Vivianne could still feel it—her heat lingering like an echo in her blood. That raw, molten warmth had not yet faded, blooming low in her belly and radiating outward like the afterglow of a storm.
It wasn't quite desire, not anymore. It was older, deeper—something primal. Something that stirred in the marrow of her bones, humming with a restless need as though her body were waiting, aching, preparing to welcome her alpha back into herself.
Every inch of her felt alive. Her skin prickled with sensitivity, as if the air itself was too much. Every brush of fabric, every flicker of breeze against her exposed collarbone sent shivers racing down her spine. Her nerves danced beneath her skin like fireflies. She was hypersensitive to everything, but especially to her—Roxanne. That scent. Gods, that scent.
Roxanne's smell filled her lungs and clung to her tongue—heady, grounding, and unmistakably hers. It wrapped around Vivianne like silk and smoke, comforting and intoxicating all at once. It made her legs weak. It made her remember.
She clenched her jaw.
Because there was a time, another life, another pain, when her scent had betrayed her. Sweet. Addictive. Unnatural. A cursed gift she never asked for. Even when Dietrich had marked her in that life, even when she tried everything—scent blockers, confinement, even injections—the alphas had still come.
Drawn to her like moths to an open flame. And Dietrich, he had revelled in it. He had watched her fall to her knees beneath the weight of other alphas' desire, intoxicated by her own scent, drowning in it while he smirked. While he used her and let the other alphas indulge in her sweet heat scent.
Now, as she stepped down from the carriage, her body trembling not from cold but from memory, the scent of Roxanne beside her should have been a balm, but instead, it stirred something old and wounded inside her. Because the last time she was alive, no alphas could actually protect her; they ruined her.
She shivered. Not from heat. Not from desire. But from fear. Roxanne noticed immediately. Her sharp gaze softened with understanding. She stepped close, close enough for her calming scent to envelop Vivianne again, like arms wrapped around her soul. Her fingers found Vivianne's hand—warm, reassuring, present.
"Vivianne de Borgia," Roxanne said firmly but gently, placing one hand on her omega's trembling shoulder. "Open your eyes."
Vivianne blinked. Her voice was barely a breath. "Why?"
"Just look," Roxanne said again. "You'll see. And you'll understand. Your fears are ghosts, sweetheart. They don't belong here anymore."
Vivianne decided to trust her; with hesitant breath, she opened her eyes—and the fear caught in her throat began to dissolve. They were standing in the village plaza, bathed in the golden light of afternoon.
People passed around them—alphas, betas, omegas—some alone, others with mates, arms full of baskets or children or idle conversation. Life moved easily here. No one stared. No one turned to look at her. No alpha gave her even a second glance.
Vivianne's heart skipped a beat. The last time she had stepped into a crowded space in the height of her heat, it had been chaos. Alphas circling like wolves. Hunger in their eyes. But here—nothing. They didn't even smell her.
And that's when she realised. Roxanne's mark. It was real. Powerful. Claiming.
"I told you," Roxanne murmured, leaning in with a small, knowing smile. "My mark is strong."
Vivianne's lips parted in disbelief. Her hand trembled in Roxanne's, but it was the tremble of relief, not fear. The scent surrounding her now didn't feel like a trap. It felt like sanctuary. Her body, still humming with heat, finally began to cool—no longer bracing for violence or humiliation. For once, she felt safe inside herself.
Her chest swelled with a shaky breath, and a tear slipped down her cheek, not out of sadness—but release. Roxanne wiped it gently away. "You're not broken, Vivianne. You were never too much. They just couldn't protect you. I can."
And for the first time in what felt like a hundred lives, Vivianne believed it. As the weight of everything—the trauma, the years of fear, the aching loneliness of being misunderstood—finally broke, Vivianne couldn't hold herself together anymore.
She collapsed forward into Roxanne's arms. Her body trembled with quiet sobs at first, but then came the real grief: deep, guttural, and raw. Her fists curled into the fabric of Roxanne's coat as if she were afraid that if she let go, everything she'd just seen—this peace, this safety—would vanish.
"I can't believe it," Vivianne whispered, her voice cracking as it escaped her throat. "So… I can live like a normal omega now?"
Roxanne didn't answer right away. She only held her tighter, her arms wrapped strong and steady around Vivianne's fragile form. One hand moved slowly over her back in long, grounding strokes, while the other cradled the back of her head, burying Vivianne's sobs in her shoulder.
"Yes," Roxanne whispered at last, her voice thick with emotion. "You can live. You deserve to live, Vivianne. Not in fear. Not hidden behind whatever you're afraid of. You can just be you."
Vivianne clung tighter, as if trying to press herself further into Roxanne's warmth. "I was always so afraid. Every time my heat came, I felt like an open wound. Like I wasn't a person anymore—just something to be taken. Something that didn't belong to herself."
Roxanne's heart cracked at those words. "You're not a thing. You're mine. You always will be. And no one—not the ghosts of your past, no other alpha—gets to touch what's mine without permission."
"You really don't smell it, do you? My scent. It's not overwhelming?" Vivianne sniffled, her tears now falling freely, her voice barely a breath.
Roxanne smiled gently, brushing her fingers through Vivianne's hair. "I smell you just fine. Sweet and warm and completely mine. No alpha would dare approach you now, not when they can sense you've already been claimed in the truest way."
"Is this even real?" Vivianne murmured.
Roxanne nodded. "Of course it's real, as real as it can be."
Vivianne finally pulled back just enough to look into Roxanne's eyes, her own swollen and glassy. "And you're not… ashamed of me?"
"Never," Roxanne said, her voice fierce now, like a vow etched into stone. "You are the most beautiful omega I've ever seen. Not because you were born rare. Not because you survived hell. But because even through all of that, you still love. You still hope."
Vivianne's lip trembled. "I didn't think anyone could ever love me without wanting to use me."
Roxanne cupped her cheeks. "Then let me be the first to prove you wrong. I'd be lying if I said I don't want your body; I want it very much. Your body is truly a sin. Roxanne chuckles, but she smiles softly and continues, "I want your trust. I want your laughter. Your sleepy grumbles. Your long, rambling thoughts about books and flowers and stars. I want to build a life with you, not take one from you."
Vivianne breathed in, steadying the storm inside her chest. "Then I want to try," she whispered, her voice raw but full of something new—hope. "To live. Not just survive. With you."
She paused, wiping the last of her tears with the back of her hand. Then, with a faint pout, she added under her breath, "And I don't grumble in my sleep!"
Roxanne laughed—full, open, and completely delighted. The sound made Vivianne's chest flutter in the most peculiar way. Roxanne leaned in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before pulling back just enough to look into her eyes.
"You do, Vivian," she teased, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. "You make these little frustrated noises, like you're arguing with your dreams. It's adorable." Roxanne put her arms on Vivianne's shoulder and decided to walk to the inn.