Page 86 of Hunted Omega: Part Two

As the night deepens around us, one thought echoes in my mind, equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. The old Aria died the day I found my pack. Who will I become in this fight, and am I ready for the answer?

37

ARIA

I jolt awake,my heartbeat a frantic drum in my chest. The room reeks of distressed omega—my scent, all sickly sweet orange creamsicle gone rancid with fear. Sweat clings to my skin, my nightshirt a damp, clingy prison.

You’re mine, Aria, Noah’s voice echoes in my head, dripping with that smug alpha superiority that turns my stomach.An omega like you needs a strong alpha to keep you in line.

“Fuck you,” I spit out, the words as bitter as bile. The old Aria, the one who cowered and submitted, is dead and buried. I’m stronger now.

Aren’t I?

I quickly get out of bed and open the window, letting the salty air spill in. Each gulp of breath eases my racing heart.

Moonlight paints everything in shades of silver and shadow. The pack house is quiet, save for the distant hoot of an owl and the soft creaking of old wood, but I can feel Malachi, Zane, Quinn, and Dash. Their scents linger in the air in a cocktail of cedar, leather, lavender, and citrus that should comfort me. Instead, it makes my skin crawl with conflicting urges to run and bury myself in their arms.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, the chill a sharp contrast to my feverish skin, but the memories come anyway, a tidal wave I can’t outrun.

Noah’s cruel smirk as he locked me away, and the metallic click of the lock. The sharp sting of his hand, and the coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth. His body crushing mine, and the scent of his arousal choking me as he took me while I begged him to stop.

“No,” I growl, digging my nails into my palms until the skin breaks. The pain grounds me, reminds me I’m here now. “That’s not me anymore. I’m not his. I’m?—”

What? Strong? Independent? Or just fooling myself?

A sob builds in my throat, and I choke it back, the effort making my chest ache. I won’t wake them, won’t let them see me weak, but it’s too late. My distress must have spiked my scent, because there’s a soft knock at the door, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room.

“Aria?” Malachi’s voice, deep and steady, rumbles through the wood. “You okay in there?”

I steel myself, forcing strength into my voice. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Just a bad dream.”

The door opens with a soft creak, and they file in one by one—my alphas, my protectors, my… what? Saviors? Jailers? The thought makes me want to scream.

Malachi enters first, his calm presence filling the room. Zane follows, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched as his eyes scan for threats. Quinn slips in next, his intelligent gaze taking in the scene. Dash brings up the rear, his usual carefree demeanor tempered by concern, but he still looks like he just rolled out of bed at a photoshoot.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Quinn murmurs, and something in me snaps.

A keening whine escapes my throat, a sound so pathetically omega it makes me hate myself, but then they surround me, their scents wrapping around me like a warm blanket, chasing away the chill of fear.

Malachi’s arms encircle me, solid and warm, and his skin radiates heat, seeping into my bones. “It’s okay,” he rumbles, all calm authority.

As he holds me, I feel the tension in his body and the way he’s holding himself back. It hits me then—he’s restraining his alpha instincts and putting my needs before his own. The realization is both comforting and terrifying.

Quinn’s fingers comb through my hair, gentle and soothing. The light tug against my scalp sends tingles down my spine. “Want to talk about it?” he asks, a hint of his usual wit creeping in. “Need me to hack the NSA? Piece of cake. Need a shoulder to cry on? I have two.”

I choke out a laugh despite myself, the sound rough and foreign to my ears. Leave it to Quinn to find humor even now.

Zane’s gaze sweeps the room like he’s expecting Noah to materialize from the shadows. The intensity in his eyes is almost palpable, a force I can feel on my skin. When his eyes meet mine, I see a storm of emotions—anger, protectiveness, and something darker. “This is our battle now, Aria,” he growls, his voice low and fierce. “You have four alphas ready to rain hell on anyone who threatens you.”

His intensity should scare me, but instead, it sends a shiver down my spine that isn’t entirely unpleasant. I find myself leaning toward him almost unconsciously, drawn to his magnetic presence.

“Yeah, what broody said,” Dash chimes in, squeezing my hand. His palm is slightly calloused and warm against my cold fingers. “You’re our badass omega warrior, sparkles. We’re your willing army.”

Just like that, the dam breaks. I collapse into their embrace, sobbing like I haven’t allowed myself to in years. They hold me, steady and strong, letting me fall apart without trying to fix me. The fabric of Malachi’s shirt grows damp under my cheek, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

As the storm passes, I become aware of how our scents have mingled. My fear fades, replaced by something warmer and safer. The air is thick with the scent of pack, of home, and it feels so right, it scares me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from crying.

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