Page 70 of Hunted Omega: Part Two

I look around at each of them, and for the first time since Noah walked into the salon, I feel a flicker of real hope.

“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “So what’s the plan?”

Malachi’s lips quirk up in a small smile. “First, we make sure you’re safe. Then, we go on the offensive. Noah thinks he has the upper hand, but he’s never faced a pack like ours before.”

As we pull up to the pack house, I steel myself for whatever comes next. Noah may have found me, but he doesn’t know who he’s really dealing with. I’m not the same omega he knew. I’m stronger now, braver, and I have a pack that would move heaven and earth to keep me safe.

The game has changed, and this time, I’m not running away. This time, we’re fighting back.

30

MALACHI

MomentsEarlier

The polished mahogany conference table gleams under the soft lighting, contrasting with the tension crackling in the air. I sit at its head, my gaze sweeping over my pack. The scents of cedarwood and amber—my own pheromones—fill the room, mingling with the unique scents of each alpha present. Something feels off tonight, like the calm before a storm.

“Gentlemen,” I begin, my voice steady despite the unease churning in my gut, “let’s discuss our upcoming security protocols for?—”

A simultaneous buzz cuts through the room, harsh and jarring. Four phones light up at once, casting an eerie blue glow across concerned faces. My heart stutters, and a chill races down my spine. We’ve only used this group alert once before, when…

Quinn’s voice, usually playful, is tight with worry as he breaks the sudden silence. “It’s Aria.” His fingers fly over his tablet. “A red heart. She needs us.”

My mind races, but years of military training kick in. I force my voice to remain calm, even as my instincts scream to act. “Quinn, location?”

“On it, boss,” Quinn responds, his brow furrowed in concentration. The soft tapping of his fingers fills the tense silence. “Got her. Sending coordinates to our phones now. I also initiated my custom emergency protocol. It’ll scramble any surveillance within a two-block radius around the salon. You know, just in case our friend Noah has eyes on the area.”

Dash leaps up, knocking over his chair with a loud clatter. His usual carefree demeanor is gone, replaced by a simmering rage that surprises me. “I knew that bastard was trouble. I should have said something sooner.”

Zane’s eyes flash dangerously, his intense gaze locking onto Dash. The air crackles with alpha pheromones as aggression rises. “What do you mean sooner? You knew something?”

I raise a hand, silencing the brewing argument. Now isn’t the time for infighting. “Not now. Aria needs us. Move out.”

We rush to the garage, falling into a practiced formation. The smell of motor oil and leather fills my nostrils as I slide behind the wheel of our SUV. Zane takes shotgun, his body as tense as a coiled spring, while Quinn and Dash pile into the back.

“Quinn, contact Omega Guardians for backup,” I order, the engine roaring to life. Gravel crunches under the tires as we peel out of the driveway. “Zane, brief me on everything we know about Noah.”

Zane’s eyes narrow as he pulls out his phone, scrolling through recent intel. “Noah’s been moving in the shadows for months, setting up contacts in the black market. He’s linked to at least three suspected omega trafficking rings in the area, but nothing solid enough to pin him down until now. He’s been one step ahead of everyone, Malachi, including us.”

As Zane speaks, his voice low and controlled, I grip the steering wheel tighter. The leather creaks under my hands. How did I miss this? I should have been more vigilant.

“It isn’t your fault, Malachi,” Zane says, as if reading my thoughts. His hand lands on my shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort from the usually stoic alpha. “We all dropped the ball on this one.”

I nod grimly, pushing down harder on the accelerator. The engine’s growl matches the fury building in my chest. “We’ll make it right. Aria’s safety is our top priority.” I look at him for a millisecond. “We won’t fuck this up again.”

The drive feels agonizingly long, though in reality, it’s mere minutes. The city blurs past our windows, streetlights creating a dizzying pattern. Dash’s leg bounces nervously in the back seat, a constant rhythm that grates on my frayed nerves.

“Hey,” Dash says suddenly, his voice lighter than the situation warrants, “remember that time we had to rescue Quinn from that bachelorette party? This can’t be worse than that, right?”

Despite everything, I feel a small smile tug at my lips. Leave it to Dash to find humor even now. “Let’s hope not,” I mutter, catching his eye in the rearview mirror. “I don’t think I could handle seeing you in a feather boa again.”

The tension in the car eases slightly, and I’m grateful for Dash’s ability to lighten the mood.

As we screech to a halt outside the salon, the tires smoking on the asphalt, I catch sight of Aria through the window. She’s backed against a wall with Noah looming over her. My vision blurs red for a moment, my alpha instincts roaring to protect what’s mine.

The scent of fear—sharp and acrid—hits me as soon as I step out of the car. It’s so strong, I can almost taste it, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to charge in immediately.

“Remember,” I growl to my pack as we approach the door, the bell jingling ominously, “Aria’s safety comes first. We don’t know if he’s armed or has backup.”

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