Page 25 of Omega on Fire

Brookes. My parents.Do they know I'm alive? They’ll be worried sick. Especially Brookes, he’s alone without me.

The thought of him waiting, hoping, possibly grieving, makes my chest contract painfully. I need to find a phone. Need to let him know I'm okay. My parents have probably rallied the entire community. I need to?—

The soft click of a door opening behind me freezes me in place. I'm not alone. I turn, my body tenses instinctively at the sound of the door. My heart hammers against my ribs as I brace for. . .well, I don't know what.

I inhale the scents. A wall of them crashes over me like a tidal wave: leather and gunmetal, woody and spicy, so rich and intoxicating I nearly stagger backward. Then the others follow: summer rain and fresh linen; frankincense and myrrh with black pepper and whiskey. Each distinct yet somehow harmonizing together like a perfectly composed symphony.

My body responds before my brain can catch up,a warmth blooming low in my belly, spreading outward until my fingertips tingle with it. My knees go weak, not from fear, but from something else entirely—something primal and instinctive that I've never felt before.

The door frame fills with the largest man I've ever seen. Six-foot-something of solid, tattooed muscle. Dark brown skin stretched over a face that looks carved from stone—all sharp angles and intensity. Of course, he's gorgeous. His hazel eyes lock on mine, and the world narrows to just this moment, just this man.

Behind him three others file in, each radiating the same powerful energy but with their own distinct presence. Four men. Four scents that somehow feel like mine. What the actual fuck?

A laugh bubbles up from my chest—a strange, unhinged sound that surprises even me. It morphs into something between a cackle and a sob, echoing off the elegant walls of this prison or sanctuary or whatever the hell this place is.

"You've got to be kidding me," I wheeze between bursts of laughter. If I wasn't so sore, I'd be doubled over and slapping my knees. "Four of you? Really? The universe has a sick sense of humor." I wipe tears from my eyes, whether from laughter or hysteria, Ican't tell. "I survive being kidnapped only to find myself surrounded by?—"

"Ms. Matthews," the first man, the one with the leather and sandalwood scent, interrupts, his deep voice resonating through the room. "I apologize for the circumstances of our meeting. My name is Teagan Hudson. These are my packmates, Moses, Beaux, and Josiah."

The formality of his tone only makes me laugh harder. "Ms. Matthews? I've been drugged, kidnapped, rescued, and apparently transported across the country, and you're calling me Ms. Matthews?"

His jaw tightens slightly, but his gaze remains steady. "Charlotte, then. We retrieved you from a compound in New Mexico four days ago. You've been recovering since then. This is our pack house in New York."

The laughter dies in my throat. "Four days? I've been here for four days?"

Teagan, no, too formal. What did I hear them calling him through my pain haze? Trigger,yes, that's it. Trigger nods solemnly. "Your condition was unstable. Your body needed time to recover from all the drugs they pumped through your system and the trauma, well, I don't need to tell you what you've beenthrough. But our physician has been monitoring you closely."

My hand finds the windowsill behind me, needing something solid to grip onto. "How did you find me? Why New York?"

"Dez Savoy contacted us." The name registers, Mercy, Faith, one of Freeya's packmates, the security mogul who's been a vocal supporter of my advocacy work. "We believe this threat is far from neutralized. It wasn't safe to take you home."

"Brookes," I gasp, the thought hitting me like a punch to the gut. "Does he know? Is he okay? What about my parents? What about Mercy, Freeya and Faith?"

"Your roommate and your parents have been informed that you're safe," the one called Josiah, the Beta from his scent, steps forward. "We asked them to keep quiet about your location for security reasons. Your parents were not happy with the delay in the information about your recovery. I don’t want to be alone in a room with your mother any time soon,” he teases. “But your bestie was the worst of all. He's been colorfully vocal about his concerns, but he understands the gravity of the situation. Dez has informed Mercy, Faith, and his mate, Freeya, of your safe return."

I nod, picturing Brookes giving these men hell. At least he knows I'm alive. At least all the people I care about know I’m alive. That's something.

"There's a lot we need to discuss, Charlotte," Trigger says, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. "About what happened. About what comes next.”

I study each of their faces, these four strangers whose scents, despite everything, fill me with contentment, and I really think I need my head examined but for now I'm going with it. These four men risked their lives to save mine. These four who, if my body's reaction is anything to go by, are somehow meant for me.

"Yeah," I agree, straightening my spine, finding my footing. "There's a lot I need to tell you, too. Starting with who the fuck is behind this, because this wasn't just about me. It was about sending a message to every Omega and their supporters fighting for basic rights."

Trigger’s eyes darken, and a dangerous energy ripples through the room as all four men go still, suddenly looking less like saviors and more like predators.

"Then let's talk," he says simply.

CHAPTER 11

MOTLEY

Ilean against the wall outside Charlotte's room, one foot propped behind me, arms crossed over my chest. My muscles twitch with restless energy. The waiting is making me fucking insane.

"You sure you got this?" Trigger asks, his hazel eyes suspicious as he pauses at the end of the hallway.

I roll my eyes. "Just go handle your shit. I'm good."

Joker snickers behind him. "He's just trying to get in her pants."

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