Page 32 of Bliss & Her Idols

For a moment, I sit frozen.

“Now,” Harbinger commands.

Instantly, in a coordinated move, we’re both ripping off our helmets and tossing them to the ground.

Chase puts his feet down, parking the Harley and kicking on the stand.

Then we both jump off the motorcycle and sprint toward the front of the cabin.

In horror, I can now see that a tall Alpha in his forties with black hair and scruffy beard, which must be Hudson, is standing in front of a low barrel. He’s dunking a smaller man face first into the freezing water.

The smaller man is submerged all the way to his waist. He’s thrashing desperately.

Two male teenage Alphas are hanging back in the doorway, watching with large, frightened eyes.

But they’re not helping the other man.

I almost hurl.

It has to be Cricket who is being drowned. And his own Alpha brothers aren’t saving him.

A female Alpha, Possie, with brunette hair and freckles, who is the same age as her husband, is watching with her arms crossed like nothing unusual is going on.

“Filthy Omega,” Possie sneers. “This is what happens to dirty creatures like you. You need to be washed clean…”

I let out of a howl of fury.

Next to me, Chase throws himself in full fighter mode on Hudson, taking him by surprise because he’s been so focused on holding Cricket beneath the water.

Chase is strong enough to grab Hudson by the scruff of the neck and drag him away from Cricket.

At the same time, I cradle my arms around the wet and still panicking Omega, catching him as he falls backward, which knocks us both in a tangle to the hard ground.

I let out a gasp of pain, as the male Omega lands on top of me. I instantly twist and clasp him to my chest, patting his back to get the water out of him.

Cricket splutters and coughs, still hitting out with his arms and legs in panic.

I hush him. “You’re safe. I’m here now. It’s me, Bee.”

Trembling, Cricket stops moving, blinking the water out of his eyes. “It’s you.”

He appears dazed like I’m not real.

As if I’m a dream that his traumatized mind has disassociated to as his happy place.

Or possibly, as if he’s died, and I’m his heaven.

“You’re not dead,” I find myself whispering like the words need to be spoken out loud for both our sakes. “I got here in time.”

Cricket’s gaze sharpens and focuses on me. “It’s really you.”

Finally, able to relax for the first time because he’s alive, soaked through but held in my arms, our gazes meet.

And it’s like electricity shocking me.

Because despite his brunet curls being plastered to his head and being dressed in nothing but a stained white nightshirt that’s several sizes too large for him, Cricket is the prettiest Omega that I’ve ever seen.

Cricket is tiny but his body, which I can see because his nightshirt has been made transparent by the cold water, is hard and athletic.

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