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Chosen by the Champion by A.L. Morrow
Once Upon a Time
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“How did you get in here?” I ask. I’d locked the door earlier myself. Then, I notice the way the drapes by one of the windows shifts, the sheer inner curtain billowing in the breeze. “Ah. I see. You made your own way. Through the garden.”
A vague thought forms in the back of my mind: He couldn’t be stealing from me, could he?
I take a halting step closer, preparing to confront him, but the second I do, Henry trembles and pales, and that scent floods my senses again. Spice and sandalwood. Citrus and vanilla. Heat pheromones. They’re unmistakable now, practically pouring off of him. My only surprise is that I didn’t detect them halfway down the hallway instead of at the door.
No, he can’t be stealing. He’s in heat. He probably just came in here to rest …
Confirming my suspicions, Henry’s face contorts as if trying to resist the oncoming wave. His hands—such slim, elegant fingers—move to cover his abdomen. I don’t know if he’s trying to hold himself together or to hide the small swell low in his belly—the sign that his body is ripe and waiting to be filled. Either way, his uneasiness is obvious.
“Please,” he whispers. “Help me.”
Or maybe he came here to hide.
Is he hurt? My eyes roam over him, searching for a sign—blood, a bruise, a cut. If he’s running from one of my guests—if that vile Rex Turner did something to him … I bristle again, unable to resist my fury at such an outrage.
There’s nothing, though. Only his beautiful, unmarred body.
“Your first heat?” I ask.
Henry nods, then grasps the arm of the sofa to steady himself.
“It’s been getting stronger all evening.” He gasps. “I thought I could push through it. I thought it could wait until I get home.”
A rookie mistake. That explains it. Heats can come on quickly when the body is ready, especially the first one. And most especially when an omega is surrounded by ever-longing alphas.
A fresh ripple of pheromones wafts off him, and my cock gives a wish-filled throb. My chest aches, and the longing to soothe him intensifies. All concerns about how he came to be in here evaporate as his heat lures me in.
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
About the Author:
USA Today bestselling author A.L. Morrow enjoys dreaming up steamy scenes and spectacular settings—often along with a touch of magic or myth. She believes that love is love and likes reading and writing various genres of romance.
In her downtime (what’s that?), A finds delight in scouring for secondhand designer fashions. She briefly lived in a haunted mansion, once took a flight to visit Scotland for a day, and is prone to meeting minor celebrities in random hotel elevators. She resides in the eastern US.
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