We move through the corridors of the Rut Room like the paramilitary operation we are, Elias leading point while Carlisle brings up the rear despite still fighting off the drugs. Juniper stays close to Felix's unconscious form, one hand pressed against his chest like she's trying to keep his heart beating through will alone. She's close enough to brush against me and I don't miss the spark I feel at the contact, but I can't let myself think about that now.
The service elevator takes us up through the building's guts, past floors of expensive sin and artificial paradise. The omega doesn't speak, but I can feel the anxiety radiating off her. She's calculating escape routes, assessing which one of us poses the biggest threat, probably planning six different ways to kill us if we give her either the reason or the opportunity.
The roof access door opens onto wind and rotor wash. Archer has the Blackhawk spun up and ready, the bird sitting on the landing pad like a mechanical predator waiting to strike. The sound of the rotors cuts through the night air, drowning out the city's ambient noise.
And that's when it hits me.
The suppressants from the club are gone, blown away by the wind and distance. The artificial chemical fog that's been clouding my senses lifts like a curtain being pulled back.
Juniper's scent hits me like a freight train.
Sweet flowers and something wild that makes every alpha instinct I possess stand up and roar like a fucking dragon. My vision sharpens, my breathing deepens, and suddenly the possessive urges I've been fighting make perfect sense. Suddenly, the realization I've been fighting until it was safe to process punches me right in the face.
Scent match.
I see the exact moment it hits the others too. Elias goes rigid, his usual supernatural calm cracking around the edges. Archer's pupils dilate even further, and he takes a step toward her before catching himself. Even Carlisle looks shaken for the first time since I've met him, and that's saying something, considering how many times I've seen him on the brink of death—both his and other people's.
Juniper, one of the assassins sent to kill us, is our omega.
Chapter
Eleven
JUNIPER
The helicopter's metal belly thrums beneath me, vibrations crawling up through my bones and rattling my teeth. Felix lies still as death on the makeshift medical table, his face the color of old paper, and I keep thinking about how quiet he is. Felix is never quiet. Even when he sleeps, he mutters kill counts and sometimes my name when the nightmares get too loud.
Now there's just the mechanical wheeze of the helicopter and the sound of my own breathing, too fast, too shallow, like I'm drowning in air.
Blood soaks through the bandages the one they call Doctor wrapped around Felix's thigh, dark red blooming like roses. I want to press my hands against the wound, stop the bleeding through sheer will, but Doctor keeps pushing my fingers away with gentle efficiency that makes me want to bite him.
"Let me work," he says for the third time, his voice calm as still water. But his hands shake just the tiniest bit when he thinks no one's looking, and I see everything. I always see everything, even the things that aren't there.
Especially those.
The shadows in the corners of the helicopter writhe, reaching for Felix with fingers made of smoke and malice. They whisper in languages I don't understand, but their meaning is clear.
Take him. Take him. Take him.
"No," I whisper, and my voice sounds small and broken in the metal cave of the aircraft. "You can't have him. He's mine."
Doctor looks at me with the same concern in his eyes as when he looks at the gunshot wound on Felix's leg, but I ignore him. All of them. The only thing that matters is Felix.
Not these alphas and their guns and their scents that scream, "Notice me!"
Winter and wine and woods and sunshine. Four scents swirling around me, begging for attention, singing a song I've never heard before, but one dangerously close to Felix's diamond crispness. Close enough I refuse to let them in.
What if those scents are trying to replace his?
The tears come without permission, salty when they pool at my lips. I wipe them away with the back of my hand, smearing blood from Felix's wounds across my face like war paint. The pink slip they dressed me in at the club is ruined now.
A white handkerchief appears in my peripheral vision, held by long fingers that could snap my neck without effort. I jolt, my gaze snapping up to meet winter-blue eyes that see too much. Winter like the scent I don't want to notice.
Jackal. The golden-haired monster. The one the shadows scream warnings about.
"Here," he says, his voice making the simple word sound like an invitation to dance with the devil. "You've got a bit of..." He gestures vaguely at his own face.
I stare at the handkerchief as if it might bite me. Probably will. Everything about this alpha screams danger, from the way he holds himself too still to the way his smile never reaches his eyes. But Felix is bleeding, and I'm crying, and sometimes youhave to accept help from monsters when they're the only ones offering.
