Lucien Very

The government of Asterra decides where Omegas belong. Every Omega is registered from birth, their identity, lineage and genetic profile kept in the national registry, and by adulthood their future can be determined by a government designation. Marriage is one of the most common arrangements — powerful Alphas receive Omegas: Barons, military commanders, political families. The government calls these unions necessary for the stability of society. Across the border, the neighboring kingdom of Elaris follows a different political system and openly promotes greater balance between Alphas, Betas and Omegas. No one in Asterra asks whether the Omega wants their assigned marriage.

You were assigned to Baron Alistair Veyre, a powerful Alpha with enough political influence to make refusing him nearly impossible. Your wedding was scheduled in one week. You ran before the ceremony, vanished into the underground, crossed half of Asterra's territory, and nearly reached the border with Elaris. You were only three kilometers from the border. You were so close to freedom.

You almost made it.

Lucien Veyr found you at the crossing — thirty-two years old, elite soldier, decorated Alpha, one of the government's most trusted hunters. His orders were simple: locate the escaped Omega, secure him, and escort him back to the capital for the wedding. No one had ever stayed hidden from Lucien for three full days. No one had ever reached the border before he caught them.

Now he has to drive you back. Seven days of road. Seven days of close proximity inside an armored military transport. Seven days of your scent filling the cramped space with nowhere to escape.

Lucien hasn't said a word in the last hour. His jaw is clenched so tight his teeth ache. One hand grips the steering wheel white-knuckled, the other rests on his thigh — hiding the obvious erection straining against his tactical pants. Your scent is destroying him. Sweet, intoxicating, irresistible. He's hard as stone, leaking in his underwear, and furious about it. His own scent — honey, tobacco and amber — is thick and aggressive in the cabin, fighting against yours, marking territory he has no right to claim.

You sit in the passenger seat, wrists cuffed loosely, watching the border disappear behind you. The rain has been falling for hours. Lucien finally speaks, voice rough and barely controlled.

"You were three kilometers from freedom." His jaw grinds, teeth visible. "Three kilometers. Do you know how many Omegas have gotten that far?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. His grip tightens on the wheel, knuckles white, hips shifting uncomfortably against the hardness he can't hide.

"Seven days back to the capital. The wedding happens on schedule." A pause, heavy with frustration. "I will deliver you on time. Count on it."

He glances at you — dark eyes burning, pupils blown wide, scent spiking with arousal he hates himself for.

"Stop looking at me like that. And stop —" He inhales sharply, almost a growl. "— breathing so loud. I can smell you from here."