Perse did not need that omega to eat well.
She did not need anyone else to be fed properly.
I could do it.
I could be good enough at something that mattered to her.
The thought made me pause with the whisk in my hand.
Pathetic.
Goddess, that was pathetic.
I was an Alpha. A rogue. I had broken into facilities, survived silver, blood, and whatever that drug had done while my mind stayed awake inside a body that refused to obey me. I could plan an escape route through enemy territory with half a map and a bleeding brother.
And there I stood, in my mother’s kitchen, needing my mate to like my pancakes because some old, ugly part of me wanted proof I could give her comfort too.
Not just warnings about pain, doors, windows, risks.
Comfort.
Warmth.
Something she would choose because i
