Page 55 of Run Omega Run
Cole laughed, and I continued to smirk.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees as Cole's words registered. His matter-of-fact tone, the complete absence of bluster or posturing, made every syllable carry value. This wasn't intimidation; it was a professional assessmentdelivered by someone who understood death as intimately as other people understood their morning routines.
"You're threatening murder," Jude said, but his voice had lost its earlier confidence, cracking slightly on the last word.
Cole tilted his head with the kind of mild surprise someone might show when asked to explain something obvious. "I'm explaining cause and effect," he corrected gently. "You threaten our pack, our children, our home. Natural consequences follow."
“I suggest you get out of here, Jude,” I said. “He has your name now. We all do.”
“Yeah, I’d watch ye back,” Angus said. Dante nodded, still standing tall.
The silence that followed was pregnant with possibilities, none of them good for Jude's continued existence. Around us, his men shifted nervously, their earlier confidence crumbling as they realized they'd walked into a situation that exceeded their understanding of manageable risk.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably less than a minute, Jude stepped off the last stair, still staring daggers at Jude. Jude’s movements were carefully controlled, designed to project strategic retreat rather than panicked flight, but I could see the sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool night air.
"This conversation isn't over," he said, his voice steadier than his body language suggested. "Debts remain debts, obligations remain obligations. We'll be back to collect what's owed."
His gaze swept across our assembled pack one final time, lingering on the children who still cowered at the top of the stairs. "Next time," he added, pointing directly at me, "we'll be better prepared. And you'll regret choosing the wrong side of this."
The retreat was swift but not panicked, Jude's men following him through the broken doorway with the disciplinedwithdrawal of professionals who understood when to cut their losses.
The moment the sound of their footsteps faded into the distance, Angus climbed the stairs to ease the children’s fears.
“I’ll cover the door,” Cole said. “We don’t want any more surprises tonight!”
"Becky," I called quietly to where she stood. "Could you..."
She understood immediately, her vanilla scent carrying notes of maternal warmth as she clapped her hands together to capture the children's attention. "Right then, little ones," she announced with a forced cheerfulness that barely masked her own residual fear, "I think this calls for some hot chocolate before we go back to bed."
The suggestion worked exactly as intended, providing distraction and comfort while giving us the privacy necessary for what needed to happen. Children who'd been traumatized by threats of violence needed the normalcy of familiar activities, the sweetness of treats and the security of caring adults who could make everything seem manageable again.
"Can we put extra marshmallows in the chocolate?" Dylan asked, his voice still shaky but warming at the prospect of indulgence.
"As many as you like," Becky assured him, herding the group toward the kitchen. "And perhaps we'll let that broken door have some time to think about its behavior while we're busy in the kitchen."
As their voices faded toward the kitchen, leaving us alone in the hall with its damaged entrance and lingering scent of violence, the atmosphere shifted from protective urgency to something deeper, more intimate. Heather.
I rushed upstairs to her side. Her skin was flushed with fever, her breathing shallow and rapid, indicating her heat was intensifying rather than subsiding.
"How is she?" Dante asked quietly, trying not to wake her.
"The adrenaline helped temporarily," Dante replied, his marshmallow scent thick with concern, "but she's crashing now. The heat is hitting harder than before."
Heather stirred, groaning and pulling her legs up into the fetal position. The pain was back again. I smoothed her hair back from her face, kissing her forehead. She moaned, her eyelids fluttering.
"Heather," I said. “We’re here, beautiful.” She bit her lower lip, grabbing out at me, pulling me toward her again. I smiled. Her heat was building again, and she needed us... all of us. "Let us take care of you."
The claiming that followed was nothing like the rushed, desperate sex that had characterized her earlier heat. This was tender, each touch and caress designed to communicate love rather than just satisfy biological need. I stripped off again, and positioned myself beside her, my hands framing her face as I searched her eyes for any trace of uncertainty or fear.
"Are you sure?" I asked one final time.
"Yes," she breathed, her fingers tangling in my shirt as she pulled me closer. "Please, Bennett. I need to know I belong somewhere."
I kissed her then, soft and gentle, tasting the sweetness that had haunted my dreams since our first meeting. Her lips parted beneath mine, welcoming deeper contact as her heat scent intensified around us like perfume designed by nature to drive Alphas beyond rational thought.
But this wasn't about losing control. This was about finding it, about channeling the raw power of biological attraction into something that would bind us together permanently. I tilted her head gently, exposing the column of her throat where pulse points betrayed the rapid beating of her heart, and our marks glistened, fresh and new.
"Mine," I whispered against her skin, then pressed my lips to the spot where shoulder met neck.
