As an Alpha, I can’t carry a child the way male Omegas can, and female Alphas have a significantly lower chance of becoming pregnant themselves, since their wombs are so much smaller and harder to reach, but I think I’m up to the challenge if she’ll let me.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?”
The honey-sweet voice cuts through our moment, and Emily freezes, her coffee cup tilting dangerously as her fingers go rigid around it. I reach out to steady her hand without thinking, feeling the tremor that runs through her arm.
Then recognition slams into me, and I turn my head to find a slender figure a few feet away, thin arms crossed over a lavender silk shirt in perfect harmony with his sculpted lavender hair.
Auren.
Of course, he’d show up here, right when Emily was opening up, allowing herself to be vulnerable again.
Last time we crossed paths, I saw the fangsbehind the silk, the way he uses his fragile beauty to manipulate. Nothing about him surprises me now.
What does hit me is Emily’s reaction.
My Alpha, who faced down a dock full of jeering men and a market crowd eager to brand me a predator, shakes at the sight of him.
He barely said anything, and she’s folding under the weight of his presence. That’s his real power. Not beauty. Not pheromones. But the memory of what he’s already taken from her.
Everyone else may see him as the perfect, fragile Omega, but I see the viper under the silk, and I won’t let him sink his teeth into Emily again.
Chapter Nineteen
Emily
Auren’s words slice through the market noise, and my coffee freezes halfway to my lips. The familiar, honeyed tone wraps around my name with false warmth. My palms dampen around the to-go cup, and for a moment, I can’t remember how to breathe.
“Emily.” My name in his mouth holds a gentle reproach, as if he caught me out here cheating.
The market sounds recede, coffee grinders and vendor calls fading to a distant hum. My head turns as my focus narrows to the slender figure standing a few feet from our table, pale lavender hair catching the morning light, pale skin luminous against his deep-purple silk shirt.
He’s more striking than when I last saw him, when Jared and I caught him by surprise, and hearranges his features into a picture of soft concern that bitter experience has taught me hides cruelty.
As Jared sets his coffee cup down with a thunk, his hand finds my thigh under the table. The warmth of his palm anchors me to the present, pulling me back from the edge of panic.
“What an unexpected pleasure,” Auren continues, lifting a hand in a graceful little flourish. “I hardly ever come to the weekend market, but Simone—you remember Simone, don’t you, darling—insisted I check out her new soap stall.”
Simone had been one of his sycophants, always fawning all over him. She’d started her homemade beauty line specifically with him in mind, even though Auren insists on only using imported products.
He gestures toward the craft section with a delicate movement of his wrist. “The universe works in mysterious ways, bringing us together like this.”
My throat closes, and I set my cup down before I spill it. The coffee’s bitter scent turns my stomach now. Under the table, my fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms.
The pain helps me focus, bringing clarity back to the world. “What do you want, Auren?”
“Want?” He flattens a hand to his chest, fine-boned fingers splayed across silk. “Why, to say hello to an old friend, of course. Why so suspicious?”
The market crowd flows around us, shoppers swerving to avoid entering Auren’s orbit. The subtle release of his pheromones gives him space and attention on an instinctive level. I’ve watched him weaponize his Omega nature for years.
When I remain silent, he takes in Jared, then Grady, assessing them with a flicker of his amethyst eyes. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“No,” I say, the word small but firm. “I’m not.”
Auren’s perfect lips curve, and he steps closer, invading the small bubble of safety I created with Jared and Grady. The scent of crushed violets and honey wafts from his skin, a familiar perfume that once filled our home.
“So protective of your new friends.” He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or is one of them more than a friend? You always did crave a pack connection, even when it wasn’t healthy for you.”
My cheeks burn, and I hate myself for the reaction.