His Runaway Bride: The Alpha's Secret Omega

Donovan POV:

The scent of lilies and rain filled my car.

It was her scent. The moment she'd slammed into my vehicle, it had hit me. A fragrance that bypassed my nose and struck something deep in my soul, something ancient and primal.

My wolf had recognized it instantly.

Mine.

The word had echoed in my skull, a possessive, feral roar that I had spent years learning to control. Now, that control was being tested.

I watched her from the corner of my eye. She was huddled in the corner of the backseat, clutching my jacket around her small frame as if it were a life raft. Her head was bowed, her wet, dark hair hiding her face. She was trembling, either from the cold or the aftershocks of fear. Probably both.

Leo drove with his usual silent efficiency, the Aston Martin gliding through the city streets. The chaos of the confrontation was left far behind, sealed out by the soundproofed interior. All that remained was the soft hum of the engine, the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers, and the girl's soft, ragged breaths.

She finally broke the silence.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice so quiet I almost didn't catch it.

I didn't respond. Words felt inadequate. Instead, I pulled a clean, folded handkerchief from my inner pocket and held it out to her.

She flinched slightly as I moved, her head snapping up. Her eyes, the color of a clear summer sky, were wide and wary. They were also bruised with exhaustion. After a moment's hesitation, she took the handkerchief, her small, cold fingers brushing against mine.

A jolt, like a static shock, shot up my arm.

Her eyes widened further, and she quickly looked away, dabbing at the mixture of rain and blood on her face. Her knee was bleeding through a tear in her thin dress, staining the fine leather of my seat.

I didn't care.

I found myself studying her. The delicate line of her jaw, the stubborn set of her mouth even in distress. There was a strength in her, a resilience that the pathetic news reports I'd scanned earlier had failed to capture.

"What's your name?" I asked. The question was rougher than I intended.

She jumped, startled by my voice. "Chloe. Chloe Beaumont."

Chloe. I rolled the name around in my mind. It suited her.

My phone buzzed silently in my pocket. A message from Finn, my head of security. Raymond Pack is covering it up. They're telling guests she was found and will be at the wedding tomorrow.

Fools. They were trying to salvage a business deal, blind to the fact that they had just lost their most valuable asset. Not to another Pack, but to me.

I glanced at Chloe again. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a deep, bone-weary exhaustion in its place. Her eyelids were drooping, her body slumping further into the seat.

Her head began to nod forward, jerking back up each time she started to drift off. Finally, she lost the battle. Her head lolled to the side, coming to rest gently against my shoulder.

My entire body went rigid.

She was so light, her weight barely a pressure against me. I could feel the soft strands of her hair tickling my neck. The lily scent was stronger now, intoxicating. It seeped into my senses, calming the restless beast inside me.

My wolf purred with a satisfaction so profound it was almost painful.

I resisted the urge to wrap my arm around her, to pull her closer, to fully claim what was mine. It was too soon. She was a frightened, cornered creature. I would not be another cage.

Instead, I shifted my weight slightly, angling my body to give her a more comfortable resting place.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Leo's eyes widen in shock for a fraction of a second before he schooled his expression back to professional neutrality. He knew better than to comment.

The car descended into the quiet, brightly lit security of my building's private garage.

"We've arrived, Alpha," Leo said softly, his voice a low murmur.

Chloe didn't stir. She was fast asleep, her face peaceful for the first time since I'd seen her. The harsh lines of fear and pain had smoothed away, leaving a soft vulnerability that made my protective instincts roar to life.

I wasn't going to wake her.

Carefully, I slid my arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her into my arms. She murmured something in her sleep, a soft, incoherent sound, and snuggled closer against my chest.

Her trust, even unconscious, was a brand against my skin.

I carried her out of the car and into the private elevator. The doors slid shut, and we ascended in silence, rising above the sleeping city.

The elevator opened directly into the foyer of my penthouse. The space was dark, the floor-to-ceiling windows showing a million pinpricks of light from the city below.

I carried her through the silent, cavernous living room and into one of the guest suites. The bed was a king-sized expanse of white linens. I laid her down gently, her body sinking into the soft mattress.

For a long moment, I just stood there, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

She was safe. She was here.

She was mine.

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