"Sorry, handsome," she says, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. "I'll be taking this."
The gun comes down hard against my skull and fresh pain blooms through my already scrambled brain. I try to move, tofight back, but my body isn't responding properly. Everything feels distant and sluggish, like I'm moving through molasses.
I'm not used to being caught off guard. Then again, I'm not used to such delicate prey.
She reaches into her hair and produces a syringe with the fluid ease of a magician's sleight of hand. The needle slides into my neck before I can even think to resist, and I feel whatever was in those drinks burning through my bloodstream.
"Shh," she whispers, her fingers carding gently through my hair. Like she's soothing a wounded bird. "Only sleep now."
The contrast is staggering—the violence of her attack followed by this tender gesture. This omega completely mad, utterly unhinged, and absolutely magnificent.
My vision starts to tunnel, darkness creeping in from the edges as the drug takes hold. The last thing I see is her face hovering over mine, those hazel eyes bright with something that might be madness or might be joy.
The last thing I think, as consciousness slips away like sand through my fingers, is that the impossible has finally happened.
I'm completely, impossibly, irrevocably in love.
Chapter
Nine
FELIX
The gunfire erupts like a fucking orchestra of chaos, and I roll behind the massive chair with the grace of someone who's made a career out of not dying. The velvet upholstery explodes in puffs of stuffing as bullets tear through the fabric where my head was a second ago. Expensive craftsmanship reduced to expensive debris.
Professional work. These aren't amateurs playing dress-up.
I press my back against the chair's solid frame, calculating ammunition counts while crystal decanters shatter like expensive fireworks around me. The room fills with the scent of gunpowder and spilled whiskey.
The biggest alpha—the mountain of muscle who moves like he's got military training burned into his DNA—barks orders with the kind of authority that comes from leading men into hell and bringing most of them back. His voice cuts through the chaos.
"Suppressing fire! Keep him pinned!"
The silver-haired one—the one with "kind eyes," according to Juniper—moves like a ghost, flanking left while his companion provides cover. They work together with the kindof synchronization that takes years to develop. Not just professionals. Veterans.
This is going to be interesting.
I lean out, squeeze off three rounds at the silver-haired one, watch him dive behind an ornate side table. The wood splinters, sending antique fragments flying like shrapnel. He's fast. Faster than I expected.
But not fast enough.
The fourth alpha—the quiet one with light brown hair who's been watching everything with those shrewd eyes—circles around the other side. Classic pincer movement. They're trying to box me in, force me into a position where I can't maneuver.
Too bad I learned to fight in places where honor was a luxury and fair play got you killed.
I pull a ceramic knife from my boot, flick it at the brown-haired one. He dodges, but it buys me the seconds I need to shift position. The blade embeds itself in the wall with a satisfying thunk, and I catch a flash of surprise in his eyes.
He wasn't expecting that.
Outside the room, I can hear Juniper working her magic. The soft thud of a body too heavy to be hers hitting the floor. She's handling herself just fine. She always does.
That's my girl.
The big alpha tries to rush me while I'm distracted. Six-foot-eight of muscle and determination charging like a freight train. I sidestep at the last second, let his momentum carry him past me, then drive my elbow into his kidney.
He grunts but doesn't go down. Tough bastard.
His backhand catches me across the jaw, snapping my head to the side and filling my mouth with the taste of blood. Stars explode behind my eyelids, but I roll with the impact, use the momentum to put distance between us.
