For four damn years Shiloh had been made to suffer through the distress of longing and uncertainty.
His alpha could last five minutes.
“Arlo!” the redhead finally answered.
To reward him, Shiloh altered the intent of his pheromones, switching easily from aggressive to seductive ones. It didn’t take much prompting before he felt a bulge appear between the alpha’s legs, pressing against the back of Shiloh’s ass.
“You aren’t the one I want,” he leaned in and whispered against the curve of Arlo’s ear, smirking when he heard Sarang call for him again, this time out of clear envy.
There was no way of knowing whether or not Sarang’s possessiveness stemmed from the effects of Shiloh’s pheromones, or out of a true desire for him, though.
Arlo got a burst of strength from the sudden lust calling to his alpha nature, and in one swift move, he’d rolled them, pinning Shiloh beneath him instead. He ground his hips down, rubbing his cock against him, his vision already cloudy. It was likely he’d been close to his rut, because his reaction was a bit too dazed and feral.
Dangerous.
Shiloh was more skilled at combat than Arlo, but he wasn’t physically stronger. Now that he was beneath him, switching back to aggressive pheromones would be risky, since it opened him up for attack. Instead, he drove his knee into the alpha’s side as hard as he could, shoving the man off and scrambling to his feet.
He retreated, then switched gears, using his pheromones to take the alpha down to his knees.
The pain killed the boner in Arlo’s pants almost as quickly as it’d formed.
“Bishop,” Shiloh called out, waiting until he heard the familiar, steady steps exit the stairwell and join them. His Lefthand would have followed closely, but had known better than to interfere unless instructed to. Unlike Sarang, he understood his place, and his master’s capabilities. “Take this one. Find out who sent him and why.”
“And the others, Prince?” Bishop was already moving forward, passing Shiloh with a dart gun in hand. He aimed at Arlo and fired a tranquilizer, knocking the man out within seconds. Then he lifted him over his shoulder as though Arlo weighed nothing.
“Leave them.” Shiloh pulled a dagger from another hidden compartment on the inside of his jacket and twirled it. “This place still needs to be christened.”
“Bishop,” Sarang tried to stop him, but the Lefthand didn’t so much as spare him a glance, walking off without another word.
“Just sit there and wait for me like a good alpha,” Shiloh told Sarang, sight already settling on the attacker he’d shot in both shoulders.
The man was alive, but near death from blood loss, his eyes tracking Shiloh’s approach with obvious fear in them. He tried to push away, letting out a strangled sound when Shiloh gripped him by the hair and hauled him up.
With one slash of the blade, he slit the man’s throat, blood bursting to spray his front and coat the floor with crimson.
Shiloh wanted to remember this day forever. Wanted a symbol left behind of the carnage, of how far he’d had to take it to finally get through to Sarang that they were meant to be together. A stain on level four of the parking garage would do just the trick. Something he could come back to whenever he felt like it. A touchstone, or a trophy, something of the like.
He was under no misgivings that things would be easy from here on out.
No, the underboss would rage and fight against him. Pride and that pesky sense of justice would force Sarang to resist, even when it was clear the alpha wanted him.
He’d called out “Prince” that entire weekend, while he was fucking an omega he’d thought was someone else. He’d very clearly been pretending it was Shiloh, and yet he had the audacity today to say he intended to mark another?
The anger returned, and Shiloh slammed the blade straight through the center of the dead man’s chest and rippedhim down the center. Blood and guts squished and exploded, but he barely registered the carnage.
It wasn’t enough.
He moved onto the next.
The last of their attackers had made it halfway across the parking garage, toward the entrance he’d run through only ten or so minutes ago. He left a long smear of red in his wake, struggling to pull himself on his ruined leg. The bullet would have shattered his kneecap, an extremely painful injury, though not impossible for their kind to heal from eventually.
“You wrecked my plans,” he stated as he stalked after the man. A pathetic alpha running from an omega. Loser. “Do you know how long I spent organizing today’s festivities? How important it all was?”
They definitely wouldn’t be making it to dinner now.
“How many cakes I taste tested to be sure I got one he would like?” Admittedly, that part hadn’t exactly been a hardship, but still. It was the principle of the matter. “Could have chosen any other day to do this fuckery. Whoever sent you must hate you. All it would have taken was a little research to know that today is the underboss’ birthday.”
Shiloh planted a knee on the man’s lower back and pressed hard enough he felt and heard a crunch.
