2. Lily
Lily
The intake room is clinical but oddly calming. Soft lighting filters through frosted glass windows, and the muted scent of lavender hums in the air. A small desk dominates the center of the space, flanked by two chairs, and everything is meticulously arranged.
I settle into one of the chairs, perching on the edge like I’m ready to bolt at any second. A man sits across from me. He looks in his late thirties. Another Alpha. Of course.
But his presence is different from Raphael’s. Where Raphael was intense, he carries himself with the kind of quiet authority that comes with age and experience.
His scent hits me next. Deep. Rich. Like aged bourbon… with a hint of sandalwood.
Fuck he smells good.
Silver streaks pepper his dark brown hair at the temples, and his green eyes pin me in place—too intense to hold for long.
His navy suit is tailored to perfection, the crisp white shirt beneath emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders.
Even sitting still, he radiates the kind of strength that commands attention.
He looks like he's in perfect control, but only because he chooses to be.
Everything about him is deliberate, a shield of composure that soothes as much as it unsettles.
“I’m Alaric Thorne,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “I’ll be your counselor.”
I nod, my fingers curling around the edge of the chair. “Lily. Though I guess you already knew that.”
His emerald eyes track the small, nervous movements of my hands before flicking back to my face. His gaze is steady, unreadable. “How are you settling in? I heard the view from your room is quite something.”
The question feels loaded, and I hesitate. “It’s… more than I expected,” I admit. “How does a place like this even exist? It feels too good to be true.”
Alaric makes a note on the tablet in front of him, his movements measured and precise.
“The Haven was founded fifteen years ago. The founder turned his family estate into what it is now—” he gives a slight gesture “—a sanctuary that doesn’t feel like one.”
He pauses, studying me. “So what brought you to us, Lily?”
My chest tightens. “The website said you offer immediate placement for emergencies.”
He nods, not pushing for more. “We do. It’s important that you feel safe here. Comfortable.”
Comfortable. The word twists in my chest. I glance at the door, half-wishing someone would swing it open and save me from this conversation. “I’m not sure what comfortable is supposed to feel like,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Alaric tilts his head slightly, the movement drawing attention to the sharp line of his jaw. That bourbon-rich scent of his swirls in the air between us. “That’s fair. This is a new place for you. It takes time to adjust.”
Adjust. Another word reminding me this is a process. One that Alaric seems to think he can guide me through like it's a simple to-do list.
My shoulders tense, and I force myself to meet his gaze. “Is this the part where you’ve already sized me up and ask if I’m here because of a guy?” The question comes out sharper than I meant.
He doesn’t flinch. “Not unless you want to talk about it.”
The simplicity of his response catches me off guard. No probing questions, no veiled concern. Just an open door I can choose to walk through or ignore.
I study his face, searching for cracks in his perfect calm, for any sign of an agenda lurking beneath the surface. But Alaric remains maddeningly composed, his expression steady, his presence unyielding.
“You’re not what I expected,” I say before I can stop myself.
One of his eyebrows quirks upward. “What did you expect?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, debating whether to answer. Finally, I shrug, the movement stiff. “I don’t know. Someone…pushier.”
The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, gone almost as quickly as it appears. “That’s not my style.”
There’s a subtle shift in his tone, just enough to make me wonder if he actually means it.
Our gazes lock, and for a moment, his eyes seem to cut through me, reading something I’m not ready to share. His scent thickens and it’s mouthwatering. Laced with authority, it wraps around me like a command I can’t ignore.
Fuck, I wouldn’t mind being under him and call him Daddy.
Heat floods my face as I shift in my seat. I curl my arms around myself—as if that could somehow block out the weight of his presence.
“You don’t have to talk about anything you’re not ready to,” Alaric says, his voice a shade softer now. “But I’m here if you need someone to listen.”
I nod, a small, reluctant motion. The weight of his words lingers, even as silence stretches between us. For a brief moment, I consider opening my mouth and let the chaos inside me spill out.
But the thought of unraveling everything, of laying my broken pieces bare, turns my stomach. The words stay lodged in my throat, too tangled to come out.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Alaric nods, his calm unwavering. “That’s all I ask.”
***
The café is tucked into a quiet corner of the Haven’s ground floor, past the grand foyer, offering a more intimate, welcoming space awash in late-afternoon sunlight.
My mind still buzzes from what stretched into an hour session with Alaric. His scent and the intense focus in his eyes ignite in my thoughts, refusing to fade.
Focus.
I shake my head, reminding myself I’m here to heal, not to get tangled up with anyone. Especially my counselor…
A wave of aromas envelops me as I approach the café: freshly brewed coffee, warm dough, and something sweet in the oven. My stomach growls in response.
I check the time. Past 5 p.m. Already? No wonder I’m hungry; I skipped lunch on my way here.
Behind the counter, another Alpha—because apparently this place collects them—glances up.
But where Raphael was all intensity and Alaric exuded controlled power, this one radiates warmth like a summer afternoon.
His hazel eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and his chestnut hair is tousled, like he's been running his fingers through it all day.
A dusting of flour marks his black shirt, making him look charmingly disheveled.
His scent reaches me next: vanilla, with an undertone of something woodsy. It wraps around me like a thick blanket on a winter night.
“Welcome to my little slice of paradise,” he says, gesturing to the café. His voice has a gentle rumble to it, and his hazel eyes shine golden in the sunlight. “Or as close as we can get, anyway.”
I smile. “It smells amazing in here.”
“Thank you, I like to think so,” he says, dimples appearing as he grins. “I’m Leo. And you look like you’ve had a long day.” He tips his head toward the display case, strong forearms flexing as he leans on the counter. “How about something to eat? On the house.”
Part of me bristles at free handouts—memories of people doing “favors” only to hold them over my head later. But Leo’s easy demeanor makes me hesitate. His whole presence feels… safe.
Hell, maybe people can just be nice.
“I… um, yes please,” I manage, ducking my head as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s really kind of you.”
His smile widens, and something warm unfurls in my chest. “Perfect! Sweet or savory?” He gestures to the display case, and I catch another glimpse of those strong forearms. “Just pulled some cinnamon rolls out of the oven. Or, if you’re more of a muffin person, I’ve got blueberry, double chocolate—take your pick. ”
That vanilla-woodsy scent of his grows stronger as he moves closer to the case, and I have to remind myself to focus on the pastries, not the way his black shirt stretches across his shoulders. “Cinnamon rolls sound great, actually.”
“Excellent choice.” He turns to assemble a plate, and I try not to track the fluid movement of his muscles under his shirt. There’s something almost hypnotic about the way he moves—confident but gentle, like a Prince Charming.
He sets a steaming cinnamon roll on the counter, sliding it toward me with a grin that makes his dimples appear again. “One cinnamon roll, no strings attached,” he says, he teases, adding a playful wink.
Heat creeps up my neck as I shift my weight, resisting the urge to lean into the warmth of his scent. “Thanks. I really needed this.”
“Sure thing. Feel free to grab any table you like. I’ll be here if you need anything else.”
Only a couple of people are there—a middle-aged woman reading a book in the corner, and someone typing away on a laptop. I find a small table near the back, resisting the pull of my Omega instincts craving his attention.
The first bite of the cinnamon roll hits my tongue—warm, sugary dough that makes my whole body relax. The tension in my shoulders starts to unknot almost by itself.
I catch Leo watching me from the corner of my eye, his expression soft with curiosity. When our gazes meet, his scent shifts slightly, warming like sunshine through honey. For a moment, it’s easy to forget I’m supposed to keep my guard up.
Don’t get too comfortable, a voice in my head cautions. But as the next bite melts on my tongue and I see him offering me a gentle nod from behind the counter, something in my chest eases.
Maybe not everyone is waiting to pounce. Maybe some people really are just… kind. Willing to help.
Maybe I could show Leo exactly how appreciative I am…
Damnit brain, stop it.
***
The café is quiet now, its hum of conversation faded to soft overhead lights and the faint clink of dishes as Leo finishes cleaning up.
I’m still at my corner table, nursing the last warm sip of chamomile tea. With the ovens off, the sweet, buttery scent of pastries has faded, leaving nothing but Leo’s scent wrapping around me.
My heart kicks up a notch.
I catch myself watching him at the sink, methodically washing trays. His chestnut hair is messier now, almost begging for fingers to run through it. When he notices me looking, he sets down the tray and dries those strong hands on a towel, dimples appearing with his smile.
“You’re still here,” he says, crossing the café in a few easy strides that showcase the fluid grace of his movements. “Everything okay? I can leave the lights on if you want to stay a bit—didn’t mean to rush you.”
“Oh—no, I’m fine.” I lift the teacup, then set it down again, trying not to track the way his black shirt stretches across his shoulders. “Just… enjoying the peace, I guess.”
Leo nods, and his scent wraps around me like a hug. “Yeah, I like the late shift. Gives me a chance to experiment without customers popping in every five minutes.” He gestures around. “Besides, it’s quieter at night. Less bustle, more room to breathe.”
I understand exactly what he means. My usual tension has melted away like sugar in hot tea. “That cinnamon roll was really good, by the way. Thank you.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly feeling shy. “Oh and I’m Lily, by the way. I probably should have introduced myself earlier.”
“Nice to meet you officially, Lily.” His whole face lights up, and something warm unfurls in my chest. “And I’m glad you liked it. Food’s kind of my passion. If I can create something that makes people feel at home, it’s worth the early mornings and long nights.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he turns toward the counter and pours hot water from the kettle. When he returns with a fresh cup, our fingers brush. The contact sends electricity racing up my arm, and his scent spikes—warmer, richer.
I know I shouldn’t react this way. He’s probably just being nice.
He sets the cup down gently. “Thought you might want a refill,” he says, like nothing happened. His scent lingers in the air between us, making it hard to think straight.
“Thanks,” I murmur, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic to stop them from trembling. The tea smells like chamomile and honey, but all I can focus on is his woodsy-sweet scent.
Leo leans against a nearby chair, crossing his arms in a way that makes his pecs flex.
“You know,” he begins, “if you ever want to learn how to make that cinnamon roll—or anything else sweet—I’d be happy to teach you.
Could be a fun distraction.” His hazel eyes dance with warmth.
“Assuming you don’t mind me rambling about dough temperatures and proofing times. ”
His playful wink pulls a small laugh from me.
The idea of spending extra time here, with him, feels both tempting and dangerous.
Like stepping closer to a fire. His scent alone makes my inner Omega want to curl up and purr.
“I’ll… think about it,” I say finally, letting my guard slip just a fraction.
He nods, smiling like if that’s exactly what he wanted to hear. “Good. No pressure, though.”
We fall into a comfortable silence. The air between us feels charged but not uncomfortable. Eventually, he glances at the clock. “It’s getting late. Want me to walk you back?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” I reply quickly, rising from my chair. “Thanks again for everything—really.”
Leo’s gaze meets mine, warm and open, making my breath hitch. “Anytime. You know where to find me if you get hungry.”
I gather my things, still fighting the urge to lean into his comforting presence. “Right,” I say, heading for the exit. “Goodnight, Leo.”
“Goodnight, Lily.” The way he says my name, low and soft, sends a flicker of heat along my skin.
Stepping into the quiet corridor, I’m keenly aware of the faint tingle where our hands brushed and the lingering vanilla-woodsy scent woven into my clothes.
For the first time in a long while, I feel a little hopeful.
Still, I’m not letting my guard down.