Evan Lee's POV
His hand is still on my waist—firm, possessive, unshakable. I glare up at him, my chin barely resting against his chest, but Rion Vale only looks down at me with that maddening calm in his eyes.
"Don't be stubborn, kitten," he murmurs, voice low and velvet-smooth. "Just relax. Look at yourself—pale face, trembling hands. You're exhausted."
I narrow my eyes. Is my rival actually worried about me?
"Rion Vale," I snap, "let me go. Or do you have a death wish?"
He doesn't even flinch. Instead, his tone softens—annoyingly gentle, as if I'm someone fragile.
"Evan Lee," he says, "you've been losing strength these past few days because you've ignored my pheromones. A marked omega needs his alpha's scent—especially when that alpha is a pureblood. You're rejecting what your body craves."
I stare at him, utterly done with his nonsense. "God, you sound insane. Maybe check yourself into a mental hospital before lecturing me."
