Page 91 of Your Wild Omega

But I am wracking up a long list of close calls with the legal system.

After Callisto, Hudson’s lawyer speaks, reciting a different tale of Hudson defending himself from a crazed pair who attacked him when he came to the apartment to collect his belongings. Even though he only speaks for a couple of minutes, the man hints at a picture of volatile, pheromone-crazed exes, as if Hudson could never hurt a fly.

I peek at the jury under my lashes with a silent scoff. Will they buy it? Hudson’s doing his best to look nonthreatening with open posture, his hands clasped neatly on the table. My gaze flickers to our side and at that moment, Rickon turns, also glancing across the room at his former lover.

My breath hitches. No matter what games Hudson plays, he can’t outperform my beautiful alpha. Rickon presses one slender hand to his throat as if he can still feel the bruises, toying gingerly with the top button on his crisp shirt. He skipped the corset today, but the intricate paisley vest hugs his body, revealing his narrow waist.

I wasn’t sure the silver eyeshadow he brushed on this morning suited him, but here in the lower lighting, he looks almost bruised. Fragile, precious, someone to protect. Definitely not someone who could pose a risk to a burly beta two feet taller than him.

I draw in a deep breath and sit up straighter to listen to the other proceedings. Witnesses follow the opening statements, ranging from neighbors who heard the screaming, to the police who first attended the scene.

I’m fine until they bring out the pictures of Rickon’s blue-black throat. Then it feels like the bruises march off the screensand onto my body, and the adrenaline of that day poisons my bloodstream. I wish I had Rickon’s treasured kitchen knife in my hand right now so I could leap across the barrier and slash that neutral expression off the beta’s face. The room presses in, and my control over Red Jones skitters as if my heat were here.

I cling to the acting roles that served me in the past: Red Hawk,Alpha Spyfemme fatales, Kayla Grants fromCrime Scene Squad. But they all seem to slip through my mental grab like melted butter.

Hudson gets up on the witness seat and a cold chill breaks out in me, condensing on my skin.

His lawyer gets him to confirm that he was in a relationship with Rickon. Then, with a strategic glance over his shoulder, he asks, “Can you describe the sexual intimacy you had with Mr Jones?”

Hudson smiles fondly, an expression that doesn’t belong on his face at all. “Rickon liked things rough.”

He says more, but a droning noise drowns out my hearing. A shudder runs through me and a shadow looms over me. It’s Ray.

He smirks and runs his thumb up my thigh, collecting my slick and bringing it to his nose. “Pain is a whole different ball game, pet. Although, you do seem to like things rough.”

“I hate you!” I snarl.

He nods. “I’m sure. But hate fucking is fun too.” He leans over me, and the disgusting scent of his licorice musk clogs my nose. “She’s ready,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “Aren’t you, pet?” His hands tighten around my thighs. “Nothing to say, ’Lev? Don’t be shy. I know you want this alpha cock.”

I leap to my feet, swinging my fist in the air. Rickon and Callisto turn, and so does Hudson. His eyes narrow, and fury radiates off him, scorching what little oxygen remains in the air. Ray isn’t here, but Hudson is. Pressure explodes behind my eyes. I’m going insane. I can’t stay here.

Blindly, I tug on Zack’s leash and throw myself over legs to reach the end of the row. I’m halfway to the door when I stumble. Big hands close around my waist, lifting me off my feet, and a sweet malt-barley cloud fills my nose. It’s so good, I suck in three more deep breaths while clinging to Zack’s neck. When I open my eyes, the scenery’s changed, as if we’ve teleported. I dig my fingers deeper into Zack’s shirt, anchoring my sanity on his burly body.

Rickon comes flying out of the building. “Red?”

I swear under my breath. “Go back in,” I mutter, throat squeezing around the words. What if the judge rules something bad because he ran out?

Callisto looms through the doorway behind him, the sun making his black hair shine.

“Go back!” I cry, shivering.

“It’s okay, Red,” Callisto says, spreading his hands and coming a step closer. He stops when Zack stiffens and clutches me tighter.

“The judge agreed to a short adjournment. Even juries need toilet breaks, you know.”

I let my head fall on Zack’s shoulder, relief flushing the panic out of my system.

“That was tough, hey?” Rickon says shakily, resting one hand on his hip.

I study him from Zack’s shoulder. He’s always struck me as having a surreal beauty, like an anime man come to life, or a demigod. I offer my hand and he takes it. “I wanted to kill him,” I admit sheepishly.

Rickon swallows hard and nods in understanding.

“Hey, that makes two of us,” Callisto says, flashing me a wry smile. He moves his hand to his hair but then jerks it away so he doesn’t spoil his neat styling. “Guess that makes us normal humans, right?”

I snort, and he relaxes. Fuck, Callisto must be the most nervous person here, considering everything rides on him presenting the evidence to the jury, but instead of stressing, he’s trying to help us relax. Can’t help wondering if any part of this calm persona is an act for him.

I wipe my cheeks to check my mascara, even though they’re dry. “You look good up there, Callisto,” I offer shyly. “Like this is your playground.”

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