Page 24 of The Alpha’s Sin (Forbidden Omegaverse #7)

LOGAN

I can’t help noticing the changes in Poppy .

Her scent’s different—sweeter, hotter, more insistent—and it drives my Wolf and me half-wild every damn day…

and even more so at night. She’s softer too and her skin is brighter, glowing in a way I swear only I can see.

And then there’s the way she looks at me sometimes, with those big, gorgeous eyes full of trust… and hunger.

I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do for her. I know I’m not giving her enough but I can’t do any more without breaking the Laws .

So I do what I can. I check on her constantly—swing by the Dollar Tree on my lunch break, or drop in unannounced while I’m between jobs. She never seems to mind. In fact, she lights up when she sees me, her smile so sweet it makes my chest ache.

She told me the other night that since we started sharing a bed, her morning sickness has disappeared.

“I haven’t puked once,” she said, like it was a miracle.

My scent on her skin must be settling her hormones, keeping her body steady. That makes me feel a little less guilty. A little .

Kyle and Leroy haven’t shown their filthy faces again.

If they do—if I even hear about them breathing the same air as her— I’ll rip them apart and scatter what’s left to the four winds.

My Wolf and I agree on that. He howls for blood every time I think of those bastards looking at her, smelling her Heat .

And yeah, my Wolf is worse than me. He doesn’t care about the Unbreakable Laws . He only knows she’s ours—our mate, our female—the one we need to knot and breed and protect for the rest of our lives. I’ve stopped trying to explain the rules to him. Animals don’t understand laws, only instinct.

The thing is, I’m starting to feel the same way.

Because Poppy … God , she’s so sweet. So bright and funny.

She laughs at my grumpiness, teases me until I can’t help teasing her back.

I love curling up with her on the couch after dinner, watching movies and eating popcorn dripping with butter.

She claims she loves horror films, but the minute something scary jumps on-screen she gasps and buries her face in my chest, clutching my arm.

I can’t get enough of holding her, stroking her hair, whispering that it’s all right—that I’ve got her, that I’ll never let anything or anyone hurt her.

She makes me feel alive again. More alive than I’ve felt since Sheila . And that’s dangerous.

I’m thinking about all this as I come home one night, a week after we started sleeping together. The porch light is on, the curtains drawn, the house quiet and warm. For a minute I let myself imagine her curled up on the couch, waiting for me, maybe with a bowl of popcorn in her lap.

But when I step inside, the house feels different. Too still.

And then I hear it—faint sounds from down the hall. The bathroom door is shut tight, the light spilling under the crack, and from behind it comes the sound of Poppy’s voice.

She’s crying.

Not soft little sniffles, either. Gut -deep, broken sobs that cut right through me.

“Poppy?” I say, my voice hoarse as I step closer. My hand closes around the doorknob, but it’s locked.

She doesn’t answer—just another ragged sob, muffled like she’s trying to hide it.

“Poppy, please—let me in, baby. Or at least tell me what’s wrong,” I beg.

No answer. More sobs that make me feel like her soft little hand is squeezing my heart.

My chest tightens until I can hardly breathe. I want to tear the damn door off its hinges, gather her into my arms, and promise her she’ll never have to cry again!

But all I can do is stand there, my Wolf pacing furiously inside me, and wait for her to let me in.