Page 63 of Nesting With My Three Alphas
"You made her afraid." I watched Marcus flinch, just for a second, proof he knew it was true. "But she's not afraid anymore. She's home, with the pack she was always waiting for."
"You?" Marcus looked me up and down with obvious disdain. "Some construction worker alpha who probably can't even afford to keep her in the lifestyle she deserves?"
"By three alphas who love her for who she is instead of trying to control what she becomes," I corrected, letting my scent spike with territorial aggression. "You lost her the moment you made her afraid to be herself."
Marcus's control snapped. I saw it happen, the moment his civilized veneer cracked and revealed the predator underneath. He lunged forward with the desperate strength of an alpha who believed he had nothing left to lose.
I'd been expecting it.
The fight was brief but vicious. Marcus had the advantage of desperation and obsession, but I had the advantage of protecting what was mine in my own territory. Every punch I threw was powered by memories of Kit's careful walls, her fear of taking up space, the way she flinched when voices were raised.
This was the man who had made my omega afraid to want things.
Marcus went down hard when I connected with his solar plexus, the air rushing out of him in a whoosh that left him gasping on my kitchen floor. But even winded, he wasn't finished.
"She's mine," he wheezed, struggling to his feet with the kind of single-minded determination that made him dangerous. "We have contracts, legal agreements. She belongs to me."
"Your fake contracts don't mean anything here," I said, circling him carefully. "Sheriff Rowe already confirmed they're forgeries."
The mention of law enforcement made Marcus's eyes flash with something that might have been panic, but he covered it quickly with renewed aggression.
"You don't understand what you're dealing with," Marcus snarled, pulling something from his jacket pocket. A syringe filled with clear liquid. "Kit needs to be reminded of her place. Needs to remember who she really belongs to."
A syringe. My blood turned to ice as I realized what he was planning: some kind of chemical intervention, probably something to disrupt her heat, force her body into submission.
"You sick bastard," I growled, no longer human but pure alpha rage given form.
Marcus smiled, the expression so cold it made my skin crawl. "She'll thank me when her head clears. When she remembers what real alphas can provide."
He lunged again, this time aiming for the stairs, for Kit. The syringe in his hand gleamed with malevolent promise as he tried to push past me toward the woman I would die to protect.
I caught him at the base of the stairs, my hand closing around his wrist with enough force to make bones creak. The syringe clattered to the floor as Marcus cried out in pain and fury.
"You're not going near her," I said, my voice carrying the kind of alpha authority that could compel submission from weaker wolves. "Not today, not ever."
"Jonah!" Kit's voice from upstairs, high with panic and heat-addled confusion. "What's happening?"
She could smell the conflict, the foreign alpha in her safe space. Her heat would be making everything more intense, more frightening.
"Stay upstairs," I called back, not taking my eyes off Marcus. "Everything's under control."
But Marcus wasn't finished. With the desperate strength of someone who had nothing left to lose, he broke free from my grip and grabbed for a kitchen knife from the counter.
The flash of silver stopped my breath cold. A weapon. Not fists, not scent dominance, but something that could end lives. This had just escalated beyond a simple trespass.
"I'm not leaving without her," Marcus said, brandishing the knife with the shaky determination of someone who'd never actually used one in combat. "Kit belongs to me. I made her what she is."
"You made her miserable," I corrected, weighing my options. Marcus with a weapon was dangerous, especially with Kit vulnerable upstairs. "You made her afraid to trust, afraid to love, afraid to be herself."
"I made her perfect!" Marcus's voice cracked with hysteria. "Obedient, grateful, exactly what an omega should be!"
The sound of tires on gravel outside made both of us freeze. Car doors slamming, footsteps on the front porch, but I knew those sounds, knew that particular combination of hurried movement and protective urgency.
Micah.
"Jonah!" Micah's voice called from the front door, followed immediately by the sound of his key in the lock. "I could smell the distress from the driveway. What's..."
Micah appeared in the kitchen doorway and went completely still, taking in the scene with calm, assessing eyes. Marcus, wild-eyed and wielding a knife. Me, coiled for violence and radiating protective aggression. The broken back door and scattered evidence of a break-in.
