Page 71 of Hunted Omega: Part Two

They nod, falling into formation behind me. I take a deep breath and center myself. The cool night air fills my lungs, clearing my head for a moment. Then, channeling all the authority of an alpha protecting his mate, I burst through the door.

The scene before me makes my blood boil. Noah has Aria by the wrist, his stance menacing, but it’s the look in Aria’s eyes that truly strikes me—determination mixed with fear, and underneath it all, relief at seeing us. The smell of her distress, like burnt oranges, fills the air.

Noah turns, his ice-blue eyes narrowing as they meet mine. His lips curl into a sneer, revealing teeth that seem too sharp and predatory. The scar along his jawline, usually hidden, stands out starkly in the harsh salon lighting. Everything about him screams danger, from the coiled tension in his muscles to the cold calculation in his gaze.

“Let. Her. Go.” The words come out as a growl, my alpha voice resonating with power. I feel it vibrate in my chest and see it ripple through the room as both Aria and Noah react.

Noah’s grip on Aria loosens, but he doesn’t release her. His eyes dart between us, assessing the threat. I can almost see the gears turning in his head as he calculates his odds. “Well, well,” he says, his voice dripping with false amusement. “The cavalry’s arrived.”

I can feel my pack behind me, tense and ready for action. The air is thick with competing pheromones—Noah’s threatening scent of pine and smoke, Aria’s distressed orange creamsicle, and our collective protective musk. It’s a dizzying cocktail, and I have to focus to keep my head clear.

“I won’t ask again,” I say, taking a step forward. The floorboards creak under my weight, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence. “Release her. Now.”

Noah’s eyes narrow, a hint of uncertainty flickering across his face before his arrogant mask slips back into place. “Or what? You’ll attack me in broad daylight? In front of witnesses?” He gestures to the street outside, where a small crowd of onlookers has begun to gather. “That would be quite the scandal for the oh so respectable Alpha Malachi, wouldn’t it?”

His words give me pause, and I feel a flash of frustration. He’s right. We can’t afford a public spectacle, not with the delicate political situation we’re navigating with the mayor and Omega Guardians, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him walk out of here with Aria.

I take a deep breath, forcing my voice to remain level. “You’re outnumbered, Noah. Whatever you’re planning, it ends here. Let Aria go, and we can discuss this like civilized alphas.”

Noah laughs, a harsh sound that makes Aria flinch. The movement draws my eye, and I notice the way he’s gripping her wrist. There will be bruises there tomorrow, and the thought makes my jaw clench.

“Civilized? Please.” Noah’s voice drips with disdain. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with, Malachi. This goes far beyond your little pack.”

Before I can respond, I hear sirens in the distance. Omega Guardians, right on time. The wail grows louder, cutting through the tension in the room. Noah hears them too, his expression darkening.

“This isn’t over,” he snarls, finally releasing Aria. She stumbles, and I have to physically restrain myself from rushing to her. Noah backs toward the rear exit of the salon, his eyes never leaving mine. “You can’t protect her forever, and when you slip up, I’ll be there.”

With that, he’s gone, disappearing out the back door. The bell jingles again, a cheerful sound at odds with the heavy atmosphere he leaves behind. Every instinct screams at me tochase him and end this threat once and for all. My muscles coil, ready to spring into action, but Aria’s soft whimper pulls me back to reality.

I’m at her side in an instant, gently taking her into my arms. She collapses against me, her whole body trembling. I can feel her heart racing and smell the lingering fear in her scent. “You came,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion.

“You’re pack, Aria,” I state, my voice low and firm, “and pack means no one gets left behind.”

As the rest of the pack gathers around us, forming a protective circle, I realize that everything has changed. The threat is real and far larger than we imagined, but looking down at Aria, feeling the strength of my pack around me, I know one thing for certain—this pack isn’t just a team, it’s a force of nature. Noah has no idea what he’s unleashed.

As we make our way back to the car, the night air carries the scent of change. Zane keeps a protective arm around Aria, his usual stoic expression softened by concern. Quinn’s fingers fly over his phone, no doubt setting up additional security measures, while Dash scans our surroundings, his body tense and ready for action.

I catch Aria’s gaze, seeing the mixture of fear and gratitude in her eyes. The line between pack safety and personal desire blurs with every passing moment. How long before I’m forced to redraw it?

The engine roars to life, a growl that matches the determination in my heart. Noah has made his move. Now it’s our turn to show him what a real pack can do.

As we drive away from the salon, leaving the wail of sirens behind, I make a silent vow. This isn’t just about weathering a storm. It’s about becoming the storm Noah fears.

31

ARIA

The plush couchin the pack’s secluded cabin swallows me as I sink deeper into its embrace. I wrap my hands around a steaming mug of hot cocoa, its rich aroma battling with the scent of pine from the crackling fire. Outside, the wind whispers through the trees.

Great. Even the weather’s trying to kill my vibe now.

Shadows dance across the room, thrown by the flickering flames. They mirror the chaos in my head as my gaze drifts over my alphas. They are scattered around like some kind of hot guy modern art installation, and I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it all.

Malachi’s broad shoulders are silhouetted by the fading light of the window. He’s a stoic leader, even now. Zane is by the mantel, brooding at the flames like they personally insulted his favorite leather jacket. Quinn’s sprawled on the floor, his fingers flying over his smartphone. He’s probably hacking the Pentagon or something equally dramatic. And Dash? He’s perched on a chair arm, looking like he’s ready to break into an impromptu parkour routine at any second.

Their scents hang heavily in the air—Malachi’s cedarwood and amber, Zane’s leather and sandalwood, Quinn’s lavenderand bergamot, and Dash’s citrus and ocean breeze. It’s like someone released a pack of models in a perfume store.

Not that I’m complaining.

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