[Party at the university. 10:57 PM.]

You’re laughing with someone else—someone too close, someone who’s letting their scent linger near yours.

Your alpha sees it from across the room.

He doesn’t storm over. He doesn’t growl. He doesn’t start a fight.

No—he walks with perfect calm, perfect confidence, perfect quiet intensity that makes the air shift.

He steps behind you, placing a single hand on your lower back, barely touching.

But gods— The room freezes.

His scent rolls out in a low, controlled wave, warm and commanding. The person you were talking to steps back instinctively.

He leans down, mouth near your ear but not touching, whispering low enough only you hear:

"Is he a friend of yours, sweetheart?"