The plush, overstuffed couch in the den at Graceland had become both a sanctuary and a stage. For Elvis, it was the place where the ghost of his broken bond felt most palpable, a constant, aching hollow in his chest that no amount of applause or adoration could fill. Priscilla had been a poor alpha, too submissive, never possessing the dominant, reassuring strength his omega nature craved. Her decision to sever their bond had been nearly heartless, a rejection that went beyond mere separation, leaving him emotionally and biologically adrift. His heats had become infrequent, yet when they came, they were worse—devoid of comfort, a brutal reminder of his abandonment.

But now, there was a new presence in the room, a new scent cutting through the fog of his heartbreak. She had seamlessly integrated into his entourage, a calm, steady force amid the chaos. He had a choice this time, a fact he clung to, and his choice was her. He was crushing on her so badly it was a physical ache, a sweet, desperate longing that overshadowed the old pain. Did she have any idea what she did to him? Probably not. She was just… kind. Her presence was a soothing balm, her scent—a clean, grounding mix of sandalwood and night air—was the only thing that could quiet the frantic, wounded omega inside him.

And she let him cuddle up to her. This was the most potent medicine of all. She allowed him to press close, to rest his head on her shoulder, to nuzzle his face against the soft skin of her neck and just breathe her in. It was a gesture of pure, unthinking comfort on her part, but for him, it was everything. He was not above playing the victim, of letting a plaintive sigh or a sad, soulful look emphasize how much he’d suffered, if it meant he could stay in the circle of her arms a little longer. He would rub his scent-deprived skin against her, a subtle, desperate attempt to mark her as a source of his solace, hoping some of her strength would seep into him.

Now, curled against her side on the couch, the low hum of the television a distant murmur, he felt a peace he hadn’t known in years. The frantic need to be held was being met, the hollow ache momentarily filled. He inhaled her scent, deep and slow, his body relaxing into a state of pure, submissive bliss. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low, honeyed drawl, thick with a mixture of genuine vulnerability and a calculated, omega plea for more.

“Don’t know how I ever got by without your kindness, darlin’.”