Page 119 of Feral Omega

We're two titans locked in a battle to the death.

Only one of us survives this.

The pain of that realization is like a knife to the gut, twisting deeper with every ragged breath.

Blood spatters the concrete, painting it in abstract swaths of crimson. Bones shatter like dry kindling, the sound echoing off the walls of the compound. My brother should be dead, but he keeps coming. Grabs my throat, lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing. I shove the barrel of my rifle into his roaring jaws.

It's a scene straight from the depths of hell itself.

I can feel myself slipping away, the man I once was eroding beneath the onslaught of violence. All that remains is the alpha, the primal beast that will stop at nothing to protect what's his.

Ivy's screams pierce the air, each one a barbed arrow finding its mark in my heart.

I have to end this, have to?—

I jolt awake with a gasp, Wraith's snarls still echoing in my skull.

My pulse pounds in my ears, a staccato drum beat of adrenaline and dread. But as the haze of sleep clears, I realize it's not snarls I'm hearing, but snores.

Deep, rumbling snores that rattle the very walls.

Slowly, I push myself up on my elbows, my muscles protesting the movement. The hard floor beneath me is a stark reminder of where I am.

Outside Ivy's nesting room, where I've chosen to sleep tonight. I couldn't bring myself to disturb her rest, not after the ordeal of her heat, but the thought of being too far away, of not being able to reach her at a moment's notice... it was unbearable.

As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I spot another figure slumped against the far wall. Whiskey, his head tipped back and mouth hanging open as he dozes.

A soft snore escapes him every few breaths, the sound almost comical in its contrast to the tension still thrumming through my veins.

Looks like I wasn't the only one reluctant to leave our omega unguarded.

With a grunt of effort, I heave myself to my feet, my joints popping in protest. I take a moment to stretch, rolling my shoulders to ease the kinks from sleeping on the unforgiving ground.

Then, with a sigh, I cross the short distance to Whiskey's prone form.

I nudge him with the toe of my boot, not bothering with gentleness. It's good for him to get put in his place once in a while.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," I mutter, my voice rough with the remnants of sleep. "I'll go check on Ivy."

Whiskey comes awake with a snort, nearly toppling over in his haste to sit up. He blinks owlishly up at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Fuck, what time is it?" he grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. "And why does my back feel like I went ten rounds with a meat grinder?"

"It's early," I reply, already turning back to Ivy's door. "And that's what happens when you sleep sitting up like a damn gargoyle."

But as my hand closes around the doorknob, I pause. Something's different. Ivy's scent, usually so rich and heady with the throes of her heat, has changed. It's muted now, the desperate edge of it dulled. Like the fire that's been raging inside her has finally been quenched, the flames reduced to softly glowing embers.

"Huh," I say, glancing back at Whiskey with a raised brow. "Guess the others had better luck with their knots than we did."

A twinge of something—not quite jealousy, but close enough to leave a bitter taste on my tongue—flares in my chest. I push it down, locking it away.

This isn't about me, or my own primal need to claim Ivy as mine. It's about her well-being, her safety and happiness.

Whiskey grumbles something under his breath, the words lost as he hauls himself upright with a wince. "Yeah, well, I call dibs on being first in line next time."

I snort, shaking my head. "We'll see about that," I mutter, but there's no real heat behind it.

The air feels strangely calm now, even between us.

Before our banter can continue, the door swings open, revealing Valek's imposing form. He fills the frame, his darkened gaze flicking between us with a sardonic arch of his brow.

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