Page 58 of Feral Omega

"Well then," he says, gesturing to the open mat. "Let's see if we can work out some of that aggression, shall we? Whiskey, you're up first."

The burly alpha rolls his eyes but complies, stalking toward the mat with a lazy, arrogant sway. I square my shoulders and step forward to meet him, refusing to let his sheer size intimidate me.

We circle each other for a moment, sizing one another up. Then Whiskey lunges, moving with surprising speed for such a large man. I dart back, deflecting his grasping hands and aiming a vicious kick at his midsection.

He catches my ankle easily, that infuriating smirk still plastered across his stupid face. "Too slow, darlin'," he taunts, giving my leg a rough shake.

White-hot fury surges through me. With a snarl, I twist and lash out with my free foot, catching him square in the chest. He staggers back with a grunt, forced to release me.

I press the advantage, raining a flurry of blows down on him as he struggles to regain his footing. A vicious jab cracks against his jaw, snapping his head to the side. He roars in outrage, all traces of playfulness vanishing.

Suddenly, he's on me, those massive arms wrapping around my torso and pinning my own limbs to my sides. I thrash and buck, but it's like being caught in a vise, the solid wall of his chest immovable. His scent envelops me, a heady musk of sweat and exertion and pure alpha heat.

I thrash and buck against Whiskey's iron grip, but it's utterly futile. His massive frame dwarfs me, those tree-trunk arms caging me against the solid wall of his chest and padded stomach. It feels like wrestling a fucking grizzly bear.

I can't budge an inch. Or bite him. Not from this angle.

Whiskey's warm, musky alpha scent surrounds me, the rich notes of leather and earth swirling through my senses and making my head swim. For a moment, I think he's going to grab my breast—it's an inch from his hand and he could easily brush it off as just an accident in such close quarters—but his hand moves to my side instead.

He leans in, his lips and light stubble brushing the shell of my ear as he rumbles, "Give it up, little omega. You're not going anywhere until I say so."

A shiver races down my spine at the dark promise in his words. I bare my teeth in a defiant snarl, renewing my struggles with even more ferocity. But Whiskey just chuckles, the sound a deep, throaty rasp that has heat unfurling low in my belly in spite of myself.

Gritting my teeth, I force the unwanted feelings down and focus on finding an escape. Whiskey's hips are pinning my lower body, leaving my legs free. In a sudden, vicious move, I draw my knee up and slam it directly into his groin.

Whiskey's eyes bulge almost comically. A strangled wheezing sound escapes his lips as he folds in on himself, all the breath punched from his lungs. His arms slacken just enough for me to tear free and stagger back, putting some much-needed distance between us.

"You little psycho," he wheezes, straightening with an agonized grimace. The raw fury in his gaze makes my heart stutter.

Before I can react, he's lunging at me again, hands outstretched to grab. I dart to the side, but his fingertips still catch my arm, dragging me off balance. He spins me around and the only thing that keeps my face from slamming into the unforgiving concrete wall in front of me is his arm around my throat, showing he's exercising more control than it seems.

I try to push off the wall, but Whiskey's weight pins me there, his body a scorching brand against my back. "Checkmate, wildcat," he says through his teeth.

"That's enough!" Thane's bellow cuts through the ringing in my ears. "Stand down, Whiskey. Now."

A low, rumbling growl is the only response. Whiskey's grip tightens, making sure I know who's the dominant one in this scenario.

I'm starting to think I bruised his ego.

Then, all at once, his weight vanishes. I slump forward, gasping greedily as Thane hauls Whiskey roughly off me and flings him away. The two alphas immediately clash in a whirlwind of fists and grunts, trading vicious blows with a savagery that leaves me frozen in shock. And confirms that Whiskey was definitely using kid gloves on me, no matter how bruising that realization is to my own ego.

Thane moves with a lethal, economical grace, ducking and weaving to avoid the other alpha's ponderous strikes while landing blow after precise blow. But Whiskey is like an enraged bull, shrugging off even the most punishing hits and simply barreling forward again with that unstoppable momentum.

I should run, I know. Seize this chance to make my escape while they're distracted. But some morbid fascination holds me rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from the brutal spectacle unfolding before me.

Eventually, they break apart, both alphas panting and sporting a myriad of new bruises. Whiskey clutches his shoulder, a grimace of pain etched across his rugged features, even though I'm pretty sure that's the one part of him that didn't get hurt. Wait… was he already injured? No wonder Thane wanted me to spar him.

The fire in Whiskey's eyes has dimmed, banked for now beneath the mantle of hard-won control.

Thane spits a mouthful of blood onto the mat, his chest heaving. For a long moment, they simply stare at each other in silence, the air thick with unspoken challenge and lingering tension.

Then, almost imperceptibly, Thane gives a small nod of acknowledgment and Whiskey stands down.

They're both still alive. Neither of them maimed each other. There aren't body parts strewn across the mat as I'd expected a moment ago.

The realization is deeply unsettling. Because no matter how much restraint they've shown, no matter how human they might seem in this moment, I know the truth.

Alphas will always be alphas. Vicious, domineering brutes who think nothing of using their power to break anyone weaker. I can never afford to forget that.

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