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Bridget shakes her head in familiar disappointment. “The mission was to stall. Not cover mistakes with another arson. There’ll be no escaping responsibility this time.”
Responsibility?
My neck-veins spiderweb with fire. “You want to teach me about responsibility?”
“You four.” She looks past me, back to ignoring me the way she prefers. “Step away from the girl or you’ll join her in custody.”
“How ill-mannered.” Bishop looks down his nose, blue-blooded even in a bathrobe. “Making demands on our turf? You haven’t even introduced yourselves.”
“That’s classified,” Silas snaps. “Step away from the asset.”
“Take a fucking hike,” Reese growls.
“She’s ours.” Dutch clamshells my ribs, staking a claim that’d melt me dead if I weren’t boiling with hate.
“If you want to escalate, we’re game.” Jin aims at Bridget’s chest, flexing his Triad tattoos. “But you’re not taking our mate.”
The M-word streaks through me like a meteor.
Full-body shiver.
Next comes the crash.
“Mate?“ Elyse gasps. “You? With her?”
“Impossible.” Brandon locks eyes with Bridget, wordlessly discussing how much to reveal to make the deluded civilians go away.
It won’t take much.
I’m already scoping out the dugout and the street beyond, picking spots to duck and cover.
“This girl is a test subject who escaped our lab. She can mimic pheromone signatures.” Bridget’s cold explanation cuts between my ears. “We have your real mate in custody. Hand over the fake and we’ll happily trade you for the authentic goods.”
The veins at my temples judder.
My pheromones scream.
Before I can unleash the devastation I’ve been holding back for eons, Dutch’s snarl shakes the earth. “Fuck off.”
“Don’t be fooled,” Doctor Brandon starts. “She—”
“Is our mate. End of story.” Jin whips out his dominance.
Then it’s not the earth shaking.
Their scents stroke my skin like a promise. Fizzy peach and sizzling lightning, comforting cocoa and sweet maple. Their four-way snarl rattles my knees as hard as it rattles my composure.
They don’t believe Bridget.
The truth does sound crazy.
Before Bridget, there was no precedent for scent-copying, and the SAS isn’t passing their gamma data to the press. As far as the world knows, pheromones can’t be faked.
“Still waiting for somebody to flash a badge,” Reese says, unimpressed.
“We’re past the point of showing identification.” Bish sneers. “You can’t remove an omega from their pack. If you’d like to detain the group, make sure to prepare a cell large enough for my litigation team.”
“They’re not taking her,” Jin says with rock-solid confidence. “They’re not touching her.”
