She began to protest, wanting up. “But the room is wrong, I can feel it. And I need more chocolate, and I hate the grey walls, and I have this weird urge to eat charcoal, and you stink of Svana.” Her mouth snapped shut, green eyes beginning to burn once she recognized the truth in her words. He did reek of Svana! Growling like she might rip out his throat, a haze of fury clouded her every thought. “That is what is wrong with the room!”

Dashing the book against the wall, Claire inhaled deeply, her nose to his chest.

Wisely, Shepherd held still, let her crawl over him so she might find the limits of where the scent might linger. He’d caused this discord by unthinkingly not considering such an outcome, but he would not allow Claire to believe the worst. She smelled him everywhere, clawed her small hands into his clothes, finding every last trace. The stink was so subtle, she was surprised she’d even noticed. The man did not smell of sex or slick or a recent shower. In fact, he mostly smelled of her.

Cautiously, Shepherd offered a remedy to the issue. “Shall we bathe?”

We?

Claire pulled away as far as his hold on her would allow. She repeated what he’d crowed only moments before, the phrase much more menacing coming from her lips. “Take note, I am being extremely indulgent of you at this moment.”

Shepherd drew breath as if to speak, but Claire held up a finger, and cut him off. “You stink of the Alpha you fucked in my nest a minute after you found her trying to murder me and your baby! Speak and I might just have to kill you.”

The Alpha kept his mouth shut—but it was not her tone or threat that stopped his lips, it was the smell of his mate’s arousal already seeping, hot and thick, into the fabric of his trousers. He watched her small hand hike up her skirt, saw her reach under to cup her sex. Once her fingers were covered in slick, she met his eyes, smearing her hand down his neck, directly over the spot where he stank of his beloved.

Gathering more of her wetness, Claire soaked the patch of his shirt until she could only smell herself.

It was not good enough.

Unable to comprehend anything beyond black rage, Claire clawed the fabric and ripped Shepherd’s shirt to threads.

Her nose went back to his exposed chest and she let out the most threatening growl an Omega could make.

If he was hushing her, or reprimanding, touching, or in shock, Claire was absolutely oblivious. Every fiber of her being demanded she stake claim, that she scratch her marks all over his body, that she leave a sign all other females would see.

She left him bloody.