I've climbed worse things.
My hands grip the cold metal railing as I start my descent, moving as quickly and quietly as I can. The sounds of the fight grow louder as I pass the third-story windows. A flash of movement through a broken window—the same one Wraith must have gone through—catches my eye, and I pause, peering through the shattered glass.
What I see makes my blood run cold.
The living room inside is a war zone. A coffee table lies shattered in the center of the room. A bookshelf has been toppled, its contents scattered across the hardwood floor. And in the middle of it all, four massive alphas locked in combat.
Blood trickles from the scar over Wraith's eye as he faces off against the other three—Thane, Whiskey, and Plague—who have formed a loose semicircle around him.
They're not fighting him all at once. There seems to be some unspoken rule to their combat, some line they won't cross despite the violence. One-on-one, taking turns. Like they're trying to subdue him, not hurt him.
Or they're just trying to survive.
As I watch, Whiskey lunges forward, trying to grapple Wraith around the waist. Wraith sidesteps with surprising agility for someone his size, using Whiskey's momentum to send him crashing into a wall.
"For fuck's sake!" Whiskey yells, already pushing himself away from the wall. "We just want to talk to her! You can't keep her from us!"
Wraith's response is a low, threatening snarl that raises the hair on the back of my neck even through the glass.
"This is completely unnecessary," Plague says, his voice calmer than the others despite the situation. "We can resolve this without destroying the entire pack house."
Wraith's response is to lunge at Plague. Plague ducks and Wraith's fist goes clear through the wall right where Plague's head just was.
I should keep going. Get as far away from here as possible. Text Wraith when I'm safe, figure out where I should go from there. But as I watch the four of them circling each other like wolves, something shifts inside me. A realization that hits with startling clarity.
They're fighting over me.
Not just Wraith protecting me, but all of them wanting to... what? Claim me? Meet me? The words Whiskey started to say before I clocked him with the hockey stick echo in my mind.
They're my scent matches.
The whole pack.
I look down at the ground, still two stories below. Freedom. Anonymity. Everything I've wanted for these past months.
Then I look back through the broken window at the chaos unfolding inside. At Wraith, fighting to protect me from his own pack. From his family.
Maybe he told them about me. Maybe he didn’t. But I can’t just leave him behind. Not just because my omega instincts that have inexplicably wrapped themselves around him are begging me to intervene, either. I’m genuinely attached to this alpha in a way that goes beyond whatever biological draw exists.
"Fuck," I mutter, already knowing what I'm going to do even though another part of me just wants to run like hell.
Here goes nothing.
I take a deep breath, steel myself, and drop through the window into the chaos of the pack house living room. An airborne glass lamp nearly takes me out the moment my feet hit the carpet. It shatters on the wall inches from my head.
"Hey!" I shout, but the snarls and yells drown me out. They're too caught up in their alpha bullshit to notice me. Fine. If shouting won't work, I'll try something else.
I move toward them, careful to stay out of the direct line of fire. Wraith's back is to me, his focus entirely on the three alphas in front of him. I reach out, my hand hovering for just a moment before I place it gently on his huge arm.
Wraith whirls around with a feral snarl, his arm swinging out in an instinctive defensive move that would have sent me flying across the room if he hadn't frozen the instant his eyes lockedwith mine. The snarl dies in his throat, replaced by a strangled sound of shock and horror at nearly striking me.
The sudden stillness that falls over him catches the attention of the other alphas. The fighting stops as abruptly as if someone hit a pause button.
"Holy shit," Whiskey breathes, his honey-brown eyes wide as they fix on me. "It's her."
Wraith shifts, positioning himself between me and the other alphas. His massive body forms a living shield, his stance protective but no longer aggressive. I can practically taste the tension radiating from him, the way his muscles are rock hard beneath my hand that still rests on his arm.
"It's okay," I say softly, just for him. "I can handle this."
