Page 6 of Storm
"I'm not facing you," I snap. "I'm getting him out."
A small smile plays at the corner of Reed's mouth. "If that's what you think you're doing."
Behind me, Rook tenses, his arm tightening around my waist. "Back off, Howard."
The crowd has gone oddly quiet, the usual rowdy atmosphere replaced with a tense anticipation. I'm acutely aware of how many alphas are watching us, their eyes tracking every movement like predators sizing up prey.
"The little beta has more courage than you, Holloway," Reed says, his voice carrying just enough for those closest to hear. "Shame about the company she keeps."
I feel Rook's muscles bunch beneath my hand, ready to launch himself at Reed despite his injuries. I dig my fingers into his arm, silently begging him to stand down.
"Let's go," I say to Rook, not taking my eyes off Reed. "He's not worth it."
Jonathan steps closer to the edge of the ring, his green eyes cold and assessing. "You don't make the rules here,beta," he says, the word 'beta' dripping with disdain.
"I make my own rules," I say, not backing down even as Jonathan's green eyes narrow dangerously. "Always have."
The tension in the air thickens. Alphas and betas alike holding their breath. No one interrupts elite fights. No one challenges men like Reed Howard or Jonathan Kingsley. But they've never met someone like me.
Reed's gaze travels from my face down to where my hand grips Rook's arm, then back up again. Something shifts in his expression—amusement, maybe, or curiosity. It makes my skin crawl.
"Let them go," Reed says suddenly, his voice carrying through the now-silent venue.
Jonathan's head whips toward him. "What?"
"Let them go," Reed repeats, never taking his eyes off me. "The fight's over."
Reed Howard doesn't show mercy. Reed Howard doesn't walk away from a fight unfinished. Everyone knows this.
"The beta girl clearly has more fight in her than her alpha," Reed adds, his voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear. A calculated insult that makes Rook's body tense against mine. "Maybe next time she should be the one in the ring."
I tighten my grip on Rook, feeling his muscles coil with rage. "Don't," I whisper against his ear. "He's baiting you."
Rook doesn’t listen. He lunges towards Reed, who takes a step back as Rook falls to the floor with a loud thump.
The crowd erupts in laughter. The sound cuts through me like glass. Rook struggles to push himself up, his arms trembling with the effort. The humiliation radiating from him is worse than any physical pain.
I drop to my knees beside him, ignoring the jeers and taunts from the crowd. "Let me help you," I whisper, sliding my arm around his waist.
"Storm," he growls, but there's no strength behind it. His dark eyes, usually so full of fire, are glazed with pain, and something else—shame.
Reed stands over us, his shadow falling across Rook's broken form. I look up, expecting mockery, but his expression is unreadable. Those stormy blue eyes seem to see right through me as his scent surrounds me. He smells like saltwater in the wind, like a dark, violent ocean.
I see red. Rolling up the sleeves of the hoodie to my elbows, I’m ready to fight him.
“Fuck you.” I stand up and shove him. My hands pressing against the smooth sweat coated skin of his abs, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, I hurt from that.Mother fucker.
Reed's lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Careful, Little Beta," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "You're in a room full of alphas who'd love to watch me put you in your place."
I feel the weight of dozens of eyes on me, the heavy scent of alpha pheromones thickening the air. But I don't back down.
"I'd like to see you try," I spit, even as my heart hammers against my ribs.
Jonathan Kingsley moves closer to stand beside his pack mate, his tall frame blocking some of the harsh lights overhead. Up close, he's even more intimidating—all sharp angles and cold calculation in those piercing green eyes.
As I take a deep breath, the scent of smoky black pepper fills my nostrils. It's intoxicating yet suffocating. Matches his personality.
"What's your name?" he asks, his gaze sharp and assessing as it sweeps over me.
