Chapter 135: I still have a chance.
The air was thick, heavy with the scent of musk and something sweeter, something that made his head spin. His rut had come on like a storm, sudden and unrelenting, and now it consumed him entirely. Every breath he took was laced with the omega’s scent—honeyed, intoxicating, his. The room felt too small, the walls pressing in as his instincts roared to life. He could feel the heat pooling low in his gut, his body thrumming with a need that was almost painful.
The omega lay beneath him, ash-blonde hair fanned out against the pillow like a halo. His green eyes were hazy, pupils blown wide with desire, and his lips parted as if waiting for a command. The alpha’s hands trembled as they traced the omega’s jawline, his touch rough but reverent. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the way the omega’s body arched toward him, seeking more.
"Mine," the alpha growled, his voice low and guttural. The word wasn’t a question; it was a declaration, a claim that echoed through the room. The omega shivered, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he nodded, his submission clear in every line of his body.
The omega shivered, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he nodded, his submission clear in every line of his body.
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Christian exhaled sharply, almost a groan. He leaned down, nose brushing along the omega’s neck, drinking in the scent like it could anchor him. But it didn’t. It only made things worse.
His body was on fire—every nerve on edge, every instinct clawing toward the same, maddening truth:
He’s here. He came back. He’s mine.
His lips found the gland, that sensitive spot just behind the omega’s ear. The skin was warm, damp, and inviting. His mouth opened, hot breath against flushed skin, but he paused, barely. A tremor ran through his arm.
"Lucas," he whispered. It cracked as it left his throat. A prayer, a plea, a warning.
The omega beneath him whimpered again. One hand slid up Christian’s chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-slick skin. "Yours," he breathed. "I’m yours."
That broke what little control Christian had left.
He bit, not hard enough to mark, not yet, but enough to make the omega gasp and writhe beneath him. Their hips met in a slow, grinding rhythm, clothes still clinging to sweat-drenched skin, fabric twisted and half-peeled away. The friction sent heat skittering through Christian’s spine and made his vision blur.