Page 59 of Knot So Lucky

Then chaos erupted.

Alarms. Sirens. People running from every direction, voices overlapping in panic and urgency.

I was running toward the wreck before conscious thought kicked in, kitten still clutched to my chest, my longer legs eating up the distance in strides that felt both too slow and impossibly fast.

And that's when I smelled it.

The scent hit me like a physical force, stopping me in my tracks for a heartbeat before momentum carried me forward.

Gasoline and vanilla and something that smelled likehomein ways I couldn't articulate. Sweet and smoky and fundamentallyright, calling to my Alpha instincts with intensity that made my suppressants feel like tissue paper.

The scent was coming from the wreck.

From the driver.

From the person who just saved my life by nearly killing themselves.

I dropped to my knees beside the overturned car, peering through the broken windshield to meet those storm-green eyes, and my entire world tilted on an axis I didn't know existed.

The driver stares back at me with shock flooding those gorgeous eyes, and I watch in real-time as understanding dawns. As panic spikes sharp enough that I can smell it cutting through the vanilla sweetness.

He—he, the driver is male, I can see the masculine features and short hair—is an Omega.

My brain stutters over that realization.

Male Omegas are rare. Exceptionally rare, making up less than five percent of the Omega population. But they exist, and clearly this driver is one of them, because there's no other explanation for the scent that's making my Alpha instincts sit up andhowlwith recognition.

Except...

My heart is telling me something different.

Skipping beats in desire and want and fear as I watch panic bloom across the driver's face. The features are delicate under the grease and blood, bone structure that reads masculine at first glance, but softens into something else when you actuallylook.

The chest rising and falling with rapid breaths despite what should be a restricting racing suit.

The hands gripping the steering wheel with fingers that are too slender, nails too carefully maintained despite the grease stains.

She.

This is a woman. An Omega woman disguised as a male driver, and I just discovered her secret by nearly dying under her car.

The panic in her eyes intensifies as she reads my understanding, and I watch as one trembling hand rises to press a finger against her lips.

The universal gesture for silence.

A secret.

"A secret?" I whisper, needing confirmation even though I already know.

She nods once, the movement jerky and desperate.

Her voice comes out as a croak, damaged from smoke or stress or both.

"Only... Cale... and Roran... touch..."

She's trying to tell me something important—that only two people know, maybe? That only those two should be allowed near her?—but before she can finish, her eyes roll back.

Blood drips from her nose, stark red against pale skin, and then her entire body goes limp in the safety harness.