Page 3 of The Omega Trials: Part Two

Frustrated, I turn to Bishop. “Can you feel anything through the bond? Where do we go?”

His eyes squeeze shut like he’s concentrating really hard, his nose scrunching.

“Jesus, you look like you’re about to shit yourself,” Titus says.

“Shut the fuck up,Titty.”I huff and punch him in the shoulder. He grunts and scowls back.

“This way.” Bishop’s eyes fly open, now fully gold. A look of intense determination settles on his face. I feel cut off at the knees not being able to sense her the way he can as her mate, like a piece of me I didn’t even know existed has been ripped away.

Once we have her back, I know what I’ll do to make myself whole. But first we need to find her, make sureshe’swhole, then, and only then, can I worry about myself.

Titus and I follow Bishop as he runs toward a dense tree line that stretches from the north end of the Estate to the lake. I look over my shoulder at the sound of shouting and see the Cobalts running across the lawn. One of them is carrying a broken table leg.

As we enter the cool shade of the forest, my body buzzes. I don’t know if it’s adrenaline or nerves or maybe,just maybe, it’s her. Bond or no bond.

“Shit,” Bishop curses and drags his hand across a tree trunk. When he brings it to his nose, his face contorts with ire. “More blood. It’s hers,” he adds with a growl.

My teeth grind together. I didn’t have much faith in their harm-free grace period to begin with, but now there’s none. We need to get to her, andfast.“Where is she, B? I have a feeling we have a lot less than twenty minutes.”

He doesn’t have to close his eyes this time. Intuitively, he knows and immediately carves a path through the trees with us right behind him.

The sunlight seems to be fading quickly. Has more time passed than I realized, or are we just getting deeper into the woods? Sinclair must be scared right now. As the light dwindles, is more and more fear setting in?

At least she knows we’ll come for her. Always.

She has to know that, right?

A sharp scream slices through the air.1 We freeze for half a second before Bishop yells her name and we barrel toward the sound at twice the speed. I feel like I can hear the ticking of a bomb in my mind.

Tick,tick,tick—

It’s immediately silenced when I catch her scent again in the wind and know we will get to her in time. She’s so close.

When I spot her white hair like a bright light through the leaves, my heart leaps. At least she’s standing. Her abductors are harder to make out in their all-black outfits, but I can count at least four of them. A growl builds in my chest.

Four of them. Four men have had their hands on her.Four.

They hear us coming and quickly spin around in defense. The moonlight catches the metallic sheen of the knives in theirhands. The image of the blades dripping in their blood flashes in my mind as we descend on them like a pack of wolves.

One of them runs toward Titus, who rips off a low branch and skewers the charging man on the broken, jagged end. Sinclair screams as the point juts through his back and another male grabs her. He tugs her back, wrapping one hand around her mouth, and her beautiful blue eyes widen. Bishop roars when the abductor brings his knife to her throat, her handcuffed wrists in front of her.

My bloodthirst rages so strong that I don’t even take out my switchblade. I need to feel the warmth of their spilled blood on my bare hands.

Everything is happening so fast, it would be a blur without the rut. But I’m so hyperaware and in tune with every movement, every sensation, that I move with clear precision. Titus fights with one man while Bishop goes to Sinclair, and I turn my attention to the poor fucker in front of me.

Behind his black balaclava, fear flashes in his eyes and it looks like he’s moving his lips. He better be saying his final prayers because he’s about to meet his maker. In an unconfident crouch, he pedals backward.

He lifts his knife as I stalk forward. He must realize there’s nowhere he can run when a cold smile paints my face, so he lunges at me.

I grab his wrist, forcefully twisting it so he drops the knife. Then I pull his arm out and down, driving my knee up until his forearm snaps like a two-by-four. His howl rattles my eardrums, but I love it.

Pretty white bone breaks through his skin. He wobbles and his eyelids flutter like he’s going to pass out. A small silver key falls from his other fist.

“Not yet, asshole,” I say while holding him upright by his splintered arm. Forcing his injury to his throat, I stab him in thecarotid with his own radius or ulna—I don’t know which. I’m a hooker not a fucking doctor.

I groan at the release the slick feel of his blood brings. A delicious chill runs down my spine that, paired with Sinclair’s scent, makes my cock harden. I swipe up the key the man dropped and go to where she stands, trembling in shock in an oversized shirt.

Her eyes are wide with a thousand-yard stare as she slowly holds out her shackled wrists.

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