Page 3 of His Stolen Omega

Elm understood Sky spent more time with Shiloh because of this.

What he didn’t get was why he couldn’t be invited?

Forget this.

He’d suck it up and confront Kian head on. Tell him how he was really feeling, no matter how embarrassing it was.

Then—

Elm took a fist to the face, seemingly out of nowhere.

Another thing betas couldn’t do?

Sense or smell pheromones.

Which was probably how four guys managed to get the jump on him.

He glanced up, cursing as he rubbed at his jaw, and suddenly they were there, surrounding him on all sides.

“You Kian’s brother?” one of them asked gruffly, and Elm bristled.

“Who’s asking?”

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. One of the guys behind him grabbed onto his shoulder, spinning him violently, but this time Elm was better prepared.

He moved with the momentum, then delivered a hit of his own, followed by a knee to the stomach. As soon as the guy went down, Elm turned on the next, kicking first at his shin, then delivering a roundhouse kick that landed.

Later, he’d have to thank Kian for forcing him into those self defense classes.

Unfortunately, his arrogance only lasted so long.

Elm felt something sharp prick the side of his neck, spun on his heels to find someone behind him holding a needle. He stumbled, then lost feeling in his legs and collapsed entirely.

The last thing he saw before his vision went out was the vibrant blue sky above.

Chapter 1:

The meeting spot was some rundown warehouse in the marine district. The sky was inky black, no sign of stars or the moon, and a heavy snowfall had begun on their way here.

It was cold enough that ice and frost had formed around the hulls of the boats at the dock, the ocean eerily and unusually quiet, allowing for the soft footfalls of their boots to be heard as they made their way across the parking lot. The storm wouldn’t stop anytime soon, which meant they’d need to hurry this along.

The Leviathan had no interest in getting stuck on the road.

He’d kept his entourage intimate, his second in command and underboss, Baal, on his left, and his third, Koah, on his right. There were a handful of soldiers left to linger by the three hovercars they’d driven in, given strict instructions not to interfere unless summoned.

Expecting a trap, Levi had accepted Koah’s “necessary precautions” by bringing them along, but he doubted very much they would be called upon.

If he, as the Dominus of the White Frost mafia, couldn’t handle a few delinquent fools, he was unworthy of the title he bore.

Levi was many things.

Unworthy wasn’t one of them.

The wooden double doors creaked at their approach, opening from the inside. He didn’t slow, keeping his posture straight and his expression blank as the inside of the warehouse was slowly revealed to them.

The space, an old fishery that was still in commission, smelled like brine and guts, metal tables set up in rows at either side of the room. The various tools typically used for preparing the catch had been left where the workers had placed them, a risky move that only bolstered the fact that idiots were running this circus.

The center had been cleared, a large, square red carpet set out, maybe to add a pop of color, possibly to give the illusion of some class where there was none to be had. Two leather armchairs were positioned, one facing the door, the other with its back to it. There was at least fifteen feet between them, a decent distance.