That’s the kind of promising hum any healthy, virile alpha gives when an omega in heat calls out.
Panic floods me.
Yes, I could fight them off, my power would take care of them easily, but they’re strangers. I don’t want to show them what I can do. The pressure and fear make my legs buckle, and I slam down on the floorboards, knees hitting with a sharp pain, I’m trembling like a leaf.
One alpha is old, probably in his seventies, huge and still imposing. His hair is steel-gray, cropped short. He must have been handsome once, and some people would still call him a sexy grandpa.
The other two are much younger. One looks my age or even a bit younger, black hair with a single red streak at the front. The other looks about twenty-three, with copper hair falling in artistic curls around a striking face and light copper eyes that lock onto me with fierce intensity.
In a second they’re right on top of me, their chests rumbling with ultra-low tones that beta ears can’t catch, promising top-tier sex.
Then something shifts. Their faces flush, and the sounds jump up into a range everybody could hear, a hostile growl.
It’s not aimed at me, duh! It’s aimed at each other. I realize what’s about to go down: a primal alpha fight over an omega in heat. These things tip fast between voluntary and involuntary, a scramble to claim what their bodies demand.
Then the unexpected happens. The only alpha who didn’t respond to my call, Bay, leaps between me and the three, blocking them with his arms held up like a dam.
"Back off, guys! He’s not yours to take!"
The old alpha pauses first, steadying himself; he most likely has more control, more life experience. But the two younger alphas are harder to stop. Their hormones are awake, strongly stimulated by my scent.
They surge toward Bay together. The next second I barely blink, and one of them is on the floor, the other bent over with his arm twisted behind his back in a move Bay nails with brutal effectiveness.
"I told you to back off!" Bay snaps, then shoves the black-haired alpha, who collapses.
"Veyron, Raven!" the older alpha calls, taking deep breaths, fighting his own instincts. Obviously, his age helps him keep a lid on it. "Stop! He’s Uncle Aiden’s guest. Control your fucking hormones!"
The two rise, growling low; their eyes flash red. If they could touch me right then, they’d be in full rut. But Bay stands between me and them like a wall of steel muscle.
"Alright, guys, enough!" Bay growls. "Back up. I’m handling this."
"You gonna keep him for yourself?" the copper-haired alpha spits.
"No, Veyron. I’m not keeping him," Bay says through his teeth. "I’m taking him to someone who can help."
"Do it, and hurry. The scent is getting stronger," the older alpha warns, stepping back. "You could have trouble soon, too."
"Don’t worry about it, Uncle Van. I got it covered."
Bay turns to me.
"Summer, follow me."
But I’m frozen, crushed by the whole scene. I curl on the floor, my hole clenching and spasming out of control, the wave hitting full force. I can’t move.
Bay sizes up the situation, then grabs my arm, hard and unsympathetic, and hauls me up.
His grip is like a steel vise. My skin stings under his hold, like touching nettles. I try to wriggle free, but he probably reads my resistance as a desire to stay, so he doesn’t let go. He drags me toward the patio door.
I hate the contact. It’s unwanted touch.
I try to use my power to push his fingers off by forcing air between my arm and his grip, but for the first time… nothing happens.
What the hell? My power is failing?
I try again, this time pushing a wave of air against his body. The papers on the coffee table flutter, and some drop to the floor, but Bay himself stands wrapped in something like a protective, yet invisible, bubble. Nothing touches him. A barrier holds.
I have no choice but to give in to his lead, whether I want to or not. He drags me behind him, shoves open the glass doors, and hauls me out onto the patio with a low, angry growl.
