“I know. He’s a very bad alpha. It’s against the law to do what he just did, and we’re going to make sure he can’t do it again.”
Later I would learn that people call men like that ‘feral alphas’ to distance themselves from just how common encounters like that are for unbonded omegas. And since my mother loved a beta, she would remain forever unbonded, forever vulnerable.
But what stuck with me more than anything else, the words that carved themselves into my soul, that echoed in my mind forever after, were spoken in my mother’s trembling, fear-filled voice.
“This is why I didn’t want to come to the city, Mylo. I hope you had fun tonight. Because we’re never leaving home again.”
I should’ve beggedChristine to bite me. Should’ve known that as soon as I felt that first heat, my life was over, in one way or another.
At least then I could’ve been with her.
And not this cruel stranger.
I tremble, eyes closing as the alpha’s flexing claws dig gashes in my chest.
Here I am, about to accept my fate silently and without struggle, like the pathetic omega I’ve always been.
A menacing snarl echoes across the rooftop, and I wince—but it’s not coming from the alpha in front of me.
“Get your fucking hands off him!”
There’s a thud, and the claws are gone.
I open my eyes to see the alpha flat on the roof—pinned by Christine. She’s half-shifted, even taller than usual, pointed ears twisting back and fangs glinting in the low light.
The alpha recovers from his shock and throws Christine off, sending her rolling.
She uses the momentum to drop into a ready stance, springing back to her feet.
He slashes at her with claws still dripping with my blood, and she dodges the clumsy blow, hooking a knee into his stomach. As the alpha coughs and doubles over, her elbow cracks down on his spine, sending him to his knees.
That move would put even the best beta fighter down for the count. But alphas are built different. He moves to push upright, but Christine aims a wicked kick at his head, and he only barely manages to get his hands up in time.
He’s faster than he has any right to be for his size, and he sweeps around a leg that I’m sure will send Christine to the ground.
But she jumps nimbly over it, landing another kick in the ditch of his knee, and in the fraction of hesitation as his body processes the pain, another cracks along his spine. He rolls and rights himself, only to catch a right hook to the jaw and a kick to the ribs that sends the sound of cracking bones echoing across the rooftop.
From there, he’s totally on the defensive.
Christine pummels him mercilessly until he’s a moaning heap on the ground—and then some more.
She doesn’t stop until his breath does.
And then she turns to me, eyes wide with concern. Blood splatters her pale shirt and face, and the wind sends her hair streaming into the night, a glowing beacon.
My rescuer.
My dark angel.
My alpha.
She rushes toward me, and a sob escapes my frozen chest as her arms fold around me.
“I’ve got you, Mylo. I’ve got you. It’s alright now.”
I shake and cry against her as time seems to blur.
This time, there’s no,you should have known, only, “You’re safe now.” No,this is all your fault, only, “I’m so sorry.”
