Page 68 of Hunted Omega: Part Two

Noah turns back to me, his eyes blazing with fury. “What did you do?” he growls, his hand tightening around my wrist. I’ll have bruises tomorrow.

I meet his gaze, feeling a surge of defiance. “I told you. I texted my pack.”

The salon door bursts open with a crash, the bell jingling wildly. I’ve never been so relieved to see anyone in my life. Malachi stands in the doorway, his eyes burning with rage as hetakes in the scene before him. Behind him, I see Zane, Quinn, and Dash, all looking equally furious.

“Let. Her. Go.” Malachi’s voice is low and dangerous, filled with alpha authority. I feel it resonate in my bones, and even Noah seems affected.

Noah’s grip loosens on my wrist, but he doesn’t let go completely. “Well, well,” he says, his voice dripping with false amusement. “The cavalry’s arrived.”

I can feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife.

My pack versus my past.

As I stand here, caught between Noah’s grip and my pack’s protective presence, I realize that this is it—this is the moment where everything will change. I can feel it in my bones.

Malachi’s eyes scan the room, assessing the situation with calm precision. “Noah,” he says, his voice level but laced with authority, “you’re outnumbered and outmatched. This doesn’t have to end badly for you.”

Quinn steps forward, his usually playful demeanor replaced by cold determination. His fingers fly over his phone screen as he speaks. “I’ve already alerted the authorities,” he says, a hint of his typical quirkiness bleeding through. “They’ll be here in approximately three minutes—give or take a few seconds for traffic variables, of course. I suggest you reconsider your position before you end up as another statistic in my database of apprehended criminals.”

Zane moves to flank Malachi, his intense gaze never leaving Noah. The air crackles with the tension between them, two alphas locked in a silent battle of wills. I can almost taste the pheromones in the air, sharp and aggressive.

Dash, surprisingly, is the one to break the standoff. He saunters forward, a lazy grin on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Come on, man,” he says to Noah, his tone deceptivelylight. “Is this really how you want this to go down? In a salon, of all places? Think of the hair spray fumes. I mean, have you smelled that stuff? It’s practically a chemical weapon. You’ll be doing us all a favor if you just walk away now.”

Despite everything, I almost laugh. Leave it to Dash to find humor in this situation.

Noah’s eyes dart between them calculatingly. For a moment, I think he might try to fight, but then his shoulders slump slightly. “This isn’t over, Aria,” he says, his voice cold. “You can’t hide behind them forever.”

“Try to stop us,” Zane growls, his eyes flashing with protective intensity.

Noah’s lips curl into a sneer, but he backs toward the door. “I’ll be seeing you,” he says, and then he’s gone, the cheerful bell echoing in his wake.

For a moment, we all stand frozen, then my adrenaline crashes, and my knees buckle. Strong arms catch me before I hit the ground—Zane’s.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his arms tightening around me like a fortress. “He won’t touch you again.”

Quinn is at my side in an instant, his clever hands gently examining my bruised wrist. “We should get some ice on this,” he says, his voice soft with concern. “I have a first aid kit in the car with some analgesic cream that should help with the swelling. It’s a proprietary blend I’ve been working on—don’t tell the FDA,” he says with a wink, trying to lighten the mood.

Malachi approaches, his presence calming the chaotic energy in the room. “Status report, Aria,” Malachi says, his voice gentle but commanding.

I nod, not quite trusting my voice. Dash appears on my other side, draping his arm around my shoulders. “Damn, Aria, that text was faster than my best guitar riff.” Dash grins, bumping my shoulder. “You’re officially our pack’s secret weapon.”

As the pack surrounds me, their scents mingling in a protective cocoon, I let out a shaky breath. Noah was right about one thing—this isn’t over. For now, though, I’m safe, I’m home, and that’s enough.

“Thank you,” I whisper, looking at each of them in turn. “For coming. For… everything.”

Zane’s arms tighten around me. “Try to stop us,” he growls, his eyes flashing with protectiveness.

As the adrenaline fades, the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. My legs feel wobbly, and I’m grateful for Zane’s steady support. The familiar scents and sounds of the salon seem surreal now, like I stepped into an alternate universe where everything looks the same but feels completely different.

“We should get you out of here,” Malachi says, his voice gentle but firm. “It isn’t safe to stay.”

I nod, still feeling slightly dazed. “I… I need to tell my boss and Mrs. Johnson—she’s still under the dryer.”

Quinn steps forward, his expression softening. “I’ll take care of it, Aria. You just focus on yourself right now.”

As Quinn moves to handle the salon situation, Dash appears at my side with my purse and jacket. “Your chariot awaits, milady,” he says with an exaggerated bow, trying to coax a smile out of me.

It works, sort of. The corners of my mouth twitch upward, even as tears threaten to spill over. “Thanks, Dash,” I whisper.

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