Chapter 1
Khan guessed he had missed the memo where boys with pretty faces came with warning signs.
Otherwise, how could he have missed it—missed that his omega partner was a wolf and not a rabbit?
The signs had been there. Too quiet. Too alert. Eyes that never quite stopped measuring the exits.
Still.
How could he have missed all of them?
The doctor’s office smelled of antiseptic and paper, but underneath it—faint, unmistakable—something else. Fresh grass after rain. Warm oak. Whiskey left uncapped too long.
Khan lifted his head before he meant to.
Across the room, perched on the very edge of a plastic chair, was the omega.
Small. Soft-looking. Brown curls falling into wide eyes that snapped up the moment Khan moved. The omega stiffened, fingers curling into the strap of his bag like he might bolt in a heartbeat.
Definitely a rabbit, Khan thought automatically.
The nurse cleared her throat. “Mr. Khan? Your results will be ready shortly.”
Khan nodded, offering a polite smile. “Thank you.”
His voice—too deep, too calm—made the omega flinch anyway.
“Sorry,” Khan said immediately, lowering his tone. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
The omega blinked, clearly not expecting that.
“Oh—no. I mean. It’s fine,” he said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “I’m fine. I always sit like this. Near doors. Habit.”
Khan glanced at the door, then back at him. “Smart habit.”
The omega huffed out a nervous laugh. “Most alphas don’t say that.”
“I’m not most alphas.”
That earned him a look—curious now, cautious but interested. The omega’s nose twitched before he could stop it, and his eyes widened, as he’d just realized he’d done something terribly impolite.
Khan noticed.
Of course he did.
He also noticed how the omega leaned in just a fraction, as if pulled by something he didn’t fully trust.
“You smell…” The omega froze. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s alright,” Khan said gently. “You can finish.”
The omega swallowed. “Like… fresh grass. And whiskey.”
Khan’s lips curved despite himself. “That’s a new one.”
“I like it,” the omega added in a rush, then clamped his mouth shut, mortified. “I mean—sorry. I really should stop talking.”
Khan chuckled softly, careful not to let too much alpha edge slip into the sound. “You don’t have to run. I won’t chase.”
That made the omega look at him again—really look.
“You promise?”
“I give you my word.”
Something eased. Not much. But enough that the omega’s shoulders dropped a fraction.
“I’m Sori,” he said quietly.
“Khan.”
They sat there, the space between them humming with things neither of them had words for yet.
Later—much later—Khan would replay this moment in his head and realize the truth.
Rabbits didn’t hold their ground like this.
Rabbits didn’t smell like storms waiting to break.
And wolves?
Wolves learned early how to look small when the world wasn’t safe. Sori kept his hands folded in his lap because they shook when he didn’t.
He hated doctors’ offices. Too clean. Too bright. Too many memories of blood that weren't supposed to be there. He focused on breathing instead—slow, measured—like he’d been taught long before anyone ever called him omega.
Don’t look like a threat.
Don’t smell like one either.
Then the door opened.
Sori’s head snapped up on instinct before he could stop himself.
Alpha.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Calm in a way that made most people relax without realizing why. That alone set Sori’s nerves screaming. Calm alphas were always the dangerous ones.
He almost ran.
Almost.
Then the scent hit him.
Fresh grass. Sun-warmed earth. Whiskey—real whiskey, not the sharp synthetic stuff meant to intimidate. It wrapped around Sori’s senses before he could lock them down, tugging at something deep and treacherous inside him.
Idiot, he scolded himself. Get it together.
His body leaned in anyway.
The alpha spoke—soft, careful—and Sori hated how much he appreciated that. Hated how his instincts didn’t recoil. Hated how his omega responded like it recognized something safe.
Safe was a lie people told before they died.
Still… he stayed.
When the alpha promised he wouldn’t chase, Sori searched his face for deception. He was good at that. He’d learned early how to read the micro-tells: the tightening jaw, the too-still eyes, the lie hiding behind politeness.
He found none.
That unsettled him more than fear ever had.
You’re here for a reason, he reminded himself.
Get close. Learn. Listen.
The name came out of his mouth before he could stop it.
“Sori.”
Why had he done that?
Names were leveraged. Names were mistakes.
But the alpha—Khan—said his own just as easily, like it didn’t cost him anything.
Sori tucked the sound of it away, filed it carefully alongside other useful things: building layouts, escape routes, faces he’d once memorized before pulling a trigger.
Khan’s hormones brushed against him again, warm and steady, and Sori forced himself not to react.
This alpha mattered.
Not because of the pull curling low in his stomach.
Not because the scent made his omega ache in confusing ways.
Because somewhere out there, hidden behind layers of protection and lies, was Khan’s father.
And Sori needed to know where.
Not why.
Not yet.
The nurse called their names again.
Sori stood—light, unthreatening, ready to run if he had to.
He smiled because he had learned how to smile when it mattered most.
And Khan, foolish, gentle alpha that he was, smiled back.
