A single swipe with his sharp blade.
Flesh parts and a wet, meaty thud hits the ground.
The Alpha’s severed hand lies twitching in the dirt, his wrist spraying jagged arcs of crimson as he howls in agony.
“W— why?” I stutter, unable to understand the senseless violence.
The Alpha yowls, staring down at his bloody stump.
Blaze turns his empty pale eyes to me. “He wanted to touch what’s ours. Now he gets to touch nothing at all.”
I spin, bend over the balcony, and heave.
“Not so grabby now, is he?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Halley
The General is pissed off.
A vein is pulsing at the side of his temple while he paces his office, ranting about how he doesn't need this headache on top of everything else he has to manage.
His fury is directed at my Prime Alpha.
“That was one of my finest soldiers, you know. A loyal, disciplined Alpha with years of service. And now? He’s useless for the next few days while he heals. You broke his arm, twice, and then stood by while your rabid dog sliced the man’s hand off. Good thing his hand can be reattached, but do you know how many hours it will take my only surgeon to stitch him together? Wasted resources.”
He huffs, his face red.
“It’s not just about him. It’s about the hole his absence leaves. One less able-bodied Alpha guarding this fortress. If we’re attacked, if orders need executing swiftly and without question,I need my soldiers focused and whole. I need them ready to defend.”
Knox grunts in response, his arms crossed and face impassive.
"So? Speak up. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Your soldiers need better discipline if they are threatening to assault an Omega," Knox replies, his eyes narrowed on the old Alpha. I can see the anger simmering below his calm demeanor.
"If you'd mated the Omega already, like I told you to, this wouldn't be a problem."
Knox growls, and I lay a hand on his arm, imploring him to calm down. He’s been vibrating with restrained rage since the incident, and I worry he’ll snap.
His muscles loosen slightly beneath my touch, and he shifts back into the resting parade stance the others have already assumed. He spreads his feet shoulder-width apart and clasps his hands behind his lower back. Whether it's an unshakeable habit of decades of military training or a deliberate display of discipline, it’s hard to say. What it is not, however, is a gesture of respect for General Stone.
“It’s only been a few weeks. We’re not ready,” I say, my voice quiet. I clear my throat, pushing more strength into it. “I’m not ready. We’ve agreed to form a Pack, but we need time to build the bond.”
“You’ve had plenty of time,” the General snaps. His expression is unreadable. “It’s not that complicated. Bite her mating gland—”
“You don’t talk about her like that,” Knox says coldly.
General Stone halts mid-stride and swallows thickly.
The unspoken threat in Knox’s words rings through the room. Any lingering doubt about whether Knox wants me is gone. Burned away by that fierce, possessive display on the balcony.
It forces a truth to the surface, one I should have faced long ago.
Knox is exactly who he is.
Territorial. Possessive. Aggressive. Mercurial.
