The locals' murmurs swelled, a wave of pitying and 'tsking' voices that seemed to press in on Ren from all sides.
In this secluded habitat, the sight of a male omega—pale, disheveled, and clearly 'fragile' after falling from the heavens—stirred a deep, protective instinct.
In this place, there was no Pierce or a warrior; they only saw a bride whose honeymoon had turned into a nightmare.
"Poor little wife," one of the village women whispered, her eyes fixed on Ren's flushed face. "The sky-fire tried to take him from his Alpha."
Ren's jaw tightened. The term 'wife' felt like a brand, more permanent and public than the leather collar Cilian had pocketed back at the estate. He felt the heat radiating from Cilian's side, the Alpha's good arm acting like a heavy, inescapable bind around his waist.
"I am not—" Ren started, his voice cracking, but Cilian's grip tightened just enough to steal his breath.
