Chapter 27: The First Scent
The scent of her—lavender and warm skin and that underlying, devastating sweetness—hit him like a physical force. It made his cock throb, a painful, insistent pressure against his zipper. The rut haze, a red-tinged static at the edges of his vision, narrowed further until she was the only clear thing in the room. He crossed the distance to the couch in three strides, the floorboards creaking under his weight.
She was sitting there, a slight tremble in her hands where they rested on her knees. Her hazel eyes were wide, fixed on him, drinking him in. He reached for her, a single thought in the primal noise of his mind: touch.
But she surprised him. Just as his fingers were about to brush her arm, she sprang up from the couch like a startled fawn and darted around him, heading for the kitchen.
“I got everything,” her voice rushed out, a torrent of words. “The steaks, I cooked them already, they’re in the fridge with the eggs and bacon, all portioned. And the Gatorade, the blue one, I remember you said you liked blue, and the water, lots of water, and—” She was yanking open the refrigerator door, the light spilling over her, pointing at the neatly stacked containers. “See? High protein. Easy to grab. And the peas are in the freezer, for, you know, swelling. Or bruises. Because Rina said—well, she said there might be—and I got the lube, too, obviously, the big bottle, it’s water-based, I read that’s best, and I put it in the nightstand, and—”
“Aurora.” His voice was a low rumble, a leash on the chaos.
She didn’t seem to hear him, her breath coming in quick little pants. “—and I have extra towels in the bathroom cupboard, the soft ones, not the scratchy ones, and I turned the heat down a little because I read body temperatures can spike, and I—”
“Omega.”
The word cut through her babbling instantly. She froze, one hand still on the fridge door, and slowly turned to look at him. Her face was a spectacular shade of pink.
He was still by the couch, having not moved. He held her gaze, fighting to keep his own breathing even. The instinct to chase, to pin, was a drumbeat in his blood. But the fear underneath her nervous energy was a scent all its own. “Come here.”
She took a hesitant step, then another, until she was standing before him again, looking up. The top of her head wouldn’t even reach his chin.
“It’s okay,” he said, forcing the words past the grit in his throat. “If you don’t want to do this. Right now. At all. The door’s right there.” He meant it. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to say, with his body screaming at him, but he meant it. “You say the word, and I walk out. No questions.”
Her reaction was immediate. She surged forward, closing the small distance, her small hands coming up to press flat against his chest. The contact was electric. “No! I want to. I do. I’m just… nervous. So it’s good to be prepared, right? To have a plan?” She was babbling again, but softer now, her eyes pleading for him to understand.
He covered one of her hands with his own, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. Her skin was so soft. “You have a plan?”
She nodded, the motion frantic. “I researched. As much as I could. About… an alpha’s rut. And omegas. First times.” She swallowed, her gaze dropping to the tattoo on his collarbone peeking above his shirt. “I know it might… hurt. And that you might not be… gentle. Not that I want you to be! I mean, I do, but I know you might not be able to be. And that’s okay. I’m ready.” She was convincing herself as much as him. Her eyes flicked back up to his, shining with a determined innocence that punched him right in the gut. “I got the ice packs for the swelling. And the lube. For the friction. I put it in the nightstand.”
He couldn’t help it. A rough, quiet sound escaped him, not quite a laugh. It was too ragged for that. “You’re giving me a mission briefing, sweetheart.”
Her blush deepened. “I just don’t want to be a problem.”
“You’re not a problem.” His other hand came up, cupping the side of her face. She leaned into the touch instantly, a silent, submissive press that sent a wave of possessiveness through him so violent it made his head spin. “You bought steak and frozen peas and… lube.” He said the word slowly, watching her eyelashes flutter. “That’s the furthest thing from a problem I can think of.”
He could feel the fever under her skin, the promise of her own heat still a distant echo. But her trust was a tangible, fragile thing in his hands. The rut snarled, impatient. But the man, the one betrayed and tired, held its leash a moment longer.
“Show me,” he said, his voice dropping.
Her breath hitched. “Show you?”
“The lube. The nightstand. Your nest.” He needed to move, to do something with this energy, and following her lead, letting her show him her preparations, felt like the only way to bridge the gap between her anxiety and his need.
She took his hand, her fingers cool and slight as they threaded through his, and led him the few steps from the living room into the dim quiet of her bedroom. Her nest took up most of the floor—a deep, inviting pile of blankets, pillows, and what looked like every soft item she owned. It smelled intensely of her.
And there, on the simple nightstand, sat the large bottle of lube, next to a glass of water and a small lamp. It looked absurdly clinical. Honest.
She pointed at the top drawer. “The, um, back-up tube is in there. Just in case.”
Rhys stared at the setup, then at her earnest, mortified face. The tension didn’t break, but it twisted, morphing into something else. A dark, fond amusement threaded through the hunger. He pulled her gently to him, until her front was pressed against his side, and he nodded toward the nest.
“That for us?”
She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his arm. “It’s… it’s ready.”
He turned his head, burying his nose in her soft blonde hair, inhaling deeply. The cedar and spice of his rut scent wove around the lavender of hers. “Good,” he murmured against her scalp. The word was a promise, and a goodbye to the last of his patience. “That’s real good, Aurora.”