Page 27 of Omega's Forbidden Heat
She doesn’t have to say more. He knows what this means. She listened to him, heeded his advice and she knows, no matter how much he might battle it, that will please the Alpha inside him.
He nods. “That’s good, Amy. But don’t call me Alpha.” He almost growls the last few words.
She won’t let him do that, push her away with his coldness. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, shivering against the frigid night, she says, “Don’t be a shithead, Jack. Are you coming or not?”
She walks past him, her heels clicking on the pavement. He doesn’t follow her and she has to concentrate on not letting her shoulders droop with disappointment. She can put on a front, in the bathroom, out here on the street, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t wound her, that there isn’t that nagging voice in her head all the time telling her they’re right, they’re all right. Omegas are scum. She’s scum.
The pavement curves to the right and as she rounds the corner, a distant streetlamp spills across her path, falling on the heads of two figures. Her nose tells her immediately that they are two men before her eyes confirm it. They’re Betas though, not Alphas, and she ignores them, eyes locked straight ahead as she nears. There’s no one else around. The streets are eerily quiet, only a distant rustling of bin bags and the squeal of a swinging door.
One man spots her and he nudges his friend in the ribs, the second man swivelling around and searching for her through the darkness, muttering to his friend and then the both of them snigger. They can’t possibly deduce she’s an Omega from here, but she can tell they’re gearing up to hassle her, a lone woman walking through the streets on her own. Great.
She squares her shoulders, knowing that if she gives any signs of being cowed by them, it will only provide encouragement. As she draws closer, she can see they both have amused grins painted across their faces and they’re young, probably students from the uni too, although she doesn’t recognise them.
“Evenin’” the first man says, his hair shorn short against his scalp.
She’s learnt it’s best not to ignore these types of jerks, it often makes them angry and that can lead to a whole heap of trouble, so as much as it pisses her off, she nods her head and says, “Evening.”
“Where you off to, Darlin’?” the same man says, coming to flank her left side as his friend flanks her right.
“Home.” The tone of her voice is flat, bored, making it perfectly clear she’s not interested in a conversation.
“The night’s young, isn’t it, Graham?”
His friend, a lanky man whose face is pockmarked, nods as his eyes meander down her figure. “Where’s your coat?” His words slur and she can tell from the way he sways on his feet he’s drunk too much.
She doesn’t respond, but picks up her pace. When she needs to, she can run pretty fast. Judging by the state these two are in, she could lose them if she had to. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Hopefully, they’ll just get bored when they discover their attempts at chatting her up are not going to get them anywhere.
“Cat got your tongue?” the short-haired one says. “Or are you just a stuck-up bitch?”
She sighs, about to answer, when a deep masculine voice does it for her.
“Don’t call her that!”
She spins on her heels. Jack paces towards them, the wind blowing over her head, carrying his scent in the wrong direction so she hadn’t smelled him coming. He’s several metres away, but his hearing is acute, perhaps even better than hers, and his Alpha voice carries across the distance.
The men by her side turn too and bristle on their feet, clearly unsure what to do.
“It’s an Alpha,” the first one says over her head towards his friend.
“You know him?” the lanky one asks her and it occurs to her he might think it his duty to protect her from the big, bad Alpha.
She takes a step towards Jack.
“Yes, he’s my brother’s friend. And he’s right, don’t call me that. In fact, don’t call any woman that.”
“You shouldn’t act like one, then should you,” the guy can’t help snarling in reply.
Jack reaches her side and grabbing at her forearm, tugs her alongside him. She can smell his anger now she’s up close to him, and can see the intensity of his body, like a tightly wound coil ready to spring. His eyes hiss in the darkness and she can almost hear the thrum of the blood in his veins. Fear slides down her spine.
She doesn’t know what he’ll do. What has his years locked away taught him? The right things? Or the wrong? Who has Jack Johnson become? Those are thoughts that have been nagging at her as she lies awake at night thinking of him, fantasising about him, her fingers scooting over her body as if they were his, making herself come with visions of him in her head. Is he really the boy she remembers — carefree, bright, funny? Or has he become something dangerous? Someone who could destroy her if he chose.
Tension fizzles in the air, stinging against her tongue and fizzing in her ears. The two men shuffle on their feet, their gaze dropping to the ground and she knows it’s the dominance of the Alpha before them, huge and threatening, his fingers twitching as if he longs to reach out and rip out their throats.
Jack takes a step forward and a little whimper of panic escapes her lips. The muscle in his shoulder twitches in response and he growls at the two men who are backing away.
“Piss off,” he tells them. They don’t need to be told a second time, scurrying away down the street.
She stares at his back, watching the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders gradually mellow and the aggression in his scent shift. She daren’t move, daren’t speak.
