Chapter 3

Braydon didn't even look back.

He grabbed the file, turned on his heel, and slid back into the warm, dry leather interior of the Aston Martin. The heavy car door slammed shut, sealing him off from the storm.

The engine revved with an obnoxious, deafening roar.

Braydon slammed his foot on the gas. The rear tires spun on the wet pavement, kicking up a massive spray of dirty street water directly onto Alston's legs. The sports car shot forward and merged into the chaotic Manhattan traffic, disappearing into the gray rain.

Alston stood completely still on the sidewalk.

His umbrella offered no protection against the water that now soaked him from the knees down. The freezing wet fabric of his pants clung to his skin.

Slowly, Alston crouched down on the sidewalk. He balanced on the balls of his feet, his hands shaking as he tried to wipe the thick, gritty mud off his pant leg. It was useless. The mud just smeared into the beige fabric.

His throat burned. A hot prickle of tears gathered behind his eyes, but he dug his thumbnails into his index fingers, forcing the emotion back down.

He was not going to cry on the street.

Behind him, the heavy glass doors of the Marks Tech building pushed open.

Easton stepped out onto the marble landing.

The second the door opened, the wind hit him. It carried the freezing rain, the smell of exhaust, and something else.

The chamomile.

Out here, without the sterile air conditioning of the boardroom, the scent was a thousand times more potent. It was pure, intoxicating, and laced with a sharp, bitter note of distress.

Easton's pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. His chest expanded as he dragged the scent deep into his lungs.

It was him.

Easton stared at the small, crouched figure by the puddle. The Omega looked like a broken porcelain doll, abandoned in the trash.

Easton's leather dress shoes made a heavy, rhythmic thud against the wet marble as he walked down the steps. He didn't care about the rain ruining his suit. He didn't care about anything except closing the physical distance between them.

With every step he took, the chamomile scent wrapped tighter around his brain, drowning out his rational thoughts.

Alston heard the heavy footsteps approaching.

He froze. Panic spiked in his chest. He thought Mitch the security guard had come out to finally drag him off the property.

Alston scrambled to stand up. His numb fingers gripped the handle of his cheap umbrella so tight his knuckles ached.

He spun around, an apology already forming on his lips.

The words died in his throat.

He crashed straight into a wall of solid muscle.

Alston gasped and stumbled back. He looked up and found himself staring into a pair of dark, predatory eyes.

The man standing in front of him was massive. He wore a soaked, expensive suit, but he didn't seem to notice the cold. His eyes were a terrifying shade of dark gold, glowing with a raw, unfiltered intensity that made Alston's breath catch.

It wasn't just the man's size that was terrifying. It was the pressure in the air around him.

The heavy, suffocating weight of an Enigma's aura pressed down on Alston's shoulders. It was an involuntary release of pheromones-cedarwood mixed with the sharp, dangerous tang of gunpowder.

Alston's knees went weak. His Omega biology recognized the apex predator instantly. He took another step back, his heart hammering in his throat.

Easton stopped exactly one foot away from Alston.

He looked down at the pale, terrified face. He saw the raindrops clinging to Alston's eyelashes. He saw the faint purple bruise of exhaustion under his eyes.

Easton didn't speak. He couldn't. If he opened his mouth, he was afraid he would just lean forward and bite the skin right over Alston's pulse point. He just stood there, breathing in the chamomile, letting it heal the agonizing ache in his spine.

"I... I'm sorry," Alston stammered, his voice trembling. "I'm leaving right now."

Another violent gust of wind ripped down the street.

The wind caught the inside of Alston's umbrella. With a loud snap, the metal frame inverted. The umbrella was ripped from Alston's grip, tumbling away down the sidewalk.

Alston let out a small gasp. He squeezed his eyes shut and hunched his shoulders, bracing himself for the freezing downpour.

The rain never hit him.

A massive shadow fell over him.

Alston opened his eyes.

A massive, custom black umbrella was held steadily over his head.

Easton stood close enough now that the fabric of their coats almost touched. Easton's hand gripped the handle of the umbrella. The veins on the back of his hand stood out in thick cords. He was gripping the metal so hard his knuckles were white. He was using every ounce of his willpower to keep his free hand from grabbing Alston by the waist and pulling him flush against his chest.

Alston stared up at the man, completely bewildered.

The scent of cedar and gunpowder wrapped around him, warm and terrifyingly protective.

"Are you Braydon Hayden's mate?" Easton asked.

His voice was a low, gravelly rasp. It sounded like it was being dragged over broken glass. The suppressed madness in his tone made the hair on Alston's arms stand up.

Alston swallowed hard. He looked down at the pavement.

"Yes," Alston whispered. He gave a small, bitter nod, confirming the identity that brought him nothing but shame.

Easton's jaw tightened. A flash of pure, murderous jealousy ignited in his chest.

This perfect, beautiful creature belonged to that arrogant, abusive piece of garbage. Braydon didn't even know what he had. Braydon treated the only cure in the world like dirt on his shoe.

Easton reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket with his free hand.

He pulled out a folded, pure silk handkerchief.

He held it out toward the side of Alston's face, where a streak of dirty water had splashed onto his cheek.

Alston's eyes widened. He reached up quickly to take the fabric, not wanting this terrifying stranger to touch him.

Easton pulled the handkerchief back just an inch, avoiding Alston's fingers.

Instead, Easton stepped half an inch closer. He pressed the soft silk directly against Alston's cold cheek.

Alston sucked in a sharp breath.

He froze completely. He could feel the heat radiating from Easton's knuckles through the thin silk. The touch was incredibly gentle, but the Enigma energy behind it was overwhelmingly dominant.

Easton slowly wiped the mud away from Alston's skin. His golden eyes tracked the movement, memorizing the shape of Alston's cheekbone.

A violent shiver ripped through Alston's body. The physical proximity was too much. The pheromones were too strong.

He jerked his head back, breaking the contact.

"Thank you," Alston choked out, his voice panicked.

He didn't wait for a response. He spun around and practically ran toward a yellow cab that had just stopped at the corner to let a passenger out.

Easton didn't move to stop him.

He stood perfectly still under the black umbrella, watching Alston scramble into the back of the cab. He watched the taillights fade into the gray rain.

Easton looked down at his hand. He was gripping the silk handkerchief so tightly his fingers ached.

He slowly lifted the silk to his face and pressed it against his nose.

The fabric was soaked with the scent of chamomile and rain.

Easton closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A slow, dark smile curved the corners of his mouth.

Every cell in his body was screaming to drag the Omega into the shadows and mark that scent as his own.