Page 23 of My Freshman Mate
"Wes, please. Let's just go."
I don't look at him. I can't. If I see his face right now, see the terror Nash put there, I'll actually kill him. And Braiden doesn't need to see this side of me. The animal. The monster that lives under my skin, the one that's been pacing and waiting for a reason to come out.
"Security's coming," one of Nash's cronies warns, his eyes darting toward the end of the stacks where footsteps are getting louder.
I release Nash's throat with a vicious shove that sends him stumbling back into the shelves again. Books rain down around him, a small avalanche of legal texts. He rights himself, straightening his shirt with an exaggerated care. I want to rip it right off his body.
Nash straightens his shirt, a deliberate motion of calm that makes me want to rip it off his body. "This isn't over, Chambers." His voice is rough from my grip, but the infuriating calm is back.
"You're goddamn right it's not."
Two campus security guards round the corner, out of breath and wide-eyed. "What's going on here?" the taller one demands, his gaze sweeping over the scene—the fallen books, the angry red marks on Nash's throat, my bleeding knuckles.
Nash flashes a charming smile that makes me want to knock his teeth down his throat. "Just a misunderstanding. Old rivals catching up."
"He was assaulting my omega," I spit out, my body still coiled tight, ready to spring at him again.
The guards exchange a look. It's the kind of look that says they've seen this a thousand times. Alpha pissing contests. One of them steps between Nash and me, a human barrier that does nothing to diminish the rage still boiling in my blood.
"We're going to need all of you to come with us." The guard's voice leaves no room for argument.
Nash dusts a piece of lint off his shoulder, the picture of wounded innocence. "Of course, officer. Happy to clear this up." He dabs at his nose, and I notice with grim satisfaction that it's bleeding. I must have caught him when I first grabbed him. Good.
The security guard reaches for my arm, and I jerk away, a warning vibration starting deep in my chest. "Don't touch me," I snap. "I'm taking my mate home."
The guard's hand moves to the radio on his belt. "Sir, I need you to calm down and come with us."
Another guard appears, and suddenly there are three of them, all focused on me. On me. Like I'm the threat. Like I'm the one who cornered someone else's mate in a deserted corner of the library. The predator.
Two of them grab my arms, their grips firm, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to throw them off. The only thing stopping me is Braiden's face—pale, terrified, his eyes huge and dark in his white face. He looks like he's about to shatter.
"He's the victim here," I grit out as the third guard takes a step toward Braiden. "Ask him what happened."
"Just taking statements, sir," the guard says, but he wisely keeps his distance from my omega.
Nash is already being escorted down the aisle, flanked by his friends. He turns back, catching my eye over the guard's shoulder. He touches his bloody nose, then smiles, a cold, calculating twist of his lips.
"See you on the field, Chambers," he calls, the taunt a clear, ringing threat.
The guards tighten their grip, bracing for me to lunge. But Nash's words cut through my rage like ice water. This isn't over. He's not done. And he knows exactly where to hit me where it hurts.
The field.
My future. My career. Everything I've worked for.
But as I look at Braiden, still shaking, still reeking of another alpha's touch, I realize none of it matters. Not a single fucking bit of it. Not compared to him.
"I'm taking him home," I tell the guards, forcing my voice into something that sounds almost reasonable. "He needs me right now."
"We still need statements—"
"Later," I cut him off. "You can find us at my apartment. But right now, my mate needs me."
Something in my tone—or maybe the pure murder in my eyes—makes the guard step back. He nods once, reluctantly. "We'll be by in an hour. And don't leave campus."
The moment they release my arms, I'm moving. Not toward Nash—though every cell in my body screams to finish what I started—but to Braiden. I grab his arm, my grip firm but not rough, anchoring him to me. His skin is ice-cold under my touch.
"We're leaving." The words are clipped, hard-edged.
