Page 60 of Knot So Lucky
"Shit!" The curse explodes from my mouth as I lunge forward.
I secure the kitten quickly—tucking it between my shirt and jacket where it immediately burrows against my chest—and then I'm reaching through the broken windshield to check for breathing.
My fingers find her neck, pressing against the carotid artery. Strong pulse. Too fast, but strong. Her chest is still rising and falling, breath coming in shallow pants that suggest shock rather than respiratory failure.
Thank fuck.
Another Alpha skids to a stop beside me, boots scrabbling against asphalt as momentum nearly carries him past the wreck. He's at my side in a heartbeat, hands reaching for the driver with the kind of possessive urgency that makes my own Alpha instincts flare with territorial aggression.
Mine.
The thought is immediate, irrational, and absolutely certain.
I practically growl before I can stop myself, the sound low and threatening in a way I haven't produced since adolescence.
The other Alpha—dark hair, grey eyes, tattoos visible on his forearms where his sleeves are rolled up—freezes at the sound. His eyes snap to mine, narrowing with suspicion and challenge.
We stare at each other for a loaded moment, two Alphas suddenly in competition over an unconscious Omega neither of us has any claim to.
I force myself to breathe.To think.To use my brain instead of my instincts.
"Are you either Roran or Cale?" I ask, keeping my voice as calm as possible given the circumstances.
His eyes narrow further, body tensing like he's preparing for a fight. "Why?"
"Because," I say carefully, gesturing toward the unconscious driver, "she—he," I correct immediately, catching myself before I expose the secret I just learned, "said only Cale and Roran can touch him."
The tension in the other Alpha's shoulders doesn't decrease, but something shifts in his expression.
Recognition. Understanding.
And underneath it all, fear that he's trying to hide behind aggression.
"Cale," he finally says, the name clipped and reluctant. "Cale Hart."
I nod once, acknowledging the introduction without taking my eyes off the unconscious driver.
"She's—he'sstill breathing. Pulse is elevated but strong. No visible signs of spinal injury, but we shouldn't move him until medical arrives."
Cale's hands hover over the driver's body like he wants to touch, but is restraining himself. His scent spikes with possessive Alpha pheromones—burnt cedar and dark coffee mixing with something bitter that suggests fear and rage in equal measure.
Then he leans in close enough that only I can hear, voice dropping to a whisper that carries threat in every syllable.
"Tell a single person and I'll make sure you fucking disappear. Got it?"
The words should probably intimidate me. Should make me reconsider getting involved in whatever complicated situation I've stumbled into.
Instead, I just nod once.
Because while Cale Hart might think he's scary, I'm the heir to one of the most lethal Bravati families in the European underground. I've watched my father negotiate billion-dollar arms deals over breakfast. I've attended "business meetings" that ended with bodies being discreetly removed.
I play the role of nerdy tech genius—which I am, genuinely, because intelligence and deadly family connections aren't mutually exclusive—but I'm far from innocent.
Still, there's no point in revealing that information now. Better to let him think his threat landed while I focus on what actually matters.
Another Alpha arrives, this one skidding to a stop with enough force that gravel flies from his boots.
He looks exactly like the unconscious driver—same features, same blonde hair, same storm-green eyes that are currently wide with panic.
