The Intrusion

The bell above the door chimed, cutting through the drone of the rain.

Jamie flinched, scrambling backward until his spine hit the wall behind the dryer. He held his breath, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

A man walked in. He was tall, shaking a heavy canvas jacket as he stepped onto the mat. He didn't look like Pack. He wore grease-stained jeans and heavy work boots, and his hair was shorn close to his scalp. A scar ran through his left eyebrow, dissecting it cleanly.

He was a Rogue. Packless. Dangerous.

The man—Cole—didn't look around. He walked straight to the vending machine, digging a handful of quarters from his pocket. He punched a button for black coffee.

Jamie tried to make himself invisible. He tried to suppress his scent, but control was the first thing to go during The Drop.

Cole froze. He hadn't even retrieved his cup yet. He lifted his head, nostrils flaring slightly.

The smell of a rejected Omega was distinctive. It smelled like burnt sugar and ozone—sweetness turned into ash.

Cole turned slowly. His gaze swept the empty rows of washers and landed on the dryer in the corner. He saw the huddled, trembling figure in the ruined white suit.

"You’re leaking, kid," Cole said. His voice was rough, like gravel tumbling in a mixer. "You’re gonna attract every stray within ten miles smelling like that."

Jamie shuddered, his teeth chattering. "G-go away."

Cole didn't go away. He grabbed his coffee and walked over, stopping a few feet from the dryer. He looked at Jamie—really looked at him. He saw the dilated pupils, the sheen of sweat on pale skin, and the nasty, inflamed scratch on the side of his neck.

"Alpha Heir," Cole muttered, recognizing the specific claw pattern of the rejection mark. "That prick always did have a heavy hand."

Jamie flinched at the insult to his Alpha—no, not his Alpha anymore. "I have... I have nowhere to go."

"Clearly," Cole said. He took a sip of his coffee, his expression unreadable. "Because you're sitting on a dryer in the Neutral Zone waiting for your heart to stop."

"I'm n-not dying," Jamie stammered, though the edges of his vision were graying out.

"You are," Cole corrected him flatly. "The Drop spikes your fever until your organs shut down. You need electrolytes, warmth, and a scent-blocker before some territorial wolf decides you’re trespassing."

Cole set his coffee down on the folding table. He looked annoyed, tired, and reluctant. He was a mechanic. He fixed transmissions, not people. He had left the pack life to avoid exactly this kind of drama.

But the Omega was so small. And the smell—the sheer, overwhelming despair coming off him—was making Cole’s own wolf pace anxiously in his mind.

"Get down," Cole said.

"No," Jamie whispered, clutching his knees. "My p-parents... they’ll come."

"Your parents let you walk out of the ceremony hall alone," Cole said, brutal in his honesty. "They aren't coming, kid."