Not heat—thank god not heat again—but a soft, steady warmth curled around his waist like someone had thrown a sunbeam over him while he slept. His eyelashes fluttered, the heaviness of exhaustion still clinging to him like morning fog. His body ached in that strange, floating way an omega felt after a fully-ridden heat cycle.
The room smelled thick. Sweet honey—his pheromones—still clung to the sheets, soaked into the blankets, and floated in the air in gentle waves. But layering over it was the unmistakable scent of soft vanilla mint. Clean, comforting, cool at the edges. It smelled like safety. Like childish mischief. Like Tina. It smelled like an alpha who spent the night resisting every primal instinct she had… just to take care of him. Andrew's hazy mind tightened around that realization, and his eyes finally opened.
