Chapter 1
ONE
Devlin
The clock on my dashboard blinks 1:57 p.m. and I groan, gripping the steering wheel tighter, my palms clammy with sweat. Fuck. This is just my luck. No matter how organised I try to be, fate always conspires against me.
There’s no way I’m going to make it. Not with the way this traffic’s been crawling for the last fifteen minutes. It’s like the universe itself has decided that today, of all days, I’m definitely not allowed to show up on time. In fact, if it could go wrong, today it has.
They say bad luck comes in threes but I’m already facing down my third decade of lifetime of bad luck. And it doesn’t show any signs of letting up soon either.
I glance in the rearview mirror, my stomach tightening at the sight of the perfectly pressed dress in the back seat, a ridiculous emerald coloured satin thing that screams “wedding guest” in a way that feels more suffocating than celebratory. My friend’s wedding. I should be excited, right? Thrilled for her. I am…I just have a tendency to be a little late, and maybe a little distant when it comes to big, sentimental events like this.
This is only my second time back home in five years, and unlike last time when I stayed in a hotel and engaged in a wild night of mind blowing sex with a total stranger before leaving town the next day, this time I have to stay and see my family.
Joy.
Thinking of my last visit…A reckless mistake. That’s all it was supposed to be. Just one night to forget I’m an omega, in a world that will always try to own me.
Which is probably why I’m dragging my heels about the whole wedding-visit-return thing.
I take a breath, trying to calm the erratic beat of my heart. But my trembling body betrays me. Despite using a scent blocker this morning, the stress has caused it to wear off a little and betray me. No matter how much I try to steady myself, the faintest trace of my anxiety lingers in the air, a bitter note to my suppressed scent, a whisper only an alpha would catch.
This is my fault, I know. I shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to get my flight, hire a car and drive to town. My flight being delayed wasn’t exactly my fault, but I probably should have flown in yesterday. The second I realised how much time had passed, I’d been rushing through everything – hair, makeup, getting to grips with this stupid manual car. I drive an automatic back home and I will not be going back to manual, ever.
And then, of course, the traffic.
Today is not going well.
The GPS finally announces that I’m two minutes away, but I can already hear the faint chime of the bells. The wedding’s at the church down the street, and I can practically feel the eager stares of the guests waiting for me to pull into the parking lot.
Great.
I quickly pull into a space at the back of the church’s lot, throwing the car in park and grab the dress, trying not to panic. I roll my shoulders, pushing down the restless itch under my skin. This place, this city – it knows me. And somewhere in the crowd my past is waiting for me. I just have to get in there, smile, and pretend to be the beta who left five years ago and never looked back.
My heels click on the pavement as I jog to the entrance, heart thumping faster than it should.
I slip inside, pushing open the wooden doors with as much quiet grace as I can muster. I can hear the faint, melodic hum of the choir in the distance, soft but steady. I dive into the bathroom and quickly change into my dress, fixing my hair and reapplying my lipstick. I stash my travel clothes on the counter and make a mental note to grab them after the ceremony before we leave for the reception. The doors creak on their hinges as I step into the church, the sudden silence making me cringe, like everyone knows I’m here, and they all know I’m late.
I press myself against the cold, stone wall, out of sight of the main aisle where the guests are seated. The last thing I want is to disrupt anything, especially not in front of the bride. I’ve been friends with her since we were kids, and I know this wedding means everything to her. She’s waited for this day for as long as I can remember. I can’t believe I’m ruining it by being this late.
There’s a spot toward the back, next to the last row of pews, where I can hide without drawing too much attention. Instinct tells me to keep my head down. To stay unnoticed. I may be pretending to be a beta today, but those omega instincts are what will ensure no one discovers the truth. The last thing I need is an alpha catching a trace of something I shouldn’t be feeling.
I move toward it, my pulse still racing, and settle in. I’m far enough to not be seen by the rest of the guests, but close enough to see the procession as it unfolds.
I can’t even bring myself to look at the altar yet. I know I should be focused on the impending arrival of the bride, but all I can think about is how my heart’s still pounding, how everything feels a little out of sync. There’s something about this day that’s already making me feel like an outsider, and I’m not sure if it’s the wedding itself, or the pressure of trying to be the ‘perfect’ guest.
Scents thicken the air, cloying and threatening to overwhelm and suffocate me. The flowers, the incense, the perfumes and colognes of betas, the sharper, heavier presence of alphas. I’m not usually this sensitive to smells on my suppressants. So maybe it’s just my own nerves strangling me from the inside out.
Either way, it’s all too much.
But there’s no backing out now. I just have to hope I can stay in the shadows long enough to get through this without drawing too much attention. The back row is my safe haven – out of sight, out of mind.
The music swells, a soft, serene melody that floats through the air like a gentle wave, filling the church with a sense of anticipation. I glance toward the aisle, my heart in my throat. It’s happening. The bride is about to make her entrance, and the nerves that had settled a little begin to stir again.
I take a slow breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. The guests are all poised, waiting with bated breath. I’m just a spectator, but somehow it feels like my own heart is beating along to the rhythm of the music.
I watch as Nuala’s bridesmaids file in, dressed in blush-pink gowns, their smiles bright, their steps elegant. Each one looks like they’ve stepped out of a bridal magazine, all perfect and poised. My hands tighten around the pew, my chest tightening with a mix of envy and admiration. How do they all manage to look so put together? Each woman has that same graceful air, like she’s always known what to do, where to stand. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m standing on the sidelines, struggling to blend into the background.
Nuala has always been the picture of perfection – never a hair out of place, always in control, always the centre of attention in the best possible way. And here I am, barely keeping it together, too self-conscious in the back row, hoping no one notices I’m there. My chest tightens again, and I feel a pang of something sharp inside. Am I really this…out of place? I shake the thought off, telling myself that I’m just overthinking things.
Then, the doors swing open once more, and everything inside me stills.
There she is. The beautiful bride. In her pristine white lace gown, glowing like she’s stepped out of a dream. A collective sigh fills the room as she begins her walk down the aisle, her smile radiant, eyes locked on her soon-to-be husband. She looks flawless, every inch the beautiful bride, and I feel a lump form in my throat. This is her moment. Her day.
I can’t help but admire her, feeling a mixture of awe and that gnawing sense of being left behind. She looks perfect, as she always has, like she’s meant for this. And here I am, just a background character in this perfect scene, unable to stop comparing myself to her. My heart aches a little at the thought, but I push it aside.
I watch her approach the altar, focusing on her, trying to push away the unease that clings to me, the worry that I might not belong in this room. The ceremony feels weighty now, and I shift slightly in my seat, hoping the anxiety in my chest won’t betray me.
And then, as she reaches the altar and the officiant begins speaking, the best man steps forward to stand beside the groom.
I freeze.
The man stepping into view is none other than the guy from the hen do – the alpha I spent that wild, reckless night with. The one I’d sworn to never see again, especially not in a setting like this.
I bite down on the gasp that threatens to escape, pressing my hand over my mouth to stifle it. My chest tightens, my palms suddenly damp as I glance down, praying to God no one’s noticed the colour draining from my face. I can’t believe it. Of all the people in the world, it had to be him.
He stands there, his back straight, dressed in a sharp suit, exuding the same quiet confidence that made my heart race that night. His presence fills the space, even from here, even though I’m sitting all the way in the back row. I can’t see his face clearly, but I know him. I don’t need to see it. I know the tilt of his jaw, the way his shoulders are squared, and the subtle but unmistakable aura of dominance he wears like a second skin.
He doesn’t notice me, of course. He’s too busy being the best man, too focused on the ceremony. But the weight of the moment hits me like a ton of bricks.
I try to breathe through the sudden heat rushing to my face, but my body betrays me. I’m already starting to feel it – the familiar warmth spreading through my chest, down my spine, a tension I can’t ignore. My scent. I press my wrist to my nose, hoping no one will notice the shift, but it’s already too late. Crisp green apple, toasted pecan, a hint of cinnamon and caramel. Burnt caramel because I’m freaking out.
My panic spikes as I realise the truth: I didn’t bring extra scent blockers. I’m on suppressants. They should be enough. They usually are enough. But for whatever reason today – most likely my stress and anxiety over everything – they’re not working as effectively as normal. This is the last place I wanted this to happen, and yet here I am, sitting in the back of a church, a slow burn of desire starting to radiate through me at the worst possible moment.
I can’t look at him again. I can’t let him see. I can’t let anyone notice.
But even as I stare down at my trembling, sweaty hands, trying to calm myself, I know it’s too late.
The damage is done.
I’m going into heat.
The reception is a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft hum of conversation. The church bells have barely stopped ringing, and already, the atmosphere at the nearby hotel has shifted from sacred to celebratory, a warm buzz filling the air as guests make their way to the outdoor marquee. Miraculously for mid April, the weather is holding and it seems that the bride and groom’s dream of an outdoor reception at Easter wasn’t so crazy after all.
I linger at the edges, careful not to draw attention to myself, keeping my distance from the throngs of guests, as they mingle and exchange pleasantries. My glass of wine feels too warm in my hand, the edges of the crystal rim damp from condensation. I sip it slowly, trying to keep my movements small, unobtrusive.
I can feel it. He’s here somewhere. The best man. The guy who’s been haunting my every thought since I saw him in the church. I don’t want to see him again – not here, not in this place. I don’t want to make eye contact or give him any reason to notice me, especially when I can’t seem to control what my body’s doing.
My nerves are on edge, and my senses are heightened, the faintest shifts of the crowd catching my attention, as I move through the room like a shadow. I keep my back to the walls, hoping to blend in, to escape detection. But as the laughter continues and the chatter grows louder, I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching me.
And then, I bump into them.
“Dev, is that you?” A familiar voice calls out, warm and full of welcome.
I jolt, stepping back on instinct.
I look up to see a group of school friends, their faces lighting up the moment they spot me.
“Well, well, look who’s finally decided to grace us with their presence,” Lucy teases, a grin playing on her lips. “We were startin’ to think you weren’t gonna make it. The bride’s been asking for you, you know.”
“Yeah, we were wonderin’ if you’d gone off the grid altogether,” Emily adds, smirking as her sharp eyes scan my face. The two of them weren’t at the hen do, so they’ve no clue I’ve already been back.
I force a smile, nodding, though my heart is hammering away in my chest. “Ah, just needed a bit of time to…prepare.”
“Is that so?” Lucy raises an eyebrow. “So tell us, have you run into your ex yet?”
My stomach drops, the blood draining from my face as a surge of panic rushes through me.
“What?” I choke out, my voice cracking on the word. “Why would he be here?”
Emily gives me a look, exaggerated and knowing. “It’s a wedding, isn’t it? And sure, you know he’s friends with the groom. Small world and all that.” She shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, her eyes flicking around the room. “I could’ve sworn I saw him earlier, talkin’ to one of the groomsmen. You didn’t notice?”
Another wave of panic crashes over me, heat crawling up my spine. It’s not him I’m worried about – it’s the scent I’m trying to keep in check. The last time I saw Cathal was six years ago, when he shattered my heart and walked away. Back then, I hadn’t presented as an omega, and everyone here still thinks I’m a beta. It needs to stay that way. Up until now, the heat spike I felt in the church had died down a bit, but I feel my temperature rising right alongside my anxiety.
The warmth spreading through my chest is getting worse, my pulse quickening, and I can already feel my scent shifting, perfuming just a little too much.
Shit. I hope there’s enough flowers and perfume and other scents in here to mask me.
“Uh…” My mind scrambles for an escape. “Haven’t seen him yet,” I manage to say, forcing a casual tone, though my voice shakes at the edges. “Maybe he’s avoiding me.”
“Ah, don’t be like that,” Lucy says with a playful nudge of her elbow. “Wouldn’t you at least say hello?”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t know…maybe not tonight.”
I force a smile, but the tension in my shoulders tells me it’s not convincing. Every part of me wants to flee the conversation, to find a dark corner where I can hide, but I don’t dare run – not with them looking at me like this. My stomach twists, my heart racing as I can feel the burn starting to spread down my spine.
It’s too much. The heat, the pulsing need, the familiar pull that’s impossible to ignore. It’s too much, and I can’t keep pretending I’m not aware of it.
I make a half-hearted attempt to change the subject. “How’s everything been with you guys? How’s work?”
But Lucy isn’t having it. She’s already glancing around the room, her eyes searching.
“Well, I’ll keep an eye out for him, then. But you have to say hello to him if he’s here! He’s packed up but they don’t have an omega yet.” She laughs lightly, not noticing the tension that’s rising inside me. “I wish I was an omega, the entire pack is sex on a stick.”
I want to tell her to stop. To just stop talking about him. But I can’t. I can’t seem to get the words past the lump in my throat, and I certainly can’t risk drawing attention to the fact that I’m not the beta they all think I am.
“Alright,” I say in a shaky voice, giving an awkward laugh. “I’ll be sure to do that…eventually.”
The conversation moves on, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. The heat is still there, gnawing at me, and every second I stay in the room feels like a battle against my own body.
And as I glance around, my gaze catches someone else’s. Just for a moment. But it’s him. The best man.
I feel it. That pull. That unavoidable pull.
And I know, right then, that I’m not going to be able to keep dodging him for much longer. So I do what any self respecting omega on the verge of heat while pretending to be a beta would do: I turn in the opposite direction and run.