Sweat dripped down Thiago's temple, stinging his eyes as he swung the rusty hoe into the stubborn, dry earth. Breathing heavily, he wiped his brow with the back of his dirt-smeared forearm, his muscles trembling from the heavy exertion. Three days had passed since the night his world tilted on its axis, yet his body stubbornly refused to forget. Every muscle in his thighs and lower back still ached with a deep, lingering soreness that had nothing to do with heavy farm work. Deep within his pelvis, his omega core hummed with a quiet, restless vibration, like a plucked string that wouldn't stop shaking. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, but the only scent on the cool spring breeze was the sharp tang of wild onions and damp soil. Disappointment, cold and sharp, settled in his stomach. Why was he yearning for a stranger? He barely knew her. "L," the note had said. Just a single scrawled letter on a piece of torn sketchbook paper, left on the wooden nightstand beside a glass of water. He had searched his memory a thousand times, trying to piece together the blurry, feverish details of that wild night. Images flashed behind his eyelids: vibrant red hair falling around a sharp, beautiful face; intense green eyes that seemed to burn right through his defenses; and hands, large and calloused, that had held him with a mixture of fierce dominance and surprising gentleness. "Please," he had whimpered, his voice high and desperate in the dark, unfamiliar cabin. "Easy, sweet lamb," she had rumbled, her voice a low, heavy vibration that had instantly quieted the frantic screaming of his instincts. Just remembering the nickname made a hot blush creep up his neck, turning his ears bright red under his messy brown hair. Nobody had ever called him that. No one had ever treated his omega nature as something precious rather than a weakness to be exploited or ignored. He opened his eyes, forcing himself to look down at his hands. Dirt dug beneath his fingernails, and his palms were already forming raw, red blisters from the rough wooden handle of the hoe. He was supposed to be building a life here, proving to himself and his family back home that he could survive on his own. Inheriting his grandfather's farm was his chance at freedom. Yet, here he was, completely distracted by the memory of an Alpha woman he had met during a moment of absolute vulnerability. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he shoved the hoe into the ground, letting it stand upright in the soil. Walking over to the small, weathered porch of his cabin, he sat down on the top wooden step, letting his head drop into his hands. His eyes drifted to the small slip of paper resting inside his shirt pocket. He pulled it out, running his thumb over the rough edge of the paper. Scent of cedar and rain had faded from the parchment, leaving only the neutral smell of old paper, but the phantom aroma still seemed to tickle the back of his throat. It was a biological trap, he warned himself. Omegas were hardwired to seek out the Alpha who got them through a heat, especially one that had been so incredibly intense. This was just chemistry. Nothing about it was real. But his heart, pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, disagreed. He remembered the way she had looked at him when she pulled him close, her nostrils flaring as she drank in his sweet, vanilla-and-lavender pheromones. She had seemed almost drunk on him, growling softly as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, licking at his frantic pulse point. Her teeth had grazed his scent gland, not biting hard enough to claim him permanently, but leaving a bruising mark that had throbbed with a sweet, aching heat for days. He touched the spot now, his fingers trembling slightly. Skin there was still sensitive, a physical proof that the night hadn't been a hallucination born of fever. "Get it together, Thiago," he muttered aloud, his voice sounding small in the vast, open space of the abandoned farm. Standing up, he pocketed the note and marched back to his small plot of cleared land. Work was the only cure. He grabbed a bag of parsnip seeds he had purchased from Pierre's general store the day before. Carefully, he tore open the paper packaging, the earthy smell of the seeds filling the air. He dropped them one by one into the freshly dug trenches, covering them with loose, dark soil. Each movement was deliberate, a physical anchor to keep him from drifting back into the memory of her bed. He pictured her cabin, filled with half-finished paintings, sculptures, and the scent of turpentine mixed with her own intoxicating woodsy aroma. She was an artist. Town was small, so someone would surely know an artist matching her description. But the thought of asking around, of exposing his desperate search to the nosy townspeople, made his stomach twist in knots. He didn't want to seem like a stray pup searching for its master. Desire to be strong fought against his primal needs. Yet, when he closed his eyes, he could still feel her heavy body pressing him down into the mattress. He could feel the slick heat of his own body coating her fingers, the shameless noises he had made as she stretched him open, filling him with a pleasure so intense it had made him weep. "More," he had begged, arching his back, offering himself up to her completely. "Please, fill me." She had groaned, a dark, primal sound, before driving her hips forward, locking them together in a knot that had held him captive for hours of pure, agonizing bliss. A sudden shudder ran down his spine, forcing him to drop to his knees in the dirt. He took a ragged breath, pressing his forehead against his cool, dirty hands. This was dangerous. His omega core was waking up in a way it never had before, demanding a bond he wasn't sure he was ready for. He had always been the quiet, fragile one in his family, the one they shielded from the harsh realities of the world. Moving to Pelican Town was supposed to prove his independence. If he fell at the feet of the first strong Alpha who helped him through a heat, he would be proving them all right. "I can do this," he whispered to the soil. "I am strong." He forced himself to stand, grabbing the heavy watering can. Walking to the edge of the property, he dipped the metal can into the cool, clear waters of the pond. Ripples spread across the surface, distorting his reflection. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and a soft, vulnerable curve to his jaw that he despised. Gaining muscle and looking like a proper farmer became his main priority. Carrying the heavy water can back to the crop field, his arms strained under the weight. He began to pour, watching the water soak into the dry earth, turning the pale dust into rich, fertile mud. Tasks like this were supposed to be grounding. Birds chirped in the nearby maple trees, their cheerful songs filling the quiet afternoon. Gentle breeze rustled the overgrown grass around the edges of his property, bringing the scent of pine needles and wild flowers. He closed his eyes, letting the cool wind wash over his heated skin. It felt good. For a moment, the heavy burden of his thoughts lifted, leaving only the simple rhythm of the farm. He poured the last of the water over the final row of parsnips. Standing straight, he stretched his back, a satisfying pop echoing from his spine. He wiped his hands on his jeans, looking over his small progress with a tiny, proud smile. It wasn't much, but it was a start. His grandfather would have been proud to see the land being used again. Yesterday, he had walked into the village to buy seeds. Pierre had stared at him from behind the wooden counter, his nose twitching slightly. "New place treating you well, Thiago?" the shopkeeper had asked, though his eyes lingered on the faint purple bruise near Thiago's collarbone. Thiago had flushed, pulling his worn denim jacket tighter around his neck. "Yes, thank you," he had mumbled, quickly grabbing his bag of seeds and rushing out the door. Even the local doctor, Harvey, had given him a lingering, curious look when they crossed paths near the clinic. Omegas in heat were supposed to be registered or supervised, but Thiago had slipped through the cracks. He knew his scent must have been a chaotic mess of vanilla, lavender, and the sharp, dominant cedar-pine of the Alpha who had claimed him. To anyone with a nose, he smelled thoroughly taken. It made him feel branded. Possession by someone whose full name he didn't even know was terrifying. Inside his cabin, he had tried to scrub the scent off in his rusty tin tub. He had scraped his skin with rough soap until it was red and raw, but the Alpha's pheromones seemed to have sunk deep into his pores, merging with his own. His body wanted her. It was a physical ache, a hunger that normal food couldn't satisfy. He had tried to eat a bowl of simple potato soup, but it tasted like ash in his mouth. All he wanted was to bury his face in her neck, to inhale that comforting, solid aroma that promised absolute safety. Despising how easily his body had surrendered, he resolved to focus. Grandfather had always told him that the farm was a place of healing. But the land wasn't listening; it was demanding. Overgrown weeds, wild rocks, and fallen branches—all of it required physical strength Thiago wasn't sure he possessed. He had spent the morning dragging a heavy oak branch away from his designated planting zone. His hands had slipped twice, leaving raw scrapes across his palms. He hadn't cried. Promise of hard work had been his own choice, and he would stick to it. Back in his old life, his parents would have immediately called a laborer to do it for him, telling him to go inside and rest. They wanted him to be a traditional omega—sheltered, quiet, waiting for a suitable Alpha to buy him a pretty house and keep him locked away. This thought made his stomach churn with disgust. Getting dirty was what he wanted now. Feeling the soil under his boots gave him a sense of purpose. Looking at a field of green crops and knowing that he made them grow was his goal. But his treacherous body kept pulling him back to her. To the way her strong thighs had locked him in place. Hearing her whisper dirty, praise-filled promises into his ear as she drove him to peak after peak. "You're doing so good for me, sweetheart," she had whispered, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his head back so she could kiss him thoroughly. Memory of her touch made his core twitch with a sudden, wet heat. He groaned, leaning his head against the cold handle of the hoe. A complete disaster, he thought. By mid-afternoon, the sun was hot on his back. He had managed to clear a small grid, about ten by ten feet, of all rocks and wild grass. It wasn't a grand achievement, but to him, it looked like a masterpiece. He had carefully measured the distances between each row, using a piece of string he found in the drawer. Physical labor was starting to pay off; his mind was finally growing quiet, the constant loop of her voice fading into the background. He picked up the watering can again, determined to finish his chores before the sun dipped below the mountain peaks. Water from the pond was cold, shocking his warm fingers as he dipped the can. He watched a small family of wild ducks swim across the opposite side of the pond, their quiet quacks a peaceful soundtrack to his labor. Only this quiet, simple life mattered. Forgetting the way her scent made him feel was the hardest part. He carried the water back, his shoulders burning. Droplets of moisture sparkled on the green leaves of the small sprouts. Water soaked in quickly, disappearing into the dark earth. He smiled, a genuine, soft expression that reached his eyes. Maybe he could do this. No one else was needed here. But then, the wind shifted. It didn't just blow; it swept across the valley, carrying the deep, secret scents of the southern forest. He froze, his hand trembling on the handle of the watering can. Birds stopped singing in the nearby maple trees. Cedar and damp earth dominated the air, accompanied by a sharp musk. While tending his fledgling crops, a distinct, earthy scent wafted through the air – the unmistakable pheromones of the Alpha from that night, now much closer than he expected, causing Thiago's heart to pound against his ribs.

Chapter 3: Echoes of Pheromones