I block them out as I complete my walk, feeling the familiar curtain of indifference envelop me as they shift their attention to the next contestant. I reach for the robe I left by the stage, knotting it securely around me, seeking the comfort of its fabric, when suddenly, a scent unlike any other envelops me.
It floods my senses, drowning out everything else.
My knees buckle. My vision tunnels.
Every cell in my body suddenly knows its purpose: to find the source of that scent. My head snaps up, my eyes locking onto a pair of beautiful brown eyes, and in that instant, I know—I’ve finally found him.
My scent match.
My true love.
3
Luna
Notebook: Males suck!
The scent wraps around me like a warm embrace, filling me with a profound sense of comfort and belonging I’ve never known. My gaze meets his, taking in the deep brown of his eyes, which reflect wonder and recognition.
It’s him.
My mate.
My destiny.
Everything else fades into obscurity. The chatter of the hall becomes a distant hum, and all that matters is him.
He smells of smoke with the undertones of… cilantro? I usually despise cilantro; it tastes like soap and makes me gag. But on him, mixed with his natural musk, it’s intoxicating.
It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. My body craves it like oxygen.
I move toward him as if in a dream, our paths converging below the stage. A spark ignites within me, his energy encasing me in a cocoon of warmth and acceptance.
“It’s you,” I whisper, barely breathing. “You’re…”
“Yours,” he completes, his voice reverberating through my very core. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
My heart stutters. Waiting for me? The thought feels surreal—someone as handsome and strong, with an intoxicating scent, would be matched with someone like me. Yet, the sincerity in his gaze assures me it’s true. The intensity nearly knocks me off my feet.
Relief washes over me that he isn’t as large as Alpha Hudson. His medium stature feels more approachable. He’s beautiful in a refined way, with chestnut brown hair neatly combed and a flawlessly tailored charcoal gray suit with subtle pinstripes, a crisp white shirt, and a deep burgundy tie. Every detail speaks of careful precision.
He looks professional, composed… and familiar.
His nostrils flare slightly as he inhales, and he leans closer. He takes my hand slowly, reverently, lifting it until my palm rests against his cheek.
“You’re so beautiful. I knew you’d be perfect,” he murmurs, kissing my wrist gently. Sparks dance across my skin.
Perfect?I almost laugh at the absurdity, but the earnestness in his eyes silences my cynicism.
He truly sees me this way.
This is because it’s a scent match. This connection is supposed to transcend the physical. Our bond is unbreakable.
Cherished.
He is the one who completes my soul.
Lost in the moment, I hadn’t noticed the hall had fallen silent. Everyone is staring, phones out, capturing our sacred encounter.
