Page 252 of Immune

“There are Alphas here who have spent years protecting these walls,” he tells me. “Men with rank. Men who’ve proven their value. The council won’t ignore an unclaimed Omega with rare marker response just because she happened to show up with strays.”

Fletcher moves. It’s not much, but it’s enough that the air around him changes. Cedar and leather roll through the room, controlled and lethal, as he warns the newcomer, “Choose your next words carefully.”

Davis merely glances at him. “Struck a nerve?”

“No,” Fletcher replies. “Just found one of yours.”

Hale steps between the table and Davis then, barking a single command. “Out.”

Davis’s eyes fall on me and stay there as he says, “You should be more careful about who stands near you.”

I smile under the bandana even though he can’t see my mouth. He sees my eyes, though, and that’s good enough. Especially when I say, “I’m very careful.”

His gaze narrows on me and, for the first time since he waltzed into the room like he owned it, his confidence finally notices something with razor-sharp edges. Then he leans slightly closer, enough that Fletcher’s fingers flex at his sides.

“Compound logic is simple,” Davis says, his words lined with a warning I catch instantly. “Resources get protected. Risks get contained. Omegas get settled before they destabilize the people around them.”

That word settles between us all kinds of wrong.

Not married.

Not bonded.

Settled.

Like a fucked-up kind of debt. Like cattle. Like a problem that needs to be stuffed into the right drawer.

My skin tries to vacate my body but I don’t let it. Instead, I stand slowly. Hale says my name, and Fletcher says nothing. Good man, right there.

Davis’s attention falls to my height and I know exactly what he sees.

Small.

Bruised.

Hidden.

Not weak, exactly, because even his stupid survival instincts are better than that. But he sees something manageable. Something breakable with enough pressure. Valuable if guided by the right set of hands.

I step around the table, and Fletcher shifts with me. Not blocking, simply matching my steps. Davis’s two men straighten outside the door, and Valeria’s hand tightens close to her weapon.

Mercer whispers, “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” with so much weary London despair that I almost laugh.

I stop roughly three feet away from Davis, close enough to smell him now. Bitter smoke, soap, and Alpha musk turned sour by entitlement.

No.

Absolutely not.

My Omega doesn’t cower, she recoils from him, utterly offended right down to her bones. That’s just beautiful. Even my biology has standards, and this fucker doesn’t meet the criteria.

“You think I can be settled?” I ask, so emotionlessly that it comes across as dark and weighted.

Davis’s gaze drags over me again, slower this time because he’s making a show of it. He wants me to notice. Fletcher makes a sound too quiet to be a growl, but it’s definitely too close to ignore, and Davis smiles. “Everyone settles eventually.”

I reach up and tug down my bandana. Not all the way, but enough for him to see my mouth when I give him a chilling smile. His eyes flicker, a tiny hitch that I catch. It’s not fear yet, but more like interest, and that’s worse.

“I cut the last man who thought that,” I tell him.