Page 36 of Unhinged Omega

Those haunting blue eyes, that iron mask, those lethal claws reaching for me...

I blink, trying to orient myself. I'm in a massive bed, buried under a pile of blankets, and something else. A coat. Blood red and impossibly soft. I inhale without thinking and that scent hits me.

Blood on steel.

Nikolai.

So different from Azarel's golden sunlight.

But they're alike in one regard. Neither alpha's scent makes me want to vomit like every other alpha's does.

The first time I encountered him, it could have been a fluke, but now… it feels like betrayal somehow.

Even if Azarel isn't here.

Even if, for all I know, he's abandoned me.

It's what Ishouldbelieve. What the logical part of me is trying to drill into my head to keep me from plummeting into the depths of disappointment once again. But my heart won't let me accept that ugly possibility. That he worked his way through my defenses and awakened a part of me I thought was long dead only to end up being like every other alpha in my life.

A fucking traitor.

Looking around, I realize I'm in some kind of circular room. Floor-to-ceiling windows surround me, revealing the dark expanse of what looks like an airfield below. Blinking lights mark the perimeter, casting an eerie glow.

Is that where I was earlier?

Everything after the sun hit my eyes is a blur.

Against my better judgment, I pull the red coat closer, breathing in that dangerous scent. It shouldn't be comforting. It shouldn't calm my racing heart or chase away the lingering terror of my nightmare.

But it does.

"If you like my scent so much, you could've just said so."

I jolt at that infuriating voice, catching the glint of red-tinted lenses in the darkness. Nikolai emerges from the shadows like a wolf creeping out of a den, all lean muscle in his tight black shirt. His nose is definitely broken, dried blood crusted beneath it, and scratches mar his already marred face. I can't really remember, but I think I'm the one who put them there.

Good.

"I hate your scent," I snap, dropping the coat like it's burned me. "I was using it like smelling salts to wake up properly."

He scoffs, moving closer. "Oh yeah? And what do I smell like, little psycho?"

I bristle at the nickname. "Like piss and ass."

It’s a bald-faced lie. He smells fucking incredible.

But the smugness drops from his face, and even in the dim light from the airfield, I can tell he's furious from the vein popping out in his temple. "Whatever you need to tell yourself," he says with a knowing smirk that makes me want to break his nose again.

What does he mean by that?

The cryptic remark makes me uneasy.

Vulnerable in a way I don't like.

"Why do you wear those stupid glasses indoors?" I demand, trying to regain some control over the situation the only way I can.

His smirk falters slightly. "Glad to see you're back to being a prickly psycho instead of a frigid doll. I was starting to worry seeing that thing had somehow lobotomized you."

I freeze, ice flooding my veins.

---