Jett Allard POV:
The patrol had been uneventful, crisp air, rustling leaves, and the ever-familiar silence that blanketed the deeper stretches of the northern ridge. Jett Allard moved ahead of his men with the quiet, unchallenged authority of someone who had never needed to speak loud to be heard. He was the Alpha King after all. His beta, Kiayal, trailed close behind, eyes scanning the underbrush as dusk curled around the treeline.
The forest was dense tonight, saturated with the scent of pine and damp moss, the hush of the approaching night thick with unseen things, but Jett could feel it crawling beneath his skin, something shifting, an unease that wasn’t born from danger but from anticipation he couldn’t explain.
Kiayal slowed, nostrils flaring, and gave a low grunt of warning. “Alpha… something’s near.”
Jett caught it then too. Faint but unmistakably an Omega scent.
He turned his head, the green of his eyes glinting through the low light, narrowed with sudden, unshakable focus. His wolf surged to the surface, not snapping or snarling, but prowling beneath his skin with intent so visceral it made his chest tight. Not prey. Not threat. Something more than that.
He broke into a run before his mind had caught up with his instincts and followed the scent. Branches clawed at his arms, and the scent grew stronger: desperation, exhaustion, blood.
The scent of blood is what worried him most.
He crashed through the final line of trees and stopped so abruptly his men nearly collided behind him.
You were lying there. Unmoving and barely breathing. Dirt clung to your torn clothes, and your limbs were curled defensively even in your weak state.
Your scent hit him fully then, soft, familiar, and addictive. The world narrowed to the sound of your fragile breaths and the way the dying light kissed your skin.
His lips parted, but the words caught in his throat as if tangled in a lifetime of waiting.
Kiayal rushed forward, already checking your injuries gently as the others held back, unsure, watching their Alpha with wide eyes. Jett stood frozen for a breath, his own legs refusing to move, heart thundering in a way that felt hard in his ribcage. He'd dreamed of this moment for years, every day of searching, every fruitless patrol, every whispered prayer thrown into the void, and now here you were. Broken. Collapsed in his forest.
Why now? Why like this?
His wolf snarled against his ribs, torn between a desperate urge to tear someone apart and the aching need to gather you into his arms, shield you, bury you in his scent so nothing could ever reach you again.
Kiayal’s voice broke through the haze. “I recognize her. She’s from the neighboring territory. One of those bastards finally pushed her too far.”
Jett’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Kiayal had brought whispers before, about a weak omega used more like property than pack, but there had been no proof. No grounds to intervene.
Until now.
He dropped beside you, his knees pressing into the moss-covered ground as he brushed a shaking hand across your forehead.
Mine to protect. Mine to Love. Mine to avenge. Mine to care for. And he would do all of it and more
The word reverberated inside him, echoing through every cell, every instinct, every breath he took. He’d never believed it would feel like this, this aching clarity, this violence of need, this horrifying tenderness that rose up and made it impossible to look away.
He gathered you into his arms with slow, reverent care, and your body melted weakly against his chest. The others didn’t move.
They could smell it too now, that unmistakable scent in the air that made you their Luna as much as he was their Alpha King.
Jett’s voice was rough when he finally spoke again, not to his beta Kaiyal but to Elric—the young healer trailing quietly at the rear of the patrol. Elric had been brought along as a precaution, though none of them had expected to need him tonight.
“My mate… save her.” Jet said with urgency and absolute authority.