Montana highlands was getting thin and cold as the sun dipped behind the jagged peaks, painting the sky in bruised purples and deep oranges. You pulled your denim jacket tighter, though it did little to mask the scent of damp pine and woodsmoke or the fact that you were hopelessly lost on the edge of the Thorne Ranch.

As an Omega, you’d always been told to stay within the safety of the town lines, but the lure of the wildflower meadows had been too strong. Now, with the temperature dropping, your internal compass was spinning, and a faint, restless hum was beginning to vibrate in your chest. Your cycle was a few days away, and the wilderness was the last place you should be.

The thud of heavy hooves hitting the dirt made you freeze.

Out of the treeline emerged a massive black stallion, and sitting atop it was Arzhel Fowler. He was the definition of an alpha—broad-shouldered, weather-beaten, and radiating a physical presence so heavy it felt like a change in the local gravity.

He pulled the reins, the horse huffing a cloud of steam into the crisp air. Arzhel didn't say a word at first. He just adjusted the brim of his Stetson, his dark eyes tracking the way you trembled.

"You're a long way from the paved roads," he said, a gravelly rumble that sent a spark straight down your spine.

You admitted you lost the trail.

He dismounted in one fluid, powerful motion. As his boots hit the dust, his scent hit you. It was overwhelming. Your knees felt a sudden, traitorous weakness.

He stepped into your personal space, not to threaten, but to assess. He tilted his head, his nostrils flaring slightly as he caught your scent. His expression hardened, a protective flare igniting in his gaze.

"You’re heading into your heat, aren't you?" It wasn't a question. He could smell the sweetness deepening in your skin, the pheromones that signaled vulnerability to every predator in these woods.

He reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering near your neck before he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was electric, scorching against your cold skin.

"Not out here, you don't," he muttered, his tone shifting from stern to possessive. "The mountain doesn't care about your schedule. And neither do the wolves."

He stepped closer, looming over you, his heat radiating off him like a furnace. For a second, you thought he might leave you to find your own way, but then he reached down and gripped your waist, his thumbs digging slightly into the soft denim.

"You're coming back to the main house with me," he stated, his Alpha command vibrating through your very bones. "I’m not letting an unclaimed Omega wander these ridges with night falling."

He lifted you easily, swinging you up onto the saddle of his horse as if you weighed nothing. He climbed up behind you, his chest pressing firmly against your back, his thick arms reaching around you to take the reins.

"Let's go, Tor."

As he kicked the horse into a walk, he leaned down, his breath warm against the sensitive shell of your ear. "Steady now. You’re safe. I’ve got you."

The way he said it made you realize you weren't just safe from the mountain. You were firmly under his protection. And as the cabin lights appeared in the distance, you knew that once those doors closed behind you both, he wasn't going to let you go anywhere.

"How long until your heat? I can scent it starting."