Page 90 of Written in Scent

One of the shelter volunteers brings in a tiny gray kitten that needs bottle feeding. Chase takes her without hesitation, cradling the little thing against his broad chest. The puppy on his lap stays fast asleep, completely trusting. I scoot closer on the floor and he hands me the bottle, showing me again exactly how to angle it so the kitten can latch properly.

For a while we sit in comfortable silence, the only sounds the suckling of the kitten and the occasional happy sigh from the sleeping puppy. Chase’s big hand covers mine, guiding the bottle with gentle steadiness. His pine forest and clean musk scent mixes with the warm, milky smell of the nursery, and I feel something in my chest thaw even more.

He speaks first, voice low and thoughtful. “Being an alpha makes this harder sometimes. I feel animal’s suffering more intensely than most people. It’s like my instincts are dialed up to eleven. When I see a dog that’s been beaten or a kitten left in a box, it hits me in the chest like a physical blow. Most alphas channel that energy into protecting their pack or fighting… but I needed something else. Something that lets me help instead of just react.”

I watch the tiny kitten’s paws kneading against his shirt. “So veterinary medicine gives you that?”

He nods, eyes on the kitten. “It gives me purpose. Control. I can actually fix things here. I can take something broken and make it whole again. One day I want to open my own rehabilitation center. A place for the worst cases, the ones no one else has room for. Animals that have been through hell and need time to trust again. Somewhere safe where they can heal at their own pace.”

The dream fits so perfectly with this new version of him that I’ve discovered and it makes my throat tighten. This massive, gruff alpha who argued with me about open windows last night has been planning a future where he saves the most broken creatures he can find.

He looks at me then, dark eyes vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. “That same instinct is why I lose it sometimes with you. When I think about you in that dorm with the window open, or walking across campus alone at night, it feels the same as seeing an injured animal I can’t reach. I know you’re strong, I know you can take care of yourself. But my alpha side doesn’t care. It just screams that you are mine to protect.”

The kitten finishes the bottle and Chase gently cradles her in his hand. The sleeping puppy on his lap stirs and he strokes its ear with one careful finger. His voice drops even softer.

“I really am sorry I got so intense about the window.”

I reach over and rest my hand on his knee. The warmth of him seeps through his jeans. In this moment, surrounded by sleeping puppies and the faint sounds of the shelter, I understand Chase better than I ever have.

His protectiveness isn’t about controlling me. It’s about the same deep, fierce instinct that makes him stay late to bottle feed kittens and calm terrified rescue dogs.

My heart softens completely toward every gruff, intense part of him.

“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper. “I see you, Chase. All of you.”

He looks at me for a long moment, something raw and hopeful flickering in his eyes. Then he leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to my forehead, his hand still resting on the sleeping puppy between us.

In the nursery, with tiny hearts beating all around us, I feel something important click into place. Chase isn’t just the intense alpha who worries. He’s this too, the big softie who gives every broken creature a chance to heal.

The sun is just beginning to dip toward the horizon when we leave the shelter. Chase helps me back onto the bike, his hands lingering a second longer than necessary on my waist.

The ride starts quiet, the engine rumbling beneath us as the road curves through the hills.

He doesn’t head straight back toward campus. Instead he turns onto a narrow road that winds higher into the hills. The wind whips past my helmet and I feel the powerful vibration of the motorcycle travel through my whole body. When he finally slows and pulls off at a scenic overlook, the view steals my breath.

The entire valley stretches out below us, painted in deep golds and fiery oranges from the setting sun. A wooden railing runs along the edge, and a few empty picnic tables sit scattered under tall pines. There isn’t anyone else here, just us and the sky turning pink and purple above the trees.

Chase cuts the engine and helps me off. He removes his helmet, then mine, setting them both on the seat. For a moment we just stand there, the wind brushing over us. Then he looks at me, and something in his dark eyes shifts. The tenderness from the shelter is still there, but now it’s edged with heat.

He steps closer. “Come here.”

I go willingly. The second his hands find my waist he pulls me in, backing me gently against the side of the motorcycle. The metal is still warm from the ride, but I barely feel it.

His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and deep, nothing like the careful kiss from earlier. This one is all need. His tongue slides against mine and I moan into his mouth, fingers fisting in the front of his leather jacket.

Chase groans and presses closer, one thick thigh sliding between mine. The hard ridge of him through his jeans rubs right against me and my hips roll forward without thinking. His hands roam, sliding under my sweater to palm my waist, then higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through my bra. I gasp and arch into him.

“Fuck, Elodie,” he mutters against my lips, voice rough. “You feel so good.”

He kisses me harder, one hand sliding down to grip my ass and pull me tighter against his thigh. The friction is perfect and relentless.

I grind against him shamelessly, chasing the building heat between my legs. His other hand cups the back of my neck, tilting my head so he can kiss me deeper, tongue stroking mine in a rhythm that makes my knees weak.

I slip my hands under his jacket and shirt, palms sliding over the hard muscle of his back. He shudders at the touch. When I scratch my nails lightly down his spine he growls low in his throat and rocks against me harder, the thick length of him pressing right where I need it.

We’re both panting heavily now, whenever our mouths barely part between kisses. His hand slides up to cup my breast fully, thumb circling my nipple through the lace until I whimper. The other hand grips my hip, guiding me as I ride his thigh in desperate rolls.

“Chase,” I gasp against his mouth. “I want—”