Page 83 of Knot Your Business

“Tesoro,” I call.

The moment Jasper has my hand, I start down the hall, trying to figure out which door the noise is coming from. As we pass the third, the rustling of fabric turns into blatant tearing, though I can’t tell if it’s out of excitement or something worse.

A man’s irritated voice carries over the din of ripping fabric.

“Why are you fighting? Omegas need knots when they’re in heat.”

There’s another muffled cry. Rylan’s eyes go wild, and he grabs the handle. He swings the door open, forcing light into the dim room, just as the man speaks again.

“I’m just helping you. You could be grateful.”

I get a look at Violet. Rage burns through me, emptying my mind of everything but the trained lethality instilled by my father.

Thirty-Nine

DOMINIC

Ayoung guy has Violet pinned against the only open wall, his arm pressed against the base of her throat. The blue dress hangs off her body in tatters, her breasts on full display from the ripped out neckline. Rough bruises are already darkening her skin, and her hair is falling out of her styled updo. Her eyes are glassy, her breath coming in short pants, even as her hands shake against the man’s shoulders. She looks like an extra for a horror film, not an attendee at the black tie optional fundraising event for the upper crust of LA.

The man pinning her looks over his shoulder, his lips pulling back in a snarl.

Violet’s honeysuckle scent is so strong, it’s only the rut suppressor that keeps me from leaping on her, too. She pushes against the man, but he doesn’t even flinch. There’s no sour scent caused by her unwillingness. Her heat has already reached the point of no return.

“Fuckboy Extraordinaire?” Rylan sounds dazed, like he just took a punch to the face.

The man’s hand stills on his belt. His eyes are glazed over. His scent is tangy with his rage and nearly overbearing with the hallmark feel of an Alpha in rut. Alphas like this are dangerous. Rutting means bonding.

My rage grows hotter.

“Alpha?” Violet whispers, her voice as distant as her eyes. “Oh my god. Alpha, please.” She drops her hand, holding it out toward me. No, toward?—

Rylan lurches forward, taking her hand in his and pulling her away from the asshole. The other man leaps on him and takes him to the ground. Fueled by his rage and emerging rut and mixed with Rylan being caught off guard, he manages to do decent damage despite his shit form, Rylan’s lip splitting on the second hit. Violet cries out and reaches for him before realizing her dress is fucked. She scrambles at the scraps, trying to pull them over herself, not so far gone yet that she’s lost her unwillingness to be vulnerable around me.

“Tesoro,” I murmur, stepping out of the room to try and get a breath that doesn’t have Violet’s siren call of a scent in it.

Dropping my hand, he says, “I’ve got her.”

The moment he has her in his arms, his body blocking her from anyone who might happen upon this, I take out my rage on the asshole who touched her. My form isn’t shit. It only takes two well-placed hits to have him off Rylan and held against me, my forearm pressing into his throat hard enough that he thrashes, his feet kicking out and trying to get enough purchase to push up and break my hold.

I press harder against his neck, enjoying the fuck out of his desperate little grunts.

“You can’t kill him,” Jasper whispers.

I look over my shoulder, and he’s staring at me, his jaw set. His arm is wrapped around Violet, and her head is buried in his arm. She rubs her face against the fabric of his suit jacket before whining.

“Alpha,” she whispers. It’s nearly inaudible over the din of the asshole still trying to get free of my hold. Rylan rolls onto his knees and grabs her hand, running a hand over her knuckles. She shudders in a breath, the distant look clearing from her eyes for a heartbeat. “I… Oh fuck, Jasper. It… it happened so fast. I thought I could get it under control by cooling down my body. But then she…”

Her voice fades away as she whines again. Her eyes flutter closed as her body trembles in Jasper’s hold. The honeysuckle of her scent grows stronger, and the man thrashes against me even harder, snarling in his rut-induced rage.

“She’s mine,” he snarls. “I found her. She’s unbonded. It’s my right.”

I couldn’t control the growl that rips through me if I tried. And I don’t. I adjust my hold on the asshole until I’m kneeling over him, my knee in his chest. The feeling of his ribs starting to give way feeds that insidious thing inside me hardwired to protect.

“Sbagliato, stronzo,” I mutter. “She’s no one’s but her own.”

He was going to rape an Omega.

My Omega.

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