Page 6 of Run Wild Omega

Wyatt Callahan stands at the far end of the porch, half-concealed by the shadows of the timber beams. He’s leaning against a post, one boot crossed over the other.

He’s wearing a suit.

God, he looks devastating.

It’s a charcoal three-piece, the heavy wool structured well enough to frame his broad shoulders. The vest hugs his chest tight, fabric straining slightly against his frame, while his dark tie is pulled just loose enough at the collar to look deliberate.

He looks older. Harder. The boy I left behind had a softness around the edges, a hopeful uncertainty. The man standing before me is carved from granite. His jaw is sharper, shadowed with stubble. There’s a small scar cutting through his left eyebrow that wasn’t there before.

But his eyes—those dark, intense, storm-gray eyes—are exactly the same.

He isn’t smiling. He’s just watching me.

The air between us seems to vibrate, charged with a decade of history and a scent match that hasn’t faded in the slightest.

It hits me all at once, the scent of him. It wafts over the porch, cutting through the smell of snow and pine.

Leather. Woodsmoke. Pine resin.

My body reacts before my brain can catch up. A flush of heat rises to my cheeks, contradicting the freezing air. My knees weaken. My Omega instincts, usually so loud and annoying, go silent in awe.

They recognize him. Alpha. Match. Home.

“Go away, Wyatt.” The words come out breathless, weak.

He doesn’t move. “I haven’t even said hello yet.”

“Hello. Now go away.”

He pushes off the post and walks toward me. The sound of his boots on the wooden planks makes me nervous. He stops a few feet away, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

It’s intoxicating.

“You cut your hair.” His gaze drags over my face, pausing on my lips before dropping. I can feel his eyes everywhere. “And the green dress, it suits you.”

I cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself. “I’d like to be alone. Go back inside.”

“I just got here.” He tilts his head, studying me. “You look tired, Tess.”

Wow! He’s so rude.

I look up and see the corner of his mouth twitch.

I choose not to engage. “Whatever this is, I’m not interested.”

“I’m trying for polite conversation. We can still do that, can’t we?”

No. Absolutely not. “Why are you here, Wyatt? You hate weddings. You hate crowds.”

“I came for Daniel.”

“Bullshit,” I snap. “You came because Mom invited everyone she knew.”

“Maybe,” he admits. “Maybe I wanted to see if you were actually back.”

“Well, here I am. Are you happy now?”

His jaw tightens. A muscle feathers beneath the skin. “Do you still hate me?”