Page 85 of Feral Omega

The thought should terrify me. But all I feel is a strange sense of relief, of gratitude that this brutal alpha has chosen to stand between me and whatever new threat waits beyond our meager shelter.

The voices grow louder, closer. I tense, fingers digging into the hard-packed earth as a familiar figure emerges from the trees.

Whiskey.

The burly alpha's head swivels back and forth, rifle sweeping the treeline in a wide arc. His lips peel back in a snarl as his gaze lands on Wraith, raising his gun.

"You son of a bitch!" he roars, finger tightening on the trigger. "Get the fuck away from her before I?—"

I don't let him finish. Adrenaline pulses through me, hot and sharp, lending me a burst of strength I didn't know I had left. I scramble forward, shoving past Wraith's immense bulk to plant myself squarely between him and Whiskey's rifle.

"No!" I rasp, raising my hands in a desperate plea. "Don't shoot!"

Whiskey freezes, eyes going wide with shock. His jaw works soundlessly for a heartbeat, two, the muscle in his cheek twitching. "Ivy?" he finally manages, tone thick with disbelief. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"He saved me," I gasp out, fighting to stay upright as the world tilts sickeningly around me. "Don't hurt him."

Wraith looms at my back, a hulking shadow radiating menace and restrained violence. If I wasn't delirious with fever, I'd be petrified. As it is, all I can focus on is the weight of Whiskey's stare, the naked fury etched into his rugged features.

"Saved you?" he snarls, fingers flexing on the rifle stock. "You expect me to believe that feral piece of shit did anything other than try to kill you?"

"I do," I rasp, bracing myself against the tremors wracking my limbs. "He could have... but he didn't. He bandaged my wound, kept me warm through the night. If it wasn't for him..." I trail off, the words sticking in my raw throat.

Whiskey's nostrils flare, broad chest heaving with each harsh exhale. His eyes bore into mine, searching, assessing. For a long, charged moment, the only sound is the rasp of our mingled breaths misting the crisp air.

Then, slowly, he lowers the rifle, though the tension doesn't bleed from his shoulders. "You're hurt," he growls, dark gaze flicking to the bloodstained fabric wrapped around my arm. "Let me see."

He takes a step forward, hand outstretched. Wraith rumbles low in his chest, the warning vibration rippling through me where my back presses against the solid wall of his frame.

Whiskey's jaw tightens, fingers clenching into white-knuckled fists at his sides. "Goddammit, Wraith," he grits out through his teeth. "I'm not gonna fucking hurt her, you psycho piece of?—"

The words die on his lips as I sway on my feet, knees buckling beneath me. Whiskey lunges forward, catching me before I can crumple to the frozen ground.

"Easy there, little wildcat," he murmurs, looping one thick arm beneath my knees to scoop me against his chest. "I gotcha."

I try to protest, to insist that I can walk on my own. But my tongue feels thick and leaden in my mouth, the words dissolving into a low, incoherent moan.

Whiskey shoots Wraith a look filled with equal parts challenge and warning. "We're taking her back to the compound," he growls, already turning to head back the way he came. "Don't make me put you down."

Wraith snarls something harsh and unintelligible, but he makes no move to stop us. Just watches, those eerie blue eyes glittering from the shadows beneath his dark hair as Whiskey starts the arduous trek back through the snow.

I let my head loll against Whiskey's shoulder, too drained to even keep my eyes open. The steady rhythm of his strides is oddly soothing, lulling me toward the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness.

"You're lighter than a fuckin' feather, you know that?" he mutters, jarring me back to wakefulness. "Had to haul Valek's dead weight down that whole damn cliff after you clocked him. You weigh half as much."

A flicker of amusement ghosts across my lips at the thought of the brutal alpha laid low by my hand. "He's going to kill me for that," I murmur, each word an effort.

Whiskey snorts, the sound rumbling deep in his broad chest. "Nah, I think you impressed the sick bastard. Can't remember the last time someone actually got the drop on him like that."

I hum softly, letting my eyes drift shut again. The pain is starting to recede, the fevered delirium dragging me under into a welcome haze. "Was just... trying to survive."

"Yeah, well. You did one hell of a job, little wildcat."

The words fade into the distance as I finally surrender to the darkness pulling at me. The last thing I'm aware of is the crunch of snow beneath Whiskey's boots and the distant, rhythmic tread of another set of footfalls following in our wake.

Chapter

Thirty-Three

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