Page 216 of Knotting the Firefighters
Neither Aidric nor I responds—both of us calculating distances, evaluating options, looking for an opening that doesn't result in Tom's immediate execution.
Aidric steps forward—movement deliberate and controlled, hands rising in a universal gesture of surrender.
"You want to complicate things?" His voice is steady despite circumstances. "Fine. Take me instead. Exchange Tom for me—willing participant versus hostage extraction. Better narrative for whatever revenge fantasy you're executing."
No.
Absolutely not.
He's not sacrificing himself?—
Gregory's smirk is vicious—pleasure at proposal evident, satisfaction at having power over people he perceives as having wronged him.
"That would be perfect, actually," he agrees with enthusiasm that makes my stomach drop. "Kill Wendolyn's pack leader,watch your bonds destabilize, force you to experience loss and devastation parallel to what you inflicted on me."
He thinks killing Aidric will destroy us.
Thinks removing one member will collapse the entire structure.
Doesn't understand pack dynamics or bond resilience.
But that won't stop him from trying.
The words escape before strategic consideration can prevent them:
"Take me instead. I'm the one you actually want—the Omega who rejected you, who exposed your crimes, who ruined your reputation. Leave them alone and you can have me."
Bargaining.
Desperate bargaining with a terrorist.
But if it saves them?—
Aidric turns toward me—movement sharp, expression broadcasting fury mixed with terror.
His hand grips my arm—contact that's simultaneously restraining and communicating, pack bonds transmitting emotions too complex for verbal expression.
"No." The word carries weight I've never heard from him. "You are going to listen to your Chief and follow orders. Take Tom. Get him outside. That's a command from your Alpha and your professional superior."
Alpha command.
He's using Alpha command on me.
He's never used Alpha command?—
The compulsion hits like physical force—biological imperative overriding conscious resistance, body responding to authority even as mind screams protest.
Can't fight it.
Can't resist Alpha command when it's delivered with full intent.
This is what makes designation hierarchies so dangerous?—
Tears blur vision as I move toward Tom—automatic compliance with an order I desperately want to disobey, body betraying conscious intention through biological programming.
"I'm sorry," I whisper while helping Tom stand. "I'm so sorry?—"
"Get him out," Aidric repeats without looking away from Gregory. "That's an order, Murphy."
