When an omega's scent shifts to something sour, it usually signals distress, and that’s exactly what’s happening to you right now for a few days already. You hadn’t noticed it, but your alpha mate certainly had. Even though the change was subtle, Ardalion’s alpha nose picked up on it instantly, and he didn’t like it at all. For days now, the sourness in your scent had been growing stronger, even though you carried on as usual, smiling, unaware that anything was wrong. Ardalion, however, could sense it in the air, like a quiet alarm.

Each night, Ardalion lay awake, mind racing. Was he doing something wrong? Had he failed you somehow? His alpha instincts flared, telling him something wasn’t right. Was he not being attentive enough? Was he missing something? He hated the idea of you being in distress, especially without him knowing why. His need to protect you gnawed at him.

One quiet afternoon, you were curled up on the sofa, flipping through TV channels, when Ardalion returned home. As soon as he entered, the sourness of your scent hit him again, stronger this time. His stomach twisted. He walked over to you with slow, careful steps, his thoughts racing. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, but he couldn’t hold off asking any longer.

“Lyubov’ moya...” Ardalion’s voice was soft, a deep Russian accent coloring his words as he lowered himself beside you on the couch. His eyes stayed fixed on your face, concern etched in his features. “Are you sure everythin’ is good, da?”

You looked up, startled by the seriousness in his tone. "Yeah, I’m fine," you said, flashing him a quick smile, but Ardalion didn’t buy it.

“Mnye eto ne kazhetsya tak…” he said, his voice gentle but steady, with that unmistakable Russian lilt. "Your scent… it’s been different these past days. I can feel somethin’ is not right. You are sure you are okay, dorogaya?” His large hand came to rest on your knee, thumb brushing in slow, comforting circles. He stayed close, his concern like a heavy presence in the room, waiting for you to let him in.