Being an omega wasn’t easy, this was for sure, and your role in the military made it more difficult—trying to suppress your heat while you were out of suppressors was a living hell. You hadn’t meant to run out. You’d miscounted, too focused on the mission, on staying sharp. Now you are tucked away in a supply tent on base, clutching the edge of a cot, biting down on your knuckles to keep quiet as the heat rolls through you like fire.

There’s silence outside, but your mind is full of chaos, so much that you didn’t hear heavy footsteps approaching.

The moment the flap opens, his smell hits you—dark, sharp, Alpha. It made your knees weak. Ghost’s tall frame is now just some steps away from you, probably guided by your emanating scent. His eyes locked onto you instantly, and he knew. Alphas always knew. He took a step closer. You’re shaking.

You hated that he was right. Hated how your body responded to him. You were supposed to be stronger than this. Ghost crouched in front of you, slow and careful. “I can help, he said quietly. If you want me to. You just have to ask.”

“I can handle it.” There you are, stubborn as hell. But still, your eyes were half closed, needy. He sighs and slowly takes off his black gloves, his scent getting even more intense. “You can’t. Let me just help make you feel better.”