Page 64 of Nesting With My Three Alphas
"Get out," Micah said quietly, but his voice carried a weight of authority I'd rarely heard from my gentle friend. "Now. Before this gets worse."
Marcus spun toward the new threat, knife raised, and I saw something shift in Micah's expression. The gentle baker who fed half the town disappeared, replaced by something primitive and absolutely lethal.
Pack omega in danger. It was one of the few things that could turn Micah from caregiver to warrior in the space of a heartbeat.
"Two on one isn't fair," Marcus said, but his voice shook with the first hint of real fear he'd shown.
"You're right," Micah agreed, moving with fluid grace to flank Marcus while I held my position. "It's not fair to you. But you broke into our home, threatened our omega, brought a weapon into our territory. Fair stopped being relevant the moment you decided to escalate."
The coordination between us was seamless: years of friendship and now pack bonds making communication unnecessary. Micah moved left while I moved right, cutting offMarcus's escape routes with the kind of tactical precision that came from shared purpose.
"Last chance," I said, my voice carrying absolute finality. "Drop the knife and leave. Walk away, and we'll let the law handle this. Keep pushing, and we handle it ourselves."
Marcus looked between us, calculation flickering behind his desperate rage. Two determined alphas defending their mate versus one obsessed stalker with a kitchen knife. Even in his unhinged state, he could do the math.
But obsession rarely listened to logic.
Marcus lunged at Micah, apparently deciding the baker looked like the easier target. It was the last mistake he would make as a free man.
Micah moved like water, sidestepping the clumsy attack and using Marcus's momentum against him. The knife went flying as Micah's hand connected with Marcus's wrist in a strike that was precise, controlled, and devastating.
I was on Marcus before he hit the ground, my hands fisting in his expensive shirt as I hauled him upright and slammed him against the kitchen counter with enough force to rattle dishes.
"You came into my home," I said, my voice deadly quiet. "You threatened my family. You brought a weapon to use against a defenseless omega in heat."
"She's not defenseless," Marcus gasped, blood trickling from his nose where it had connected with the counter. "And she's mine. I have papers, legal claim..."
"You have nothing," Micah said, pulling out his phone to call 911. "Sheriff Rowe is going to be very interested in your little break-in. Assault with a weapon, attempted kidnapping, violating a restraining order."
"Plus whatever was in that syringe," I added, nodding toward where the injector had fallen. "Possession of controlled substances, intent to commit assault with a chemical weapon."
Marcus's face went white as he realized how thoroughly he'd destroyed his position. "You don't understand. I love her. Everything I did was for her own good."
"Love doesn't break down doors," Micah said simply. "Love doesn't bring syringes and knives. Love doesn't try to force someone into submission."
The sound of sirens in the distance made Marcus struggle against my hold with renewed desperation.
"This isn't over," he snarled. "I'll find a way. I'll get her back."
"No," I said with absolute certainty. "You won't. Because Kit isn't the same woman who left Chicago. She's found her strength, her pack, her real family. And we will do whatever it takes to protect what's ours."
Sheriff Rowe arrived with two deputies, taking in the scene with the kind of grim satisfaction that suggested he'd been hoping for exactly this opportunity.
"Marcus Blackwood," Sheriff Rowe said, producing handcuffs with obvious pleasure. "You're under arrest for breaking and entering, assault with a weapon, possession of controlled substances, and violation of a restraining order."
As they led Marcus away, as his threats and protests faded into the distance, I finally allowed myself to breathe. The immediate threat was over. Kit was safe.
But she was still upstairs, alone and frightened during the most vulnerable time of her cycle.
"Go to her," Micah said quietly, reading my thoughts. "I'll handle the cleanup and paperwork."
"Are you sure?"
"Jonah." Micah's smile was gentle but firm. "Our omega needs her pack alpha. Everything else can wait."
I took the stairs three at a time, my heart racing with the need to see Kit, to confirm with my own eyes that she was safe and unharmed. The door was locked. She'd obeyed, not out of fear,but because she trusted me to handle the threat. That trust was sacred. I could hear soft crying from the other side.
"Kit, sweetheart, it's me," I called softly. "It's over. You're safe."
