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I almost smile at the thought of my big man. Having finally mastered basic cooking, gardening, and swimming, he’s now firmly determined to teach me to drive. So far, I’ve backed his Bronco in and out of the garage about eighty times, but still. He’s so sweet to me.
Not for the first time, I wish I could reach out to him internally. He’s become my safe place inside the pack house and—usually—out in the world. I wonder what he would say if he knew I’d thought about giving him a place inside of me, too.
Probably something dirty.
Followed by something devastatingly beautiful.
I find three dresses that seem like good options and glance at Tristan to tell him. When I find him making small talk with a gorgeous blonde pixie of a saleswoman, my stomach sinks.
His Serena Radar must ping because he instantly snaps his gaze across the room. “Ready, sweet one?”
Ooh. Why do I like that he called me that? In front of her. Them.
Either way, a bit of the tension crowding my lungs evaporates. “I think so. Can I try these on?”
By the time I’m ensconced in one of the plush, cream-colored fitting rooms, my mood has edged past insecure and into a more Avery-like headspace. Every time one of the girls hanging around Tris laughs, I want to scream.
My shoulders hike higher and higher each time I flinch. Until Tristan’s deep voice cuts in.
“Excuse me, ladies. My mate needs me.”
Did I imagine the subtle emphasis on that one word?
Maybe that’s just how he says it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him call me that before.
Before I can process the soup of feelings swirling in my stomach, a quiet knock hits my door. I don’t answer, but it cracks open anyway.
Gusting out a weary sigh, Tristan steps into the plush changing room and shoots a glare at the door. “Endlessly irritating,” he mutters, more to himself than me.
Another word starts to form on his lips, but he turns to face me. And freezes.
A growl whips out of him, so deep and quick, I know it was beyond his control. I clutch at my boobs, holding up the open bodice of the shiny onyx minidress draped around me. Not that hoisting it into place does much—the cups at the front have a sweetheart neckline with a deep slit between them.
“Serena,” he snarls, ocean eyes flashing urgently. “Dear God.”
I’m not melting at the moment—in fact, I’m cold and a little worried about the manic look on his face. Not to mention the way his summery scent has already filled this entire room.
“Turn around.”
Tristan never—never—barks at me. Not since the night we met. Part of me gets even more worried when I hear it. I know he wouldn’t have done that if he had the ability to stop himself. And the other part of me…
Or, really, my Omega…
Well.
I instantly turn around, but it’s too late. Piña colada perfume swells into his, drowning the room in our pheromones. A quiet whine vibrates in my throat when I inhale the mixture.
“Shh,” he hushes, stepping up against my back and peering over my shoulder at the mirror we’re both facing. “Look.”
The couple standing across from us is beautiful. A tailored, statuesque alpha in silver-gray. And… me.
Could that really be me? My hair isn’t limp and over-styled anymore. I don’t look weak or frail. My skin glows golden brown, complementing the lustrous tresses draped over my shoulder and the even shinier dress.
The only thing wrong with our reflection is Tristan’s face. It’s wild. Almost… pained?
He steps back slightly and drops his focus to my naked back. I think he’s about to zip the dress up, but instead, he reaches inside it and skims two warm palms over my bare waist. I watch his eyes squeeze shut in the mirror.
“I—” he stammers, hoarse. “I need a moment to touch you. Please. Can I?—”
