Page 22 of Torment Me Knot
The blond one—Ezra—is still talking, still claiming Aubrey as theirs, but I barely hear him. All I see is the scarred wrists. The too-thin frame. The scarring around his neck. The crooked fingers on his right hand, bent because they healed broken.
These alphas are also claiming Espie as their mate. Their scent-match. The sound that comes out of me is feral. Pure animal. I take a step toward them, vision narrowing to red, every muscle in my body coiled to attack.
Kill them. Kill them all. They're trying to take my omegas. Both my omegas.
Security guards flood into the room. Four of them. Five. Six. They're grabbing Kev, hauling him back, and it takes two of them because he's fighting them, pupils blown wide, snarling at anyone who gets too close. He clips one guard across the jaw with his elbow. The guard staggers but doesn't go down.
Another guard has Lex by the arm. His whole body vibrates with the effort of not breaking free. His glasses have fallen off. He doesn't notice. His dark eyes are locked on Espie, on the omega wrapped around my mate, and his bergamot scent is raging.
Ezra hasn't moved but two guards are standing in front of him, hands up, talking in low steady voices. He's the most controlled of the three, but the tendons standing out in his neck, and his hands shake at his sides. He's holding himself back by sheer force of will.
Nurses are shouting. Other omegas in the common area are keening with distress, their fear scents layering over everything until the air is so thick with pheromones I can barely think. Someone is crying. Someone is calling for a sedation kit. The whole room has devolved into chaos. I lunge for my omegas.
Two security guards hit me from behind. One grabs my left arm, wrenches it back. The other hooks his arm around my right bicep and yanks. My shoulders scream. My feet skid on the floor as they haul me backward, away from my omegas.
I spin, teeth bared, and both guards flinch but don't let go. They're betas, scents muted and non-threatening, but it doesn't matter. Someone is touching me. Someone is restraining me. Someone is keeping me from my omegas.
“Ma'am.” One of them shouts. “Ma'am, you need to calm down. No one is going to hurt them.”
A snarl builds in my chest. My muscles coil. My rational mind drowns under the weight of pure instinct.
If you go feral, they'll lock you up.
The thought cuts through the red haze. Cold. Clinical. Survival instinct overriding everything else. It can happen. Threaten an omega mate and the alpha snaps.
If you go feral, they'll sedate you. Restrain you. Put you in a room somewhere while they decide what to do with the crazy female alpha who attacked three males in the middle of the OHC. And you won't have access to your omegas. Either of them.
I force myself to stop fighting. Force my hands to unclench. Force my lips down over my teeth. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. Every cell in my body screams at me to break free, to get to my mates, to tear apart anyone who stands in my way.
“I'm calm.” I barely recognize my own voice. “I'm calm. Let go of me.”
I try to shrug them off but the guards don't let go. They're not stupid. I breathe. In through my mouth so I don't smell the omegas. Out slowly, counting the seconds. In again. Out again. The red recedes, fraction by fraction.
Across the room, Kev has stopped fighting too. He's standing rigid between his two guards, chest heaving, sweat dampening his hairline. His pupils are still blown but no longer wild. One of the guards has a split lip from where Kev caught him. Kev doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are fixed on the huddled omegas.
Lex has retrieved his glasses. His hands shake as he puts them back on. He's murmuring something to the guard beside him, an apology maybe, voice too low for me to hear. The guard nods cautiously but doesn't step back.
Ezra is wiping his face with shaking hands. He's the first one to look at me. Really look. Not the feral assessment of a rival alpha but something more measured. More aware.
“Well, this is a mess,” he says.
I almost laugh. It comes out as a rough exhale. “That's one word for it.”
Something shifts in his expression. Recognition, maybe. The understanding that we're all drowning in the same storm. The guards exchange glances. The tension in the room is still thick enough to choke on, but it's different now. Less volatile. We're all still one wrong move from shattering, but at least we're not actively trying to kill each other.
Don't think about it. Just don't lose control. Stay in control. Stay with your Omegas.
“Sera.”
I know that voice. Calm. Commanding. I don't turn. Can't turn. Turning means taking my eyes off the threat.
Adrian Blackwood steps into my peripheral vision. Tall, athletic, jet-black hair kept neat, strong jawline, tailored suit. The kind of alpha who walks into a room and everyone shuts up.
I know Adrian. Hell, everyone in Omega Affairs knows Adrian Blackwood. The man who tore Haven and its criminal director apart with his bare hands. His company pumps out Mortalis vaccines like his life depends on it, cutting through red tape that's been strangling us for decades. His company doesn't make money off Omega suffering. It bleeds money fighting it. He's one of the good ones. Actually good. Not performatively good, not good-for-the-cameras good. The real thing.
“Everyone take a breath. No one here is a threat to the omegas.” Adrian's voice stays steady.
I want to believe him. Gods, I want to stand down, be the professional I am and stop acting like a feral animal in the middle of a medical facility I'm supposed to respect.
