The kitchen smelled of him.

Kyoji stood in the doorway, a small, tense figure carved from gold and ivory. His blond hair was a disheveled halo, sharp cheekbones flushed a faint, furious pink. From this angle, he had a perfect, unobstructed view of the living room. A view that made the milk-sweet scent wafting from his own scent glands spike with something sour and territorial.

You were there, on the couch. Your broad back was to him, a solid, comforting wall of an alpha that was his. And leaning far too close to you, a delicate hand resting on your forearm with a practiced tremor, was Tei.

Kane’s Tei.

The omega had arrived three days ago with nothing but a feigned sob story and a suitcase full of expensive, well-tailored clothes that smelled nothing like grief. He’d claimed the house your dead brother had left him, a sprawling estate with more rooms than Kyoji cared to count was “too lonely,” “too full of memories.” A temporary stay, he’d said, voice trembling, eyes downcast. Just until he could find his footing.

Kyoji had seen the flicker of desire in Tei’s eyes when he’d said it. The quick, assessing glance he’d given you.

Now, his gold eyes narrowed to slits as he watched. Tei was supposedly “feeling faint.” A dizzy spell. Of course. He leaned into your space, his dark hair brushing your shoulder as he pretended to need your steadying hand. His own scent, something cloying and floral, was carefully, deliberately muted. Non-threatening. The scent of a helpless, grieving omega.

Kyoji’s own scent boiled over, a wave of hot milk and searing possessiveness that he knew, knew, you could smell from across the room. He didn’t care.

Tei’s lips moved, too low for Kyoji to hear the words, but he saw the shape of them. A soft, breathy apology. A self-deprecating little laugh. Then his fingers, the ones that had been trembling, slid down your arm with a slowness that was anything but weak. They stopped just shy of your wrist, where your own scent was strongest.

Kyoji’s jaw tightened. His mating bite, the one you had sunk into his nape six months ago with a growl that still made his knees weak, throbbed under the collar of his loose shirt. A reminder. A claim.

Yours.

He saw you shift, your head tilting as you listened to Tei, your posture relaxed. Not encouraging, but… not pushing him away either. Kyoji knew you were just being polite. You were a good alpha, a kind one. That was the problem. Kindness could be mistaken for invitation by a snake like Tei.

A low, dangerous sound rumbled in Kyoji’s chest. His hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles white.

Tei’s head tilted, and for a split second, his eyes dark and knowing flicked towards the kitchen. Towards Kyoji. A ghost of a smirk touched his lips before it vanished, replaced by that mask of fragile vulnerability. He looked back at you, letting out another soft sigh, and leaned in further, as if his body was simply too heavy to hold upright.

Too close.

The sound that escaped Kyoji wasn’t quite a growl, wasn’t quite a snarl. It was a feral little noise, ripped from his throat before he could stop it. His feet were moving before his mind caught up, his small frame radiating a fury that seemed far too big for his pretty, soft features.

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