Page 39 of Savage Trap

I take a menacing step towards him, then sniff my hand. Elvana’s scent rushes back through me, setting my blood on fire. Which means there’s no way in hell I’m going to touch this guy, even if I want to kick his drunk ass into the street. “Keep your fucking nose to yourself, asshole.”

“Sure.” Another belch and a leer. “But I’ll give you fifty bucks for the dagger.”

It takes me a moment to realize he doesn’t want it as a souvenir, but because it’s covered in Elvana’s slick. And in the next breath, I have the knife he’s clutching out of his hand and tucked tight to his carotid artery. “Maybe I should do all the omegas in the world a favor and slit your stupid throat.”

The guy makes a gurgling sound, and I realize the music has stopped and most of the bar is gaping my way. And then the only alpha in the room with an inch of actual power steps up behind me.

“Hey, buddy.” It’s the bartender, a baseball bat on his shoulder as he studies me. “Maybe you should give the gun range across town a go.”

I sneer at his attempt to get me out of here without a fight. “Maybe you shouldn’t let your patrons drink and knife.”

He bobs his head like it’s a reasonable suggestion. “I saw your name on the form, so I’m trying to keep this civil. This place isn’t up to your standards, Mr. Hila.”

I want to sneer at him some more, but he’s put his ego in check to try to diffuse the situation. And hearing my asshole father’s name spoken aloud drains the rest of the fight out of me.

“No fucking kidding.” But I let the drunk guy go and toss a hundred bucks on the bar. “For the knife,” I tell the bartender, tucking it in my jacket as I head back to the street.

Shaking my head at my stupidity, I stare up and down the street. But all I can think of is the name I scrawled on a clipboard, and the way Lucas put his arms around Kelly the other day. He called him his son and told him to come to him the next time he was in trouble. Which none of us ever heard from our own worthless fathers. So why the fuck am I starting bar flights when I could be home with my pack?

Because you’re a dumbass, Link Starling-Ferrier.

I rub my hands over my face - until all I can smell is pack - then turn back towards the hotel. But I haven’t even reached the end of the block when a heavy hand comes down on my shoulder. “You forgot your wallet.”

I spin around, but I’m too slow. A massive, gold-skinned guy has a hand around my throat as he walks me back into an alley. I stumble over some trash, but use the loss of balance to go for the knife. Pulling it free, I lunge at him, an inch from his kidney. But he blocks me with one hand and shoves me against the wall with the other. I bounce off, angling the knife at his ribs, but he bats it away hard enough to chip bone. My arm goes numb, and I look him over as I reach for my gun – even bigger than I thought, with scarred cheeks and a lot of piercings - and then my gun is spinning through the air and clattering in the dark. I drop the knife and pop my claws, but he hits me again with his sledgehammer of a forearm. I kick out, striking his thigh, but he doesn’t so much as grunt.

For the second time tonight, I think I'm about to get my heart ripped out.

But instead of finishing me off, he grabs my numb wrists and shoves me face first against the wall.

I struggle, even though I know it’s useless. He has at least forty pounds of muscle and six inches of height on me, but it’s more than just his build. His fucking dominance is off the charts, and I brace for his wolf to tear my head from my shoulders. But instead, he presses all his weight on me and murmurs in my ear, “You take a bite so well. Where's your alpha, pup?”

I have a stark memory of flashing Arben’s mating mark in the bar and want to kick myself. Is this revenge for being a cocky dick? I didn’t see him in the crowd, but I have a habit of making enemies without even trying. “I am a fucking alpha, dipshit.”

He makes a purring sound and rubs his chest against my back. I imagine this is how a rabbit feels right before it’s pancaked by an eighteen-wheeler. “You're a wild thing,” he croons, squeezing the air out of me. Then something hard and wet runs along the back of my neck. “You taste like alpha, but you smell like slick.”

It never occurred to me he’s looking for a fuck, but the sweet scent coming off him throws me for a loop. Not that it matters whether he wants to kill me or fuck me; either way, I’m fighting him to the bitter end.

Except when his weight comes off, I keep hugging the wall. A second later he’s back, and something brushes my spine. “You’re doing very well, pup. But tell me why you’re out here alone, instead of cuddling your omegas?”

Omegas. Plural. I blink, trying to clear my head. “I’m going back to them now.”

It’s probably wishful thinking, since he’s got me cornered in a dirty alleyway…

“That’s good,” he croons, sending a shudder through me. “You need to keep them close. Keep them safe.”

I nod, like I give a fuck what he thinks, but then his mouth is back against my ear, that sweet scent pushing into my nose. “And when I tell you to drop your weapons and get on your knees, what are you going to do?”

I search my brain, but the answer is already tripping off my tongue. “I drop my weapons and get on my knees...”

“Very good, pup.”

The pressure comes off my back a second time, and then my head suddenly bounces off the brick. I feel a searing pain in my skull, and then I’m blinking through a fog.

I stagger forward a step, fumbling for my gun. It’s snug in its holster, but my mouth tastes like whiskey and blood. I try to wipe it away, but my arms are numb, and my chest feels like I took a dive off a roof onto a cement floor.

I whirl around, looking for whoever hit me. Only somehow, I’m standing on my own in a stinking alley.

What the fuck?

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