.
“Fuck,” he pants, speaking into my exposed shoulder. “When they told me you had to move out, I didn’t know what the fuck to do. I was—” He swallows thickly, his voice dropping lower. “I worried.”
That sounds a little more believable, at least. Cassian was always over-protective.
He hated that I had to climb up on the roof to meet him for our pre-dawn picnics of pilfered baked goods and library books. He never liked it when any of the other guys teased me or followed me around the common areas. And he especially loathed letting me walk anywhere alone in the dark.
Part of me always knew he’d be worried when he found out I’d been moved to the omega home. I felt bad for not saying goodbye… but once my perfume started, I was absolutely horrified by the thought of accidentally perfuming around him and revealing how he affected me.
I already lived under the mantle of constant rejection. I really didn’t think I could handle the look on his face when he scented my arousal and balked.
Only… that’s not happening, now.
The whole room is practically soaked in my honey-like scent, and he’s still here, holding me and… hard as steel?
I squirm back, horrified by the way my body is forcing a reaction out of his. “Sorry!”
Behind me, Damon groans, dropping his head back to the couch and palming the front of his joggers. “Holy fuck, that is so good. Jesus, sweetness. Why would you apologize for making me feel like I just saw God?”
