Page 62 of Your Wild Omega

“No,” Zack repeats, shoving Callisto hard. The lawyer stumbles back, an answering alpha growl rising in his chest.

Agent Pierce swears under his breath and steps forward, but I put my arm out to stop him. This needs to get sorted between them.

“Red, call off your mutt,” Callisto hisses, anger souring his voice.

I lick my dry mouth. “He’s not my mutt, Callisto. He’s my alpha.” I don’t blame the lawyer for his cruel words because I know his genetic instincts have him in a tight grip, but it makes me realize he’s still thinking of Zack as some kind of add-on.

Callisto looks like he’s sucked on a lemon. He straightens, chest puffing out. “I’m your alpha too.” His tone rises with desperation and anger. “I’m your scent match, Red!”

Zack snarls and pins Callisto against the mantle with his cast-covered arm pressed to his chest. “Not alpha. You not home. Not kill for pack.” He bares his teeth and swivels to point at me. “Mine.” His big finger cuts through the frigid air to indicate Rickon. “White Mine.” It continues the arc, landing on Callisto’s throat. “Not Mine.”

Zack shoves Callisto sideways, hard enough to make him hit the floor. “Not pack. Mine not smile here for you.” He thumps his chest again.

Tears prickle behind my eyes, and I cover my mouth with both hands. He sensed my unease with Callisto through the bond and interpreted it better than I could. I don’t light up inside when I think of Callisto being part of our pack.

Callisto sprawls, frozen in shock. “Red?” he whispers, tone laced with anguish. “Is that true?”

Shit. It feels like I might shatter into pieces from the pain. I press my lips together, holding it all back. I glance over at Rickon. Glistening tears slide down his cheeks. This affects him as much as me, and I know what his heart longs for, but even now, Callisto isn’t asking Rickon. We’ve drifted too far from the original plot where Callisto and I would’ve been mates.

I force down my tears. “When we first met, I was alone. But now I’m part of a pack, so I’m not the same single omega as that day. I’m sorry, Callisto.” I drop my gaze, unable to bear the agony in his eyes. “We’ll get out of your place as soon as we can.”

Callisto stares at me and swallows hard. Then he shakes his head. “No. I’ll leave. I was selfishly pushing for . . . for what I want, without thinking of what you need.” He glances at Zack, who watches him like a lion picking out prey, vibrating with low growls. Callisto scoots further away on his ass and slowly gets to his feet. “I’m—I’m glad you’re not hurt. Any of you.”

He scoops up his jacket and smiles tightly, pausing for a moment to stare down at me, as if imprinting my face on his memory. Then with a jingle of keys, he’s gone.

I gasp for air as his alpha presence fades. The OCB agents make themselves scarce, leaving me staring at Zack. He growls, wrinkles his nose, and sweeps the room with his usual wariness, checking for more danger.

“Red?” Rickon whispers, wrapping his hands around my arms. But I can’t see him. I can’t see anything except the feral alpha who just asserted himself as our pack boss.

My legs give way.

Chapter twenty-four

Zack

As the door slams shut behind the not-pack alpha, fresh pain burns through my chest. I grit my teeth. It’s like the day my arm snapped back at the closed-in territory. I grind my fist into my chest, wishing I could get rid of the sensation. This is all confusing, like nothing I’ve ever felt before, but I’m sure the hurt belongs to Mine, not me.

Among the muddle of thoughts when I faced that barking alpha down, I recognized one bitter sensation that reminded me of all the times captors dragged me somewhere I didn’t want to go.

That tree-smelling alpha tried to trap Mine.

The pressure inside is too much and I have no words for most of it. These days I use tools in my hands, and I come and go from the Outside under the high blue roof, and yet I’m still not the same as theothersaround me. What more do I need to do in order to protect my pack?

The pressure builds, blurring my vision.

A snarl bursts through my lips, and I grab the edge of the low table and hurl it to the side. It thumps heavily to the ground, spilling glossy papers and one tiny plant. The heavy black top cracks right down the middle. The pieces huddle motionless in the tumbled fragments of damp dirt, but the sight doesn’t soothe me. With a jagged breath, I press my hands on the wall and smack my forehead into the plaster.

“Zack,” White Mine calls sharply.

His anxious tone cuts through my fury and I spin. Mine dangles in his arms, staring with wide eyes that look somewhere beyond me. The ohm remains silent, but the piece of her I sense in my chest blows wildly like the wind pounding on the windows.

I cross the room in a few strides and lift her. The thick layers of her dress bunch around us, keeping us apart, and I seize the edge with a growl.

“Wait,” White Mine orders, his voice cracking like the tabletop.

He peels Mine out of the material and lays his jacket over her bare shoulders. As the dress drops free, she wraps her legs around my hips, bringing us body to body, how we should be.

I set her down on the closest bench and lift her chin so I can peer into her face. She looks more like one of those flat pictures on the shiny pages on the floor than her usual self.

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