Page 28 of Sweet Omega
“You could’ve gone easy on me,” Maxus muttered, though his tone carried more pride than complaint.
“What good would that have done?” Deltta shot back with a smirk, clapping Tarymn hard on the shoulder. “It’s your turn.”
Tarymn exhaled heavily as he got to his feet and pulled his long shirt over his head in one motion, the cool air grazing his skin as he strode toward the cage.
“Aren’t you going to change first?” Maxus called after him.
“This’ll only take a second,” Tarymn said as he stepped through the gate.
His opponent followed. The moment Tarymn turned and locked eyes on him, his body stilled.
Gyry.
Of all the opponents, it had to be him. The matchups were randomly assigned by their scheduling system, but this felt too pointed, like fate was testing him. He had to fucking keep his cool, but after what he'd heard, he wasn’t sure he could.
A bitter taste coated Tarymn’s tongue as anger and disgust coiled hot in his chest. He should call it off, walk away before the storm inside him broke free.
“Hope you’re ready to eat the mat,” the hulking alpha sneered, rolling his thick neck as he took his corner. The alpha’s words sent something feral ripping through Tarymn’s chest, something he usually chained deep down. But not this time. He let it prowl free beneath his skin.
The alpha sentinel barely gave the signal before Tarymn moved. He lunged, a blur of muscle and fury, colliding with Gyry so fast the other alpha let out a strangled grunt of shock.
“Fuck,” Gyry gasped, terror bleeding into his voice.
Tarymn drank it in. The scent of fear flooded his senses. The predator inside him purred, clawing for more. The crowd’s noise faded to nothing; the world narrowed to Gyry’s body beneath his hands. He slammed the larger alpha into the mat with bone-jarring force, then wrapped his arms around Gyry’s neck, tightening until air wheezed out of him.
“He’s going to fucking kill him!” someone shouted from outside the cage.
Tarymn didn’t care. His vision turned red as Gyry thrashed weakly.
Then…impact.
Strong arms locked around his shoulders, trying to rip him off Gyry. Tarymn snarled, thrashing, and drove his elbow back into a solid body.
“Fuck, Tarymn, calm the hell down. It’s me!” Wulfric barked in his ear, straining with effort.
Another pair of arms closed around him with brute force.
Deltta.
Tarymn dragged in a breath, shaking his head as if he could rattle loose the murderous wrath still clawing at his insides. He gritted his teeth, forcing it back into its cage. “I’m fine… I’m fine…” he rasped.
Wulfric slowly let him go. On the mat, Gyry lay flat on his back, chest heaving, gasping for air.
Fuck.
Tarymn turned sharply and stepped out of the cage, every muscle screaming to run. He could feel every eye on him. Shock and fear stinking up the air as the alphas followed his every move.
This. This was what he hated most. The looks that painted him a monster, a ticking bomb they all feared. He’d fought for years to keep control, to never let them see this side of him. And now… he’d failed.
Jaw tight, he rushed down the aisle, desperate to get away. The double doors loomed ahead, and he pushed through them barely noticing the holo-images of past fighters hung on the walls as his chest burned, bile rising hot and acrid his throat. By the time he stumbled into Wulfric’s dressing room, he was shaking.
He barely made it to the basin before he was retching up nothing. He gripped the sink until his knuckles went white, teeth clenched.
“Fuck,” Wulfric’s voice came from behind, edged with worry. “Are you okay, man?”
Tarymn splashed cold water on his face, forcing himself to calm down, to wear the mask of control everyone knew. He reached blindly for the drying cloth. Wulfric pressed it into his hand without hesitation.
“Thanks,” Tarymn muttered, drying his face.
