Page 8 of Unhinged Alphas

A flash of red beyond the window catches my eye. I crane my neck to see better through the sliver of light coming through the curtains, but it's impossible to see anything from here.

I hop out of bed and dart to the window to peer outside, careful not to disturb the fabric. Whiskey mutters a string of curses under his breath and I hear the mattress creaking as he gets up, but I ignore him.

The guest house door stands open. A group of men mill about outside, loading up their vehicles with barely contained urgency. My stomach clenches at the sight.

Among the milling figures, one man draws my gaze like a lodestone. He prowls the perimeter, each step deliberate, as if marking his territory. The wind whips his coat—a garish splash of crimson against the snow—revealing glimpses of lean muscle beneath.

The scar across his face tugs at his lips, giving him a permanent leer that makes my skin crawl. When he turns, scanning the area through the tinted round glasses perched on his straight nose, I duck instinctively even though I know he can't see me.

Everything about him screams danger. The way he moves, fluid yet coiled tight. The tilt of his head as he listens to his men. The casual way his hand rests near a concealed weapon.

He's clearly the leader.

Must be Nikolai.

I feel the heat radiating off Whiskey's body before I hear him or even register he's standing behind me. He throws his arms around my waist like a bear trap, pinning me against his warm torso.

My body reacts before my mind can catch up. Teeth bared, I twist in Whiskey's grip, sinking my incisors into the meat of his forearm. The taste of copper floods my mouth, and a primal satisfaction courses through me.

Fuck yes. We're biting again.

Whiskey snarls, but he doesn't let go. His arms tighten around me, lifting me off my feet and crushing me against his broad chest. "Oh, hell, no," he grumbles in my ear, carrying me to the bed as Ikick and thrash against him, still latched onto his arm.

He throws me onto the bed and lands over me, the force of his weight crushing me into the mattress forcing me to open my mouth and let go of his arm. Panic surges through me, but I can't move beneath him like this, and the pressure from his body bearing down on me is strangely soothing. Or maybe it's because I can't breathe.

Either way, I melt into his warmth.

I’m pissed at myself for it.

"Easy there, wildcat," he murmurs in my ear. "No one's gonna hurt you."

A humorless laugh bubbles up in my throat. How many times have I heard that lie? But even as the cynical thought forms, another part of me—a traitorous, omega part—wants to believe him.

Especially after last night.

"I'm gonna let you up," he continues. "But I'm not letting you go. Got it? We can't risk those assholes seeing you. It's bad enough they've figured out there's an omega here. They don't need to know how beautiful you are."

My heart lurches. "They know I'm here?"

"Yeah," he says with a sigh, rolling away from me onto his side. But he keeps his massive handwrapped around my forearm, enveloping it. I tug to test his strength.

Nope. Not getting away this time.

His gaze softens and he reaches up to brush my hair away from my eyes with his bruised knuckles. "We can't lose you, little wildcat. You know that, right?"

I lean into his touch in spite of myself.

"I know," I mutter.

For now, I'll play the part they need me to play. I'll be a good little omega and let them keep me safe. But I can't let myself forget what I am. What I've always been.

Alone.

A survivor.

He doesn't know it yet, but heisgoing to lose me. They all are. When the time comes, I'll do what I have to do to regain my freedom.

Even if it means leaving them behind.

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