Page 2 of The Alpha Under My Bed (The Chosen #1)

Two

ELEANOR

The scent of citrus and clove smoke was the first thing I noticed. Warm. Familiar.

I blinked awake slowly, sleep still heavy in my limbs. A thick blanket draped over my shoulders, its weight keeping the cold at bay. The couch creaked beneath me as I shifted, bare skin brushing against buttery leather. It took a moment for my surroundings to settle into focus—the high ceilings, the dim morning light spilling through the loft windows, the quiet hum of a coffee machine.

Mal’s place.

I exhaled, running my fingers through my hair before dragging my hands down my face. I hadn’t meant to stay the night. But then, I also hadn’t meant to show up at his garage last night with a broken heart and no plan.

A familiar rustling sound pulled me from my thoughts.

I turned toward the kitchen, spotting Mal at the counter, pouring coffee. He looked like he’d been up for a while, his dark hair still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the ends. The sleeves of his hoodie were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the dark ink along his forearms. A tendril of steam curled from his mug as he took a slow sip, his free hand braced against the counter.

He hadn’t looked at me yet.

But he knew I was awake.

I sat up, wincing slightly as my muscles protested. “You should’ve woken me up,” I muttered, rubbing at the stiff spot on the back of my neck.

Mal finally turned, tilting his head as he slid a second mug across the counter toward me. “You needed the sleep,” he said simply.

I hesitated before standing, grabbing the blanket and folding it over the armrest. The wood floors were cool against my bare feet as I padded across the room, taking the coffee from his outstretched hand.

“You take care of me too much,” I said, forcing a small smile.

His lips curled slightly. “Someone has to.”

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I brought the mug to my lips. The first sip was perfect, exactly how I liked it—just like it always was.

I lifted my cup, letting my gaze flick to Mal over the rim. A thought tugged at the edges of my sleep-heavy mind.

Mal always knew.

How I took my coffee. The way I needed space when I was upset. The things I wanted to say before I could even shape the words.

He was constant. My best friend. My person. The only one who never left.

And I had been in love with him for a long time.

It wasn’t a revelation—no sudden epiphany striking me in the quiet morning light. I’d known for years. I just didn’t know what to do with it. Because loving Mal wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that I needed more than just him.

Suppressants only worked for so long. They dulled my heats, made them manageable, but eventually, they would fail. And when that happened… I didn’t know what I would do. Heat clinics weren’t an option. The thought of being in that kind of space—open, exposed, vulnerable to strangers—made my skin crawl.

I needed an alpha. Not for a bond. Not for romance. Just relief.

But Mal had never been interested in sharing. Not with an alpha. Not with anyone. If we ever ended up together, he would want it to be just us. And I didn’t know if that was something I could survive.

I swallowed down the ache in my throat, pushing the thoughts aside.

Mal nudged my hip with his, arching a brow. “You gonna stand there looking at me all morning?”

I rolled my eyes, bumping him back before taking another sip. “Nah,” I murmured, letting the warmth settle low in my chest. “Just thinking.”

He didn’t push. Just smirked, turning back to rinse out his mug.

I lingered for a few more seconds before forcing myself to set mine down and head toward the door. “I’ll see you later?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Mal glanced over his shoulder. “Always.”

I shouldn’t have let that word settle as deep as it did.

The crisp morning air hit the second I stepped outside, the warmth of Mal’s apartment fading as I pulled my coat tighter around me. But his scent still clung to my sweater—clove and citrus, a phantom trace of something that had been there for too long.

I didn’t have time to dwell.

The short walk across the hall to my own apartment was muscle memory. The moment I stepped inside, routine took over.

Jacket off. Hair up. Shower running.

I let the hot water wash the night away, rinsing the exhaustion from my bones. Mal’s scent had settled deep into my sweater, but it was already fading, lost in the rising steam, replaced by the floral warmth of my shampoo and the familiar hint of vanilla in my soap.

Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed in clean jeans and a soft knit sweater, slipping my apron into my bag before heading out again.

The walk to work wasn’t long—just a few blocks down quiet streets lined with brick storefronts and iron lampposts. Oakhaven wasn’t a big city, but it had its charm—enough that I never wanted to leave, even when my friends drifted to bigger places.

The sidewalks smelled of rain-dampened pavement and cooling pastries, the scent of espresso curling from the café on the corner.

And beneath it all, something deeper.

A familiar blend of sandalwood, vanilla bean, and soft florals drifted from the boutique before I even reached the door.

Home.

I unlocked the shop, the brass key warm between my fingers as I stepped inside. The perfume boutique was small but cozy, its shelves lined with delicate glass bottles, soft lighting catching on golden labels. It was a haven of scent—a place where the air was thick with stories waiting to be uncorked.

I took a slow breath, letting the familiar layers settle around me—vanilla bean and bright citrus, sandalwood and smoke, jasmine curling like lazy tendrils through the heavier base notes.

Most people found it overwhelming.

For me, it was everything.

I flipped the sign on the door to open, my fingers grazing the glass bottles at the front display. Everything was arranged just how I liked it—top notes at eye level, mid notes below, bases stacked at the bottom. Scents had layers, stories. A single shift in balance, a drop too much of something, and it could change everything.

I loved that.

Setting my bag down behind the counter, I pulled out my notepad and flipped through the handwritten formulas from the past few weeks. The boutique didn’t just sell perfume—we created custom blends, matching scents to the people who walked through the door. It was an art, one I had learned under Claudia’s careful guidance.

Right on cue, the bell above the door jingled.

I turned, smoothing my hands down the front of my apron as my boss stepped inside.

“Morning, Eleanor,” Claudia said, unwrapping her scarf with a warm smile.

“Morning,” I echoed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

Her gaze flicked over me, her brow furrowing. “You okay?”

I hesitated. “Yeah, just didn’t sleep great.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly, like she didn’t quite believe me.

I turned toward the counter, busying myself with the stack of order receipts. I didn’t want to talk about it.

And I definitely didn’t want to talk about the way Mal’s words still lingered at the edge of my thoughts.

You already have me.

Claudia gave me one last look before stepping into the back office, leaving me alone with the soft hum of the shop’s morning routine.

The day passed in a steady rhythm. Customers came and went, filling the space with fleeting scents—powdery florals, crisp citrus, rich musks. I measured out delicate vials, mixed base notes, and adjusted ratios by instinct. Creating. Matching. Perfecting.

Hours slipped away the way they always did.

By the time the sun dipped low behind the city skyline, the last customer had long since left, and the familiar hush of the shop had settled in.

I rolled my shoulders, stretching out the tension from standing too long. Another long day. Another evening closing up alone.

The lingering scents of sandalwood and vanilla clung to the air, mixing with the faint hint of wax as I blew out the last of the display candles. The cash register was balanced, the shelves straightened, the floors swept. Everything was just as it should be—neat, orderly, predictable.

It was the kind of simple, steady routine I liked.

I shrugged on my coat, looped my scarf around my neck, and flicked off the front light before stepping outside. The night air was crisp, cool against my cheeks as I turned the key in the lock, double-checking the door before tucking my hands into my pockets.

I had barely slipped my keys into my bag before my phone vibrated.

I already knew who it was before I looked.

Mal: Where are you?

A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I swiped to reply.

Me: Just leaving work.

The dots popped up immediately.

Mal: Come by the shop.

I hesitated, tightening my fingers around my bag strap.

I could just go home. Curl up in my nest, bury myself under soft blankets and pillows that smelled like me, shut my brain off, and try to forget about another failed match.

The thought made my chest ache.

A nest wasn’t supposed to feel empty.

I bit my lip, my fingers hovering over my phone screen before I typed out a different reply.

Me: What if we did takeout and horror movies instead? My place?

A beat of silence.

Mal: What are we ordering?

A rush of warmth curled low in my stomach.

Me: Pizza?

Mal: Extra cheese. Be there soon.

By the time I made it home, I had already placed the order, trading a few texts back and forth with Mal about toppings until I heard his familiar knock at my door.

When I opened it, he was leaning against the frame, a lazy smirk on his lips. “Convincing me to be social on a Friday night?” he teased, stepping past me like he belonged there.

I rolled my eyes, shutting the door behind him. “You call us hanging out in my nest social?”

Mal just hummed, toeing off his boots as I grabbed a handful of blankets from the couch, dragging them toward the nest I had built in the corner of my living room. It wasn’t fancy, but it was mine—soft blankets, plush pillows, comfort woven together in a way that settled something deep in my bones.

I barely had time to settle in before Mal dropped down beside me, his body solid and warm, his familiar scent mixing with the lingering traces of my own.

Right on cue, a sharp knock sounded at the door.

“Pizza,” I murmured, pushing myself up.

Mal stretched out like he had personally spent all day making the damn thing himself. “You get it. I’m comfortable.”

I snorted but grabbed the cash from the counter, trading a few polite words with the delivery guy before shutting the door behind me. The scent of melted cheese and garlic filled the air as I carried the box back, setting it between us before dropping onto the blankets.

Mal flipped open the box, swiping a slice before I’d even grabbed a napkin. He took a slow bite, gaze locked on me the whole time. Smug. Smug as hell.

“What?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Nothing,” he said around a mouthful of crust.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing my own slice before nodding at the remote. “Pick something, before I do.”

His lips quirked as he grabbed it, already scrolling through horror titles. I didn’t have to look to know he’d pick something that would have me peeking through my fingers, but I didn’t mind.

Not when it meant he’d stay.

And he always did.

I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that, wrapped in the quiet hum of the apartment, the city murmuring faintly beyond the window. The soft glow of the screen flickered against the walls, casting shifting shadows across the room.

Mal’s arm was still draped around me, warm and solid, his fingers resting just above my hip. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t shift. Just breathed slow and steady, like he was waiting.

The weight of it should have made me uneasy. Should have sent me untangling myself from him, putting distance between us before I let myself sink any deeper.

But I didn’t move.

I stayed, my heartbeat threading too closely to his, my body relaxing further into the quiet, unspoken thing that lived between us. Maybe it was the haze of sleep still clinging to me, or maybe it was the way his scent curled around me, grounding me in something I didn’t want to name.

Either way, I wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Instead, I shifted closer, letting the warmth of him sink into me, the scent of leather and clove wrapping around my senses like a cocoon.

His grip tightened, just slightly.

Just enough to let me know he was awake, too.

Neither of us said anything.

Neither of us moved.

I just closed my eyes again, sinking deeper into the comfort of him, pretending—for just a little longer—that it was enough, because my nest felt different with him here. More settled. Less empty.

I swallowed, my pulse thick in my throat. “You don’t have to stay.”

Mal made a low sound in his chest, something between amusement and disbelief.

“Do I ever leave?”

No. He didn’t.

I hesitated, tracing the edge of my blanket between my fingers. “I mean it,” I murmured, even though I already knew what he was going to say.

He shifted then, not enough to move me away, but just enough that I could feel the slight tilt of his head, the weight of his gaze settling on the side of my face.

“You don’t want me to.”

It wasn’t a question.

I pressed my lips together, fingers tightening around the blanket.

Because he was right. I didn’t want him to leave.

Even if it meant I was getting too comfortable with something I could never have.

Mal exhaled, slow and steady. His fingers flexed against my waist for a split second before they curled back into loose restraint, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of my sweater.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

My breath hitched.

I didn’t know why.

Mal had always been this way with me. Steady. Protective. A presence I could lean on without fear.

But something about the way he said it now…

Something about the weight of those words…

It felt different.

My pulse ticked up, my body suddenly too aware of how close we were, how easy it would be to turn my head, to press my face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in, to close the space between us.

I forced myself to pull back before the thought could root itself too deep.

I barely moved an inch before Mal’s fingers tightened.

Not enough to stop me.

Just enough to let me know he didn’t want me to go.

I hesitated.

Felt my throat go tight.

Then I smiled—a small, quiet something only for him. “I know.”

For a second, I thought he was going to say something else, but he didn’t. He just nodded once, the tension in his shoulders relaxing only slightly.

I settled back against him, telling myself I was imagining the way his fingers traced just barely against my side.

Telling myself it didn’t mean anything.

Telling myself he had always been like this.

That nothing had changed.

Because I couldn’t face myself if it had.