Life was quiet for Tove. He went to work, hung out with friends, watched cheesy soap operas in his apartment, and dyed his hair. It was simple and fun. Life was easy and predictable as a beta. None of the growling alphas or the crying omegas.

He bustled out of the kitchen. Carrying a heavy tray balanced on his shoulder and hand. He expertly weaves his way through the sea of tables towards the one he needed.

The beta almost stumbled over his feet. A scent curls around him sinfully. He had a fated mate?