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Fucking hell. What is that?
Our omega.
The force of my will must send a pulse through the air that only she can feel, because the second the thought rips through my mind, she stands up straighter, visibly quivering as a burst of perfume fills the space between us.
Jesus, fuck.
That scent.
My dick throbs while hot blood pulses to my knot and saliva pools in my mouth, begging me to bite.
And whatever bolt of dominance she felt from me did that? Is it possible she’ll like giving me control as much as I enjoy taking it?
I smother a growl in my throat, pressing my heels into the floor, so I don’t leap across the room and take her pretty, unmarked throat.
She’s honey and heaven, wrapped in pink silk. I don’t know whether it’s her pheromones or mine, but I would swear there’s an ethereal sort of glow around her. Like she absorbs sunlight. Or slicks it over her skin before she leaves the house.
I expected to feel fuzzy, but my mind is sharper than it’s ever been. My eyes trace over her, taking in every detail. Her carefully painted nails, the delicate bows holding her dress up. The unique patterns in her blue eyes.
“Pretty girl,” Damon croons, his voice unnaturally soft. “This is Smith. Smith, this is Remi.”
Remi.
She’s beautiful.
Impossible to look away from.
Familiar.
How do I know her? How could we meet without me scenting how fucking perfect she is?
I’m not sure, but I do know that the instant stab of horror in my gut feels foreboding.
Despite that feeling, she’s so clearly lovely. Scent and every other sense agrees. The only thing I don’t understand is the sick roll in my stomach, telling me something is wrong.
Is it instinct? Does my Alpha want me to know there’s something wrong with this omega?
No. That’s not it. My Alpha is begging me to get closer. More like demanding, actually.
She doesn’t feel the same way. It’s obvious when she steps back, eyes widening. The warm cake-sweet scent filling the room singes. One word falls from her mouth, filled with trembling dismay.
“You.”
Me?
She knows me, too?
I look closer, searching for any small hint as to how. Her eyes flash to mine, the motion quick and fearful. With that one scared glance, recognition hits me square in the gut.
“You’re the barista,” I say, dread washing through me. “From Proper Coffee.”
Her sweet scent burns. “And you’re my boss.”
chapter
sixteen
I stare at the alpha in front of me, blinking in disbelief.
