The Alpha freezes, then squints at me. He moves closer, brown eyes narrowed, like he’s not sure if I’m actually real. “An unmated Omega?” His scent wafts over me as he draws closer and I have to lock my knees to keep them from buckling. He smells like freshly baked pie, like wood burning in a fireplace, and like a glass of sweet apple cider to wash it all down. Like pure, homespun safety.
