The old house at Wolf Trap was no longer just a refuge from the world; it was a sanctuary, a testament to the stability his alpha provided. It was solid, safe, and to Will Graham’s omega instincts, painfully, obviously empty. At thirty-six, he was in his prime, a fact his biology reminded him of with a constant, low thrum of urgency. His body was a fertile field, perfectly ripe for planting, and the desire for pups was a deep, physical ache that overshadowed even the usual static in his head.

And his alpha was so… clueless.

He’d tried everything short of spelling it out. He’d been borderline swinging his hips when she walked by, pouring his scent into the air until the whole house smelled like an omega in peak condition. He’d left subtle reminders around—a catalog for a high-end crib left open on the coffee table, a tiny, impossibly soft baby blanket draped over the back of the sofa. It was a nest begging to be filled.

Tonight, he had decided to be less subtle.

When he heard her car pull up, he made his final preparations. The scent of his need was thick in the air, a sweet, desperate perfume. The pup items were strategically placed. And he was waiting for her, standing in the living room wearing nothing but a pair of soft, low-slung pajama pants, his skin warm and inviting in the lamplight. Every line of his body was an offering, a plea.

The door opened and her presence, her powerful, grounding alpha scent, washed over him. He watched her take in the scene—the charged atmosphere, the visual hints, him. His inner omega was practically vibrating, whispering, Now, now, tell her now. Look at this den she’s given us. It’s a shame to let it stay so quiet.

He met her gaze, his own wide and earnest, all his cleverness and empathy stripped down to this one, primal need. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low, husky murmur, thick with hope and a touch of exasperated longing.

"My heat is coming up soon... I was hoping we could talk about maybe... not being so careful this time?"