The clanking of keys snaps my attention to the threat in the room. Although I'm not one hundred percent certain Riot isn't a threat. He seems to have some attitude issues.
"You're going to regret that." Oh,nowthe guard has some volume control. I'm not sure I prefer it if it means him coming closer.
My sass flies out the nonexistent window as his gut roiling scent reaches me. That's not the most concerning thing; his dirty hands also reach for me. More specifically, my shirt.
My canines feel the chill of the air as I hiss and growl. I know without a doubt that if he gets his hands on me my shirt is going and probably more. Riot's shouting, but I can't hear him over the roaring of my blood in my ears and the sounds coming from my throat.
Words don't come but my omega does. Fierce and feral, I snap my teeth this way and that, my skin burning each time he touches me. With my heart in my throat and terror making it hard to breathe, I shove my instincts forward and hope my claws, teeth, and lack of consent keep him away.
He comes at me like a predator, ripping through the fabric of my jeans at my calf as my legs kick out. No matter how far Iscramble away, he drags me back. A heavy slap across my cheek rings through the room, dazing me and making me want to scream.No, no, no!
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!"
That startles me.Why would Riot say that?
Doesn't matter because that split second distraction gives the beast an opening between my flailing arms. He tears my shirt from my torso. It burns as the fabric drags across my sensitive skin. A small cry rips from my throat, and my arms fly up to cover as much of me as I can.
To my utter horror, the guard drags my shirt up to his nose and obscenely inhales my scent. Then he spits on the bed. "Whore."
With that parting jab, he stomps out of my cell, taking the vase of flowers with him too. For some annoying reason,thatbrings tears to my eyes. Or maybe it's the adrenaline drop and trauma.
Or maybe it's all of it and I just wanted to smell the pretty flowers...
Twenty-One
Riot
What the actualfuckjust happened?The shock I felt when she didn't stand up to begin with has absolutely nothing on what I'm feeling now.
I've seen omegas fight off their attackers with fire and desperation. But this one? Fucking hell. I'm horrified and a little green. The way she looked at the guard, like she couldn't care less about his dominance and threat, was scary.
I found myselfhopinglike hell she would find some common sense and just do what the guy said. Shit, she's a tiny thing and should know she stands no chance against any alpha she comes across.
Watching her try to fight the guard off sent me into a tailspin of rage and terror like I've never known. I've seen many innocents hurt and fight for their lives. Never has my alpha roared and battered against the cages I use to keep him under wraps. I could easily become a beast with no moral compass for her...That's why I haven't said a damn word to the trembling omega for the past five minutes.
I must be in shock.
Fuck, I mean I just watched her get assaulted and I couldn't do anything to help. The tear through my heart and bleedingwound in my soul is completely unwelcome, but that was awful to witness.
The hissing and growling from her will haunt my dreams. I don't know what will upset me worse in my nightmares: the sounds she makes while fighting off an alpha or the dead look on her face right now.
Fuck it. "Hey, are you okay?"
Nothing. It's then I realize I've just been standing here for a long time staring at her. My lips twist with concern and uncertainty. I'd expect the little firefly to glare at me for staring, but she doesn't even glance at me.
"Dumb question," I murmur and sit on the ground.
It's a strategic move I've made many times in my life when trying to get a traumatized person to talk to me. I've just never been so perturbed by someone's silence.
Closing my eyes to block out the visual of her stress response, I shiver. Her pale, shaking body is etched into the back of my eyelids. Needing to check on her, I open my eyes and look her over again.
With her knees curled up to her chest and her chin resting on her knees, she doesn't blink. Just stares at the small puddle of saliva on the bed. I try not to stare at her body, but the simple black bra peeking between her arms makes me feel better. At least she has that.
Biting my lip, I try to think of something to help her. This whole situation is fucked up and I'm worried if I do something, I'll get her hurt.
"You could wrap a blanket around you," I suggest and cringe because it's weak as fuck. The silence continues as does the dead look in her gaze. "Can you talk to me please?" I grit out, but she doesn't even fucking twitch.
Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, ignoring her stressed scent, I work to hold my patience. She'sbeen through an awful amount of trauma since I've laid eyes on her. I don't even know her name.
