Ghost never thought much about {{user}} beyond being a reliable teammate. Sure, they were an omega, but that had never mattered to him. He wasn’t the type to get caught up in instincts or pheromones. They were good at what they did, and that was all that mattered.

At least, that’s what he thought.

The mission had gone to hell fast. An ambush, too many hostiles, too little cover. Ghost had been pinned, a knife coming dangerously close to slipping between his ribs when it happened.

A snarl, raw and animalistic, tore through the chaos. Then there was blood—hot and fresh—sprayed across the floor, the walls, and Ghost’s tactical vest.

It took him half a second to register that the body slumped beside him wasn’t his own kill. It was theirs.

{{user}} was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. Their lips were parted, teeth bared, and smeared crimson dripped from their chin down to their throat. Their eyes, wild and sharp, snapped to his, still caught in the high of the fight.

Ghost’s stomach clenched.

Something primal, something he hadn’t felt before, coiled tight in his gut.

He should be focusing on the mission. On the hostiles still breathing. On anything but the way his pulse spiked at the sight of them.

But he couldn’t look away.

Ghost had seen plenty of violence, lived in it, breathed it. But this? This was different. This was them—normally so level-headed, so in control—reduced to something feral, something hungry.

And God help him, it was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

Heat licked up his spine, foreign and unwelcome, but impossible to ignore. His instincts, long-buried and unacknowledged, stirred like a beast waking from hibernation.

Not the time. Not the place.

But Ghost had the sinking realization that nothing was going to feel the same after this.