Ren’s lips quirk into a smile that immediately turns into a wince when it pulls the cut on her mouth. “I’m sure.” She presses up to her toes to bring her mouth closer to his ear, I lean in too, wanting to be a part of the conversation. “You can’t eviscerate your betrothed. I believe the queen would have a problem with that.”
Both of us jerk back. Staring at her wide eyed, which just makes her laugh. “Please, like it isn’t obvious.” She turns backaround, eyeing Isadora, before she digs into the front of her sports bra. “Also, I have this.”
And then she’s waving the blue flag right in the other omega’s face, cackling as she takes off at a limping run, heading back to our side of the field and our chest. Isadora curses, slapping a hand at her waist, as if that will make her flag reappear. It doesn’t.
Grinning, I spin and chase after my omega, watching the honey blond hair of hers stream behind her like a flag. Grieves is right behind me, both of us flanking Ren, protecting her back, keeping everyone else from getting too close.
Thayer and Forsythe must see it though, must realize that she’s got a flag, because they change directions, heading straight for us.
I frown when Ren stumbles. She manages to keep her feet under her, but she slows down, places her feet a little more cautiously.
At that rate, the alphas of the other team will catch her well before she reaches our chest and can bank our points.
Grieves and I exchange a look and then pick up speed.
I reach her before he can. A little squeal of surprise rends the air as I scoop her into my arms, my stride not slowing in the slightest. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Grieves shift his trajectory, heading toward Thayer and Forsythe, moving to head them off, willing to take a hit to keep them from getting their hands on Florence.
The omega in my arms makes a whining sound when I hear the bodies of my packmates collide, like thunder.
“They’re fine, Pix,” I pant to her, picking up my pace. The chest is right there. The time is ticking down. “Grieves will hold them off until we get that flag in the chest.”
And he does.
Or at least he does the best he can, but short of beating the shit out of our packmates on international television, I don’t think he’d be able to keep them away from Ren. They reach us just a handful of feet from our chest, blocking our path. I tighten my grip on Florence and try to dart around them, but Thayer’s there.
Grieves stalks up next to us, facing off against the prince, before he casts a look in my direction. I give a tight nod, and bend to murmur into Florence’s ear. “Gonna set you down and dive at Thayer. It’ll only distract him for a moment, so you move immediately. Get that flag into the chest and then run like fuck to protect your own. Got it, Pix?”
“Got it, pretty boy,” she whispers back.
“Good girl.” I grin at the delicate shudder that moves through her body and the flush that colors her cheeks that has nothing to do with the physical exertion and everything to do with our girl having a praise kink.
Florence wobbles when I set her on her feet and that more than anything has Thayer and Forsythe hesitating, gazes scanning her from head to toe. Registering the bruise forming on her cheek, the split lip.
“You’re hurt?” Thayer growls, eyes running over her.
Ren smiles and waves a hand in front of her like the way Isadora tackled her is nothing. “I fell. It's not a big deal, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t, you know make it worse by trying to steal my flag.”
Forsythe glares. “Youfell.”
I open my mouth to correct that statement, but Pixie flashes me a sharp look and my mouth snaps closed. I’ll tell them later.
“Yep.” She pops the ‘p’ in a way I know annoys Sythe. “You gonna manhandle an injured omega?” She asks, pure sass.
Forsythe scowls at her. “Of course not.”
“Hmm,” Florence takes one limping step forward and all four of us reach out like we want to help her, support her. I’m a breath away from scooping her into my arms again.
“Do you need medical?” Sythe asks.
A sharp shake of her head. “Nope.” Then she glances over her shoulder at me with a clear ‘what are you waiting for’ expression on her face.
Right. Our plan.
I don’t look at Grieves. I know he’ll move when I do and I don’t want to give the game away.
I lunge, hurtling straight toward Thayer. Forsythe grunts as Grieves makes contact with him. Florence darts between us, heading straight toward the chest. Thayer laughs, a low breathless chuckle as we grapple. He’s not really fighting me. Just making it look good for the cameras, as he and Forsythe let our omega get past them.
“Booyah, bitches,” Florence shrieks as she slams Isadora’s flag into the chest, and then she takes off sprinting away from us, that glorious blond hair of hers a banner streaming in her wake, her laughter ringing clear as a bell over the field.
