Longing billows through me. I want to be held more than anything in the world right now. To sob into Ridge’s broad chest. Have Colter wrap his arms around me?—
But I have to say it again. Now, before these alphas grab me.
Two of them are closing in. Their dark eyes are shadowed by furrowed brows, and they gulp down my scent like it’s aerosolized gold.
I swallow hard.
Then I shout, “I need an alpha who fights for me. I need a mate who proves he can protect me from all the others. I need the strongest man alive.”
For a split second, everything pauses.
The alphas on the top of the stairs stop walking. The ones nearest me—”Ryan” and a tall man with a shaved head—drop their jaws wide.
Then they grimace, teeth grinding as they glare at me.
A quiver shakes my spine, and dread glides like melting ice down the sides of my face.
“I need one of you. But only one.”
Then…my eyelids close, and I let out a deliberate whimper.
An animalistic growl erupts from just in front of me.
My shoulders fly up to my ears, and I scrunch even smaller, my pulse a spinning blur of panic.
Oh no. Nonononono.
They’re going to attack!
Ellora was wrong.
My mind splinters into fragments, scrambling to protect itself from what’s about to come.
The room disappears from my line of sight.
Just wavers and then it’s gone.
Boom.
Crack.
Smash.
I rip my eyelids apart to see the Noths fighting. The two men in front of me wield guns, circling each other like cowboys in a showdown. Their dire grins are too intense, so I stare past them, where two men roll across the floor. Punching and grunting, they each struggle to get the upper hand.
To the right, one guy shoves another up against the wall. Holding on to the pinned man’s collar, the balding Noth throws a series of punches that empathy and familiarity make me feel. I’ve been on the receiving end of that kind of beating far too often at Eros.
But when the alpha taking the beating tries and fails to block another punch, a tiny ping goes off in my head because I know how to counter that move.
It makes me unclench the tiniest bit. Feel slightly less overwhelmed. It helps me regain my confidence.
Behind that pair, off the side of the staircase, one body lies face down in a pool of blood. Shoved to his death.
My hand flies up to my mouth, and I expect a squeamish splurge of bile. But it doesn’t come. Instead, I only get a grim sense of satisfaction.
Does that make me twisted? Or sane?
This was my plan, after all. These are the expected consequences.
