The market swirled with people, the air heavy with the smell of leather, roasted chestnuts, spices, and perspiration. Shoulder to shoulder, they marched, bawling prices, haggling, trading laughter and curses together.
Elara dropped her hood lower, eyes cast down. Each step was treacherous. Each breath was temptation.
She had taken her suppressants early that morning, as she always did. She had doubled the dose, just in case. Her smell was concealed—masked—destroyed. No Alpha should be able to detect her.
But still, her heart refused to slow.
The healer back in her village had told her years ago: suppressants weren't infallible. They might take the sharpness off of her nature, but never take it entirely away. And in a city full of Alphas—ravenous, strong, predatory—there was always danger.
Elara clenched the small wicker basket in her hands, the knuckles of her fingers growing white. A few herbs, a new clasp for her cloak, and she would be gone. She would go back to the peacefulness of the cottage and remain concealed for another week.
That was the plan.
Until he came.
A ripple swept through the crowd such as a wave through a tempest. People moved aside, voices dropped, some even scrambled out of sight as if only instinct compelled them.
Tall. Wide. Dark.
He was dressed in black, his shoulders bound by a cloak lined with the fur of wolves. His walk was slow and deliberate, like a hunter who knew nothing could possibly halt him.
Kael Draven.
The Alpha King.
Elara stood stock-still, her blood icy.
What was he doing here?
She'd heard the tales—everyone had. The Northern Alpha who dominated lands with brutal efficiency. The conqueror who brought whole packs under his control. They said even the most powerful Alphas shook at the sight of him, that his eye could strip a man naked.
And now that eye snapped sharply, fixating on her.
Silver eyes. Sharp, unyielding, ravenous.
Elara's knees almost buckled under her. She dipped her head lower, pulling her hood forward until her vision blinded with its edges. No. He didn't see her. He doesn't know.
Her suppressants—
Then she sensed it.
The sharp tug of his aura. Crushing. Crashing. Like a tempest weighing down on her chest, depriving her lungs of air.
He had smelled her.
Elara's fingers numbed, the basket inching out of her hands. She retreated backward, her heart pounding in her throat. She turned, pleading to disappear into the crowd, but the throng moved out of the way—not for her.
For him.
Boots pounded against the cobblestone, relentless, unstoppable. The crowd parted willingly, opening a path between hunter and victim.
"Elara," she breathed, fear gripping her ribs. Move. Run. Now.
But her legs would not obey. The lead of his presence, the rope of his Alpha aura, it held her in place. Her frame betrayed her, shaking not only with terror but with something much more treacherous.
He closed the distance in a matter of moments.
Towering over her, broad-shouldered. Every angle of him seemed to exude strength, command, danger.
Close up, his odor slammed into her like flames—smoke, pine, steel. Male. Alpha. It curled around her senses, settling deep, tugging on urges she'd long suppressed.
"You."
The word was crude, low, like rock scouring against stone.
Elara's mouth opened, but nothing emerged. She shook her head, the words struggling out at last.
"M-me?"
His head cocked, his eyes narrowing. He leaned in, close enough she could feel the warmth of his breath on her ear. He breathed in, long and slow, as if he were tasting something wrong.
When he drew back, his lips twisted into something like a growl and a smirk.
"Mine."
One word destroyed her.
Gasps spread throughout the marketplace. Whispers exploded like flames.
An Omega. He'd found an Omega.
Elara recoiled, shaking her head wildly. "N-no. You're wrong."
Silver eyes blazed hotter, brighter, pinning her in place.
"Do you refuse to acknowledge the bond?" His voice was thunder, cutting the air with its sharpness.
She panted. She had to refuse it. She had spent her whole life hiding, struggling, repressing. To be marked by an Alpha—by this Alpha—would be captivity.
But her body betrayed her. Heat crept beneath her skin, her pulse skipped a little too fast, her scent seeping out despite the suppressant's numbing edge.
Kael's eyes widened, his jaw flexing. His hand lunged out, grabbing her wrist before she could pull away. His fingers were tight, firm but not crushing, his thumb tracing the inside of her wrist where her pulse throbbed furiously.
Elara's breath caught.
"You sense it too," he growled. "The pull. The connection. Don't lie to me, Omega."
Omega.
The word passed his lips like a death sentence. The crowd was already gawking. She could hear their whispers, the shock, the wonder.
"No." She struggled to break free, voice shaking. "I don't belong to you."
A cold, deadly glint appeared in his eyes. He moved in until his mouth was inches from her ear.
"Wrong," he growled, voice low and possessive. "Since the moment I smelled you… you were mine."
Her heart pounded so hard she feared her chest would break apart. Every instinct screamed to run away, to struggle, to refuse.
But another, buried deep and primal, whispered a truth that she couldn't suppress.
The connection was real.
Elara tore her wrist loose with desperate shock, recoiling, pushing space between them. Her hood tumbled in the movement, falling away to expose her face.
His sharp breath informed her. He had seen her now.
Elara's mouth opened, her words cracking.
"I will never be yours."
The first time, Kael's smirk smoothed out of his face. Darkening, his face became dangerous, and yet through the tempest of his eyes seethed something else—obsession.
He moved a single step closer, and his voice was a vow that chilled her blood.
"You can struggle against it, little Omega… but I will find you. Repeatedly. Until you'll at last embrace what's already destined in our blood."
Elara spun around, basket abandoned, and ran through the crowd.
But even as her feet propelled her away, her heart thudded with fear… and something much, much worse.
Desire.