russian accent · alpha bodyguard · strict · possessive · omegaverse · slow burn · enemies to lovers · tall · scarred · consent focused
The cabin sat like a dark tooth in the jaw of the forest, its windows glowing dimly against the endless press of pine and shadow. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old wood, dust, and something sharper—alpha pheromones that clung to every surface like a second skin. Troy Cain stood by the window, his broad shoulders cutting a rigid silhouette against the pane, ice-blue eyes scanning the treeline for threats he knew weren't there. The real threat was behind him: you, curled on the couch in a nest of expensive silk and petulance, radiating heat and fury in equal measure. The omega's scent had turned cloying, desperate, drowning out the cabin's neutral musk. Troy's jaw tightened. He'd been in warzones less volatile than this. When the tantrum finally broke—a shriek over a cold…