"He's HERE!" Wyatt roars. "In our fucking house! He just broke in through the bathroom window and if you don't get here in the next sixty seconds, Hunter is going to kill him and you'll be writing a very different report!"
I hear the officer swear and then he starts shouting to his partner, before a siren starts up through the phone.
That's when Vincent steps out of the bathroom hallway.
Terror floods through me, cutting through the heat haze like ice water. He found us.
He's disheveled, wild-eyed, his police uniform dirty like he's been sleeping in his car. His badge is still on his chest but it's crooked, his hair is a mess, and there's something unhinged in his expression that makes my blood run cold.
"Amelia," he says, his voice rough. "I knew you'd be here. After catching a whiff of your scent, I knew they'd have you locked away during your heat. I watched them bring you back here and all I had to do was wait. But you're mine. You've always been mine. And I'm taking you back."
Hunter moves fast, faster than I've ever seen anyone move, putting himself between Vincent and us. The knife in his hand gleams under the kitchen lights. "You need to leave," he says, his voice pitched low and dangerous. "Right now. Before I make you leave."
"You think I'm afraid of you?" Vincent laughs, but it's an ugly sound, edged with madness. "You think some washed-up soldier and his pathetic pack can keep me from what's mine?"
A loud growl rumbles from Hunter's chest, the sound more animal than human, every protective instinct in overdrive.
Silas's partial knot locks suddenly inside me as fear spikes through both of us. Even though his knot wasn't fully formed when the danger appeared, the adrenaline and terror make it swell and lock anyway. I whimper, caught between fear and thephysical sensation, my body not understanding the difference between types of adrenaline.
"We need to move," Silas says urgently against my ear. His knot is already starting to recede rapidly, our combined terror overriding the normal biology. "Can you hold onto me for just a second?"
I nod, wrapping my arms and legs around him as tightly as I can. He pulls out and the moment we're separated, he lifts me and runs into the bathroom just off the kitchen. Silas gets us in there and slams the door shut behind us, fumbling with the lock while still supporting my weight with one arm.
Through the door, I hear Vincent lunge at Hunter. The sound of bodies hitting the floor, grunts of pain and effort, Hunter roaring with primal rage. Then Wyatt's voice joining the fray, both Alphas fighting to keep Vincent away from us.
The sounds of the struggle are awful. Furniture being dragged across the floor, glass shattering, and Vincent screaming obscenities about how I belong to him, how he'll kill anyone who tries to keep us apart.
Silas sets me down on the closed toilet lid, his hands cupping my face, forcing me to look at him instead of the door. "You're safe," he says firmly. "You're safe, sweetheart. Vincent isn't getting anywhere near you. Hunter and Wyatt won't let him. And I've got you right here. You're okay."
But I'm not okay. I'm trembling so violently I feel like I might shake apart, my breath coming in sharp gasps that can't seem to bring in enough air. The heat symptoms are still there, making my skin feel too hot, my body still wanting my Alphas despite the terror. It's confusing and horrible and all wrong.
"Breathe with me," Silas says, his voice steady despite the fact that I can hear his heart racing. "In for four, hold for four, out for four. Come on, sweetheart. Follow my breathing."
He exaggerates his breaths, making them loud enough for me to follow even through my panic. I try to match him, gasping in air and holding it, then pushing it out in a shaky exhale. It takes several cycles before my breathing starts to regulate, before the black spots in my vision recede.
From outside the bathroom, the sounds of struggle continue. Crashes and shouts and Hunter's voice, still snarling threats. Silas leans over to the sink and switches on the water before lifting me into his arms and moving toward the tub before stepping inside. Seconds later, I find myself curled up against his chest, his purr rumbling through my body.
"Don't let me go," I plead, my fingers digging into his arms, the sounds outside the bathroom now muffled by the running water.
"Never," he promises. "I will never let you go."
I scrunch my eyes closed, trying to block out everything else as I continue to cling to Silas, afraid that if I let go he'll disappear and I'll wake up alone with Vincent standing over me.
Wyatt
I'm covered in Vincent's blood, splattered across my chest and arms from when Hunter went at him with the kitchen knife. It took both of us to subdue him; Hunter slashing with the blade while I tackled him to the ground, both of us fighting with the desperate fury of Alphas protecting our Omega during her heat.
My hands are shaking with leftover adrenaline, my heart still pounding hard enough that I can feel it in my throat. Hunter looks absolutely murderous standing over Vincent's prone form in the living room, his chest heaving with barely controlled rage.
We managed to tie Vincent up with whatever we could grab—extension cords, zip ties from the junk drawer, even a belt. He's secured to one of the heavy dining chairs we dragged into the living room, his hands bound behind his back, ankles lashed to the chair legs. Blood is streaming from the knife wounds Hunter inflicted, nothing fatal but enough to make him think twice about moving.
Vincent is still spewing curses, screaming about his rights and how we can't do this to him and how Amelia belongs to him. Each word makes Hunter's expression darker, more dangerous, until I'm genuinely worried he's going to finish what he started.
Hunter's boot connects with Vincent's head in a vicious kick that snaps his neck back and finally shuts him up. Vincent slumps in the chair, conscious but dazed, blood trickling from his split lip to join the wounds on his arms and chest.
"Call the police, again. No, fuck, call the station," Hunter growls at me, his voice barely human. "Before I kill him."
I'm already pulling out my phone with blood-slicked fingers, dialing 911 first and then immediately calling Dylan. The police dispatcher is asking questions I can barely focus on answering—yes, there's an intruder, yes, he's been subdued, yes, send officers immediately, the address is—
