11. Moses
Moses
Hunter is leaning against the car, his phone a constant blur of movement in his hands. His fingers fly over the screen, his eyes darting back and forth, completely honed in on whatever he’s currently researching. He never stops working. Not really. It’s his thing—his distraction, his coping mechanism. He needs it tonight more than ever.
Hell, so do I.
The two of us said we’d wait at home. That we’d trust Amel to handle this, to bring our Omega to us when the time was right. But waiting’s never been our strong suit and the second he walked out that door, the silence got too loud. So, here we are, leaning against the car just outside the gala, waiting, hoping .
I don’t say anything, just watch him out of the corner of my eye, the glow from his screen reflecting off his glasses. He looks calm, like he always does, but I know better. He’s just as on edge as I am. Maybe worse. Because this isn’t just another night, another job, another deal. And every second that passes without knowing who Amel’s bringing home feels like a lifetime.
My foot taps against the pavement, a nervous tic I can’t quite shake, and my eyes keep darting toward the entrance, scanning the flow of people coming and going. Every time the doors open, my breath catches, hoping— knowing —that any second now, he’ll walk out with her. But there’s doubt too. What if he doesn’t? What if the wait doesn’t end tonight? What if she—
A scream cuts through the air, followed by another. Then more.
Hunter’s head snaps up, his phone forgotten as we both push off the car, eyes scanning the area. The crowd at the entrance is shifting, panicked, like something’s gone wrong inside. People are running, their voices frantic, my entire body on edge at the thought that something could have happened to our Alpha.
“Amel,” I mutter as my gaze locks on the chaos. Nothing else matters. Not the people screaming, not the blood I think I catch a glimpse of on someone’s dress— just him. Hunter’s already moving, his body taut like a wire ready to snap, but I hold him back with a hand on his arm. “Wait,” I growl, my eyes peeling through the crowd for any sign of him. “He’ll be here,” I promise Hunter, knowing that if we let loose there will be an entirely different mess to clean up. A sigh of relief falls from my lips when I catch sight of our Alpha.
Amel is pushing through the sea of bodies, his movements controlled despite the panic around him. His arms are wrapped around someone, holding her close, shielding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. She’s small, curled into his chest, her face hidden, but I don’t need to see her to know. I feel it. It’s her.
My first instinct is to charge forward, to rip her out of Amel’s arms and hold her close, to let her know she’s safe now, that nothing will hurt her while we’re here. But the rational part of me—small as it feels right now—keeps me rooted to the ground. She’s terrified. Confused. And whatever happened in that gala has her on the verge of breaking.
These nights are always chaos. Omegas and Alphas thrown together like a lit match and gasoline, and when you add Valla into the mix, it’s a miracle no one’s been killed outright. Though, judging by the screams and the panicked faces streaming out of the building, maybe someone was. Probably a Valla or an Alpha that lost their temper. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Hunter, of course, has no such restraint. He’s already stalking toward Amel, his jaw tight and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He’s chomping at the bit, barely holding himself together, and the tension rolling off him is enough to make my own muscles coil. But I hang back, watching as Amel whispers something to the woman in his arms, his lips close to her ear.
Her eyes are wide, darting around the parking lot like a cornered animal, and I can feel the fear radiating off her even from here. My chest tightens and before I can stop myself, I’m moving too, my feet carrying me forward as my instincts start to take over. And then it hits me.
Blueberries. Sweet, ripe, and warm, like they’ve been picked fresh on a summer morning. It’s rich and intoxicating, curling around me and dragging me under before I even realize what’s happening. My breathing hitches, my hands curling into fists at my sides as the scent invades every inch of my senses. But when I get close enough to see her face, I stop dead in my tracks. She’s trembling, her entire body shaking as she tries to talk, her words tumbling out in a frantic, incoherent mess. She’s rambling, her voice soft but panicked, tears glistening in her eyes as Amel murmurs to her, his hand steady on her back as he tries to get her to breathe.
She’s falling apart and then her gaze snaps to us. Her wide, terrified eyes lock onto us, something shifting in her expression—panic, fear, instinct—and before any of us can react, she bolts.
“Fuck,” Amel mutters.
I don’t even think. My body moves on its own, instinct roaring to life as I take off after her, my legs carrying me faster than I thought possible. She’s fast, I’ll give her that. But it doesn’t matter. My legs are longer, my instincts sharper, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting her get away. Not when every nerve in my body is screaming that she’s mine.
The scent of blueberries floods my senses, sweeter and richer the closer I get, but it’s laced with something else now—fear. She’s terrified. The sharp acidic edge to her scent pulls at my heartstrings but it’s also the thickness of it. She’s on the cusp of a heat. The thought has my chest tightening, my blood roaring in my ears as I push myself faster. I’m torn between my animalistic instinct to pin her down and knot her and wrapping her up in my arms, whispering that she’s safe from the terrors of this world.
She’s not even running toward anything—just away. Away from the chaos, away from us, away from whatever ghosts are haunting her. But the farther she goes, the more reckless her movements become, and when she veers toward the tree line, my heart stutters.
There’s no telling what kind of monstrosities are lurking out there on a night like this, Alphas that have been banned from The Night of Scarlet or those that wish harm on wandering Omegas. The thought hits me like a fist to the gut, the primal need to protect her overriding everything else. The need to mate, the hunger, the fire in my veins—it all takes a backseat to the horror of losing her.
“No,” I growl under my breath, pushing harder, faster, my muscles burning as I close the distance between us. She’s so close now, I can hear her sharp, ragged breaths, her sobs catching in her throat as she stumbles through the dark. I catch her just before she disappears into the woods, my arms wrapping around her waist as I pull her back. She shrieks, her body going rigid in my grip, and when I spin her around, her wide, tear-rimmed eyes lock onto mine.
“Don’t hurt me,” she cries, her voice breaking.
Hurt her? Why the fuck would I hurt her? She’s mine. My Omega. My everything. The thought that she even thinks I could makes something deep inside me crack, my chest tightening as a guttural growl rumbles from my throat. Silence filters between us as my beast takes over, my primal instincts front and center. A low grunt comes from me as I gather her trembling body into my arms. Gods, she’s so small, so soft, and she fits so perfectly against me.
A rumbling purr of approval starts deep in my chest as I hoist her up so that she’s curled against me completely. Tears soak into my shirt as I hold her close, her lips moving but no words meeting my ears. A grin tugs at my lips as I look down at her, her wide, terrified eyes darting between me and the woods. She’s still trembling, but she doesn’t fight me, doesn’t pull away. It’s a start.
I turn and start walking back toward the parking lot, the small bundle of Omega firmly tucked against me. Her scent wraps around me, sinking into my skin, and the more I breathe her in, the harder it is to hold back. She’s so close, so warm, and every instinct is screaming at me to claim her, to make her mine in every way. When we reach the edge of the lot, I let out a guttural, possessive growl, the word spilling out before I can stop it. “Mine.”
She flinches at the sound, but I don’t let her go. Instead, I lower my head, pressing my nose to her forehead, breathing her in as I rub my face along her skin. Her cheeks, her temple, the curve of her jaw—I mark her with my scent, leaving no question of who she belongs to. It’s like something in me has snapped, the undying need to protect the bundle in my arms over everything else.
I’ve been told about this, the instinctual change in a Valla once they meet their Omega but I’ve always thought it was a gradual change. Not something immediate. Something I’d crave so hard that my mind is working in overdrive, thinking of ways to make our life safe for the woman in my arms.