Page 109 of Knot Their Arrangement

"Too hot," I groan, pushing weakly at the heavy covers. My movements feel sluggish, and uncoordinated, like my limbs are moving through honey instead of air.

With considerable effort, I manage to turn onto my side, instinctively curling around a pillow that feels impossibly soft against my cheek.

A scent envelops me that makes my racing thoughts slow, my tense muscles relax.

It's familiar yet new – His scent washes over me with startling clarity, no longer masked by rain or adrenaline.

Rich dark chocolate melts into the sweetness of black cherries, creating a decadent base that makes my mouth water. But there's complexity layered beneath that initial rush of indulgence:crisp mint cuts through the sweetness like a blade, sharp and invigorating, while petrichor – that distinctive scent of rain on warm earth – adds a wild, untamed element that speaks of mountain storms and midnight races.

The combination shouldn't work, but it does, especially with that underlying note of raw sugar that reminds me of breaking into crystallized caramel, and the earthy whisper of crushed autumn leaves that grounds it all.

His aroma is a perfect paradox – sophisticated yet feral, inviting yet dangerous.

It's the scent of someone who could attend a black-tie gala or street race with equal comfort, who exists in that intoxicating space between civilization and wildness.

Every inhale reveals new dimensions:sometimes the chocolate dominates, making me crave a taste; other times the mint and rain surge forward, reminding me of the untamed Alpha beneath his polished exterior.But it's the raw sugar note that truly captures me – sweet enough to complement what I’d assume is my scent which very few state is sweet with a touch of spiced undertones.

Regardless, the aroma keeps inviting three main feelings.

Danger. Excitement. Safety.

Odd combination to ignite just by scents, but the combination melds and works spectacularly. Just like the arms that suddenly snake around my waist, pulling me back against a solid wall of warmth that my body seems to recognize even if my mind hasn't caught up yet.

A small pout forms on my lips as I try to make sense of this situation.

Did I invite someone to the Safe Haven?

It wouldn't be completely unprecedented – I've done it before when the need became too strong to ignore. But those occasions are rare, happening maybe once a year at most.

I've never been comfortable bringing strangers into this space, especially knowing I share it with Astraea.

The Safe Haven is exactly what its name suggests – a sanctuary where Omegas can exist without constant fear or vigilance. Bringing random Alphas here, no matter how carefully vetted, always felt like a violation of that sacred trust.

But this scent...

My thoughts drift lazily as I inhale deeply, letting the aroma wrap around me like a security blanket. There's something about it that calls to my very soul, that makes my Omega instincts purr with recognition and contentment.

The arms around me feel right in a way those previous encounters never did like they belong there.

Sleep starts to reclaim me, my mind floating in that peaceful space between consciousness and dreams. But the heat becomes overwhelming again, making me shift restlessly in the embrace that holds me.

Without opening my eyes, I reach back and press my hand against what I assume is my companion's face, trying to create some distance between us.

"Too hot!" I mutter, giving a half-hearted push. "Go away."

A deep chuckle reverberates through me, the sound rich and familiar in ways that make my heart skip even in my semi-conscious state. Instead of releasing me, the arms tighten, pulling me more firmly against a chest that feels like it was sculpted from marble.

"You always hate when I'm in your personal space when you're half asleep, Trouble."

The words take a moment to penetrate my foggy brain. The voice is deep, carrying notes of both amusement and affection, but it's the nickname that finally breaks through my mental haze.

Trouble.

Only one person has ever called me that.

Sixty seconds tick by as my mind struggles to process this information, to connect the dots between past and present.

The nickname. The scent. The familiar way he holds me, like he's done it a hundred times before.

---