I didn't even make it past the entrance before it hit me.
The scent.
It lanced through the sterile air like lightning through a thunderhead — sweet and soft and ripe, laced with warmth and longing in a way that curled straight around my spine and made my knees almost give out.
I stumbled.
Caught myself on the wall.
Inhaled again, slower this time — and oh gods, it was him.
Nine.
But not as I'd left him.
This scent wasn't muted or hollow or buried under chemical compliance.
It was real now.
Full.
Present.
Unmistakably omega.
My body reacted before I could stop it. Heat pooled low in my belly, claws flexing in the skin of my palms. My gums ached.
Nyx lost her mind.
He's ready.
Her voice curled wild and sharp through my head like sparks on dry leaves.
He's ours. We need to see him — now.
My breath hitched. I wasn't supposed to lose control like this. Not here. Not in this place where cameras never slept and the walls always whispered back.
But I couldn't help it.
He was close.
I could feel it — not just through the scent, but through the bond, the one I'd tried so hard to suppress. It was humming now, buzzing like a live wire beneath my skin.
I started moving.
Fast.
Footsteps echoing sharp against marble.
I didn't speak to anyone. Didn't look at the guards. Didn't stop for clearance or protocols or any of the layers of red tape that wrapped this place tight.
None of it mattered.
Only him.
I reached his hallway in seconds. Heart pounding. Breaths shallow.
The scent was heavier here.
So much stronger.
I slowed as I approached his room, hand braced on the wall, head bowed slightly like I was drunk on it.
And maybe I was.
Because I could taste it now. Not just in my mouth, but in my bones.
Sweet musk and something floral — but faint, like it wasn't from this world.
Like it was grown in moonlight.
I touched the handle.
The door wasn't locked.
Of course it wasn't.
They never thought anyone would try to protect him.
I stepped inside.
And stopped breathing.
He was sitting on the floor when I found him — cross-legged near the far wall, back straight, hands folded neatly in his lap.
Like he'd been waiting.
He was dressed in soft cream fabric, delicate and loose, almost like ceremonial wear. His silver-white hair spilled in silky waves around his shoulders, freshly washed and glowing beneath the lights. His skin had a soft sheen to it, as if someone had oiled him.
And his eyes — gods, those eyes — they lifted when I entered.
Wide.
Open.
Beautiful.
And unmistakably glowing with recognition.
"Rhea," he whispered.
Just one word.
That was all it took.
I took a step forward — then another.
I couldn't stop staring at him.
At the scent glands on the sides of his neck now visibly flushed and sensitive. His scent had bloomed fully. The transformation wasn't theoretical anymore. It had happened.
He was omega now.
Completely.
Perfectly.
And mine.
I didn't know how I made it across the room. Didn't remember closing the door. Didn't even feel my knees hit the ground until I was in front of him, staring at the soft slope of his throat where his mating gland pulsed with heat.
Nyx went utterly still.
Then whispered: Bite him.
My mouth went dry.
The urge was unbearable.
To bite. To mark. To claim.
He tilted his head slightly — exposing his neck without hesitation. Like it was natural. Like it was right.
Like he wanted it.
I leaned in, breathing hard, my hands shaking as I brushed a strand of hair from his skin.
"Did they… do this to you?" I whispered, voice raw.
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
His eyes said everything.
And they said yes.
But they also said please.