Page 127 of Knot Their Soldier: Part Three

"Knox needs Omega Specialist Sparks but not at the expense of Halley."

She stops fighting. "I was handling it."

"I know you were."

I do. I know she had it handled because she's a strong and capable Omega, but she's not alone. She has four mates who can help bear the mounting load being piled on her shoulders.

I carry her past two soldiers who take one look at my face, then at the furious Omega over my shoulder, and suddenly find the opposite wall fascinating.

Halley exhales against my back.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Training room."

"Why?"

I turn down the next corridor, already feeling justified in my decision to extract her from that awful meeting. The bond is settling by the minute.

"Because," I tell her. "You need to hit something."

Halley doesn't respond, just props herself upright using her elbows on my back, and huffs. I can almost picture the pout on her pretty lips.

I shoulder the training room door open, step inside, and kick it shut behind me. It's empty at this hour because everyone with any sense is either sleeping, eating, or arguing over maps.

The air smells of old sweat, leather grips, and the faint metallic tang of weights. Mats cover the center of the floor. Practice weapons line one wall. A row of sandbags hangs from reinforced beams, motionless and waiting for cooped-up soldiers to work out their frustrations.

I carry Halley to the middle of the mat and set her down on her feet.

She shoves my chest the instant I release her. "You are unbelievable."

"I’ve heard that."

"You hauled me out of a war council."

"I did."

"In front of Knox."

"Yes."

"In front of every Prime Alpha currently looking for a reason to question us."

I roll my shoulders and step back. "Also true."

Her eyes narrow until they’re little purple slits of fury. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Hit me."

Her mouth parts, then snaps shut.

The bond flares with fresh irritation. Good. That anger feels much more like Halley than the Omega Specialist Sparks holding inside all of that corrosive tension.

"I’m not sparring with you just because you decided to be an overgrown menace."

"Then don’t spar."

I pull off my boots because they might hurt her, and I already know I won’t fight her the way I used to. Everlyn’s test is still days away, and there might not be a baby in her belly, but I can’t stop thinking about the other possibility. I won’t kick near her stomach or throw her hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. She can hit me, shove me, bruise me, and win if she earns it, but nothing I do is going to hurt her.