“Remove your hand from her.” Kade's voice was soft, almost conversational, but something in it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It was the kind of softness that preceded violence, the silent moment before something broke. I'd heard that tone before. Granted, it had been a different voice, a different Alpha, but the same underlying threat.
Vanessa's hand released my wrist immediately, dropping away like my skin had burned her.
“This is a public sidewalk,” Vanessa said, and I had to admire her courage or stupidity; I wasn't sure which. She didn't back away, didn't show the kind of fear his presence demanded. “I was simply making a business proposition.”
Kade took a step closer to her, and I watched it happen from behind him. Watched his weight shift, the precise placement of his feet, the way his hands stayed loose at his sides but somehow ready. Everything about his posture screamed danger in a language my body read fluently.
“A proposition,” he repeated, and something in how he said the word made it sound obscene. “Is that what you call cornering someone who's clearly in distress?”
“I didn't corner—”
“You grabbed her.” His voice dropped lower, barely audible, but I caught every word because I was standing close enough to feel the tension radiating from his body. “You put your hands on her without permission. On someone under my protection. In my territory.”
Territory. The word settled over me like ice water. That's what I was to him, what I'd always be. Not a person making choices, but property to be protected from other predators.
Kade moved even closer to Vanessa, and now he was speaking too quietly for me to hear most of it. I caught fragments, single words that drifted back to me through the morning air: “lawsuit,” “consequences.” And then, quieter still, something about pack and disappearances that made Vanessa's face go pale beneath her makeup.
I stared at his back, at the way his shoulders held that perfect stillness. The kind of stillness that came before fists, before pain. I'd seen Bane stand exactly like this, had watched him go completely motionless right before he'd struck, like all his energy was being contained and compressed until it had nowhere to go but out.
My breathing hadn't slowed. If anything, it had gotten worse, faster, more desperate. The street continued to spin around me, and Kade's broad back seemed to fill my entire field of vision,blocking out everything else, making the world narrow to just him and the threat he represented.
He was protecting me. I knew that. But my body didn't care about logic, didn't care about intentions. It only registered the controlled violence in his stance, the predatory way he'd positioned himself, the softness in his voice that promised consequences.
Other pedestrians were giving us a wide berth now. I noticed the way people altered their paths to avoid coming too close, the way they glanced over and then quickly looked away. There was a bubble of danger around Kade, an invisible radius that warned others to stay back.
I'd created the same bubble once, when I'd been with my old pack. Other Omegas had avoided me on the street, had crossed to the other side, had recognized the scent of Alpha violence that clung to me like perfume.
Vanessa was backing away now, her heels clicking rapidly against the concrete. “This isn't over,” she said, but the confidence had drained from her voice, replaced by something that might have been fear. “Apex doesn't forget business opportunities.”
“Neither do I,” Kade said, and it sounded like a promise.
She turned and hurried down the sidewalk; her form disappearing around the corner within seconds. The business card lay on the ground where it had fallen, cream-colored against gray concrete, already beginning to curl at the edges from the morning dampness.
Kade stood there for another moment, still in that controlled stance, and then his shoulders relaxed. Just slightly, just enough to signal the immediate threat had passed. When he turned to face me, his expression had completely changed.
The cold calculation was gone, replaced by a concern that softened his features and made his brown eyes warmer. Helooked at my face, tracked down to where I had my hand pressed against my chest, my breathing still too fast, still too shallow.
“Jasmine,” he said, and his voice had gentled completely, with no trace of the threat from moments before. “Are you alright?”
But all I could see was the way he'd positioned himself, the way he'd moved, the controlled violence in every line of his body. All I could hear was that soft, dangerous voice making threats about consequences and territory and pack.
All I could remember was standing exactly like this before, watching an Alpha defend his property, watching him establish dominance and control, watching him demonstrate power over anyone who dared challenge his claim.
My chest was too tight. The air wouldn't come. The street spun faster, buildings tilting at impossible angles, and Kade's face blurred in front of me.
“Jasmine—” He reached for me, his hand extending.
I was already backing away, my feet stumbling over themselves in my haste to put distance between us. My hip hit something—a parking meter or a bench, I couldn't tell—and pain shot through my side, but I barely registered it.
“Stay back,” I whispered, or maybe I just thought it. I couldn't tell anymore, couldn't distinguish between thoughts and words, between past and present, between protection and possession.
Kade's hand dropped, confusion and hurt flickering across his face. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
But Bane had said the same thing. Right before. Always right before.
I turned and ran.
My feet hit the pavement in an uneven rhythm, my still-healing ankle protesting with each impact, but I couldn't stop. The revolving door was suddenly in front of me, and I pushedthrough it, the circular momentum carrying me into the lobby in a dizzy rush.
