Knot Their Arrangement (The Omega Rebellion Movement #2)

Prologue The Hunt Begins

PROLOGUE: THE HUNT BEGINS

~KAMARI~

Fuck…I’ve been caught.

The rain is unrelenting.

Heavy droplets slam against my skin, each one a stinging reminder that I'm not dreaming.

That this nightmare is my reality.

My once pristine Saree, a masterpiece of red and royal blue silk adorned with thousands of hand-sewn Swarovski crystals that shimmer even in the darkness, now clings to my trembling form like a second skin.

The intricate golden embroidery that my mother spent months selecting weighs heavy on my shoulders, drenched and muddied — a perfect metaphor for how I've sullied the family name — yet again.

I should have known better than to think I could outrun fate.

Or the men my father would send to drag me back.

My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, my back pressed against rough bark that bites through the delicate fabric.

The tree offers little shelter from the downpour, but I'm beyond caring about the state of my clothes.

Not when he's here.

Not when those haunting electric eyes are boring into mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak and my core clench with a need I desperately wish I could ignore.

The mask he wears is unlike anything I've ever seen.

Sleek, almost cyberpunk in design, with glowing X patterns where his eyes should be — one blood red, one electric blue .

They pierce through the darkness like beacons, illuminating the rain between us in an otherworldly glow. My mind struggles to process how someone can move so silently in such weather and how he managed to track me through the woods despite my desperate attempts to lose him.

Then again, Alphas are born hunters.

And I'm nothing but prey.

What’s crazier is how I’ve read instances like this left and right. In dark romance novels where the FMC will race through the forest, her stalker coming after her, ready to catch his little prized mouse in the midst of endless danger.

Just to reap the consequences…

My body hums at the mere thought, the idea of this masked man doing what I’ve read in the depths of dark fiction that kept my mind distracted from the endless torment I’ve dealt with since betraying my family.

Why did I wish for this to turn out that way?

To think being this man’s victim of lust and passion would be the final outcome is far better than being turned in like a criminal to the set of men who will treat me like nothing but a used doll to discard when my value reaches zero…

I catch glimpses of his hair when lightning flashes overhead —artful chaos of purple highlights weaved through strands of silver and black. It's styled in a way that screams rebellion, much like everything else about him.

His broad shoulders strain against the fitted black tactical gear he wears, the material doing nothing to hide the lean muscle underneath. Even through the rain, I can tell his skin holds a natural tan, hinting at a mixed heritage that makes him all the more intriguing.

The way he carries himself speaks of danger — of a predator who knows exactly how lethal he is. Each movement is calculated, and fluid, like a panther ready to pounce.

His height alone is intimidating, towering over my petite frame with ease. The rain rolls off his tactical gear, drops trailing paths that make me want to trace them with my fingers.

Stop it, Kamari. This is not the time to be attracted to your captor.

My traditional nose ring catches the light as I tilt my head back, trying to put at least an inch more space between us.

The movement causes my Maang Tikka to shift, its delicate golden chains dragging across my forehead as crystals tinkle softly.

The heavy jewelry my mother insisted I wear — layers of golden necklaces, intricate bangles, and the priceless family heirloom choker — now feels like chains weighing me down.

All these symbols of a bride, of a woman ready to be claimed, when all I want is freedom.

Freedom that I got a glimpse of for so long, and yet I’ve finally been captured like an animal who is destined to return and be slaughtered…

His scent hits me then, cutting through the petrichor like a blade — leather and cedar mixed with something wilder and untamed.

There's a hint of expensive cologne underneath it all, Madagascar vanilla perhaps, but it's overshadowed by pure Alpha pheromones that make my head spin.

It's intoxicating in a way that terrifies me, how my Omega instincts want to lean into it despite every rational thought screaming at me to run.

The slick gathering between my thighs betrays my body's reaction to his proximity. My inner Omega purrs at the dominance radiating from him in waves, at how easily he could overpower me if he wanted to.

The rational part of my brain fights against these primal urges— he could be one of my father's men, sent to drag me back to a marriage I never wanted.

Or worse, he could be something far more dangerous.

My carefully applied bridal makeup runs in rivulets down my face, kohl-lined eyes surely creating dark streams along my cheeks.

The sindoor powder my mother had so lovingly applied to my hair part — meant to mark me as a claimed woman — bleeds red like an open wound.

I can feel my dupatta slipping from my shoulder, the wet silk threatening to expose more skin to his hungry gaze.

"P-please," I manage to whisper, hating how my voice shakes.

How it comes out breathy and wanting instead of terrified like I should be. My body betrays me further as another wave of his scent washes over me, making me bite back a whimper.

He’s just doing this on purpose. A tactic to weaken me before I’m picked up and dragged back home where I belong…

He moves closer, one gloved hand coming up to grip my chin.

Despite the firm hold, his touch isn't cruel.

If anything, it's almost gentle, which somehow makes this worse. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, a sharp contrast to my rain-chilled skin.

At my full height of 5'2", I barely reach his chest. He has to be at least 6'3", his frame caging me against the tree with practiced ease.

Through the mask's glowing pattern, I swear I can feel his gaze roaming over me — taking in my drenched form, the way my Saree clings to every curve, how my chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. My nipples harden against the wet fabric, and I know he notices by the way his head tilts slightly.

A low growl rumbles from his chest, the sound so deeply Alpha that my knees nearly buckle. Only his proximity keeps me upright, trapped between his heat and the rough bark at my back.

My hands press against the tree, fingers digging into the wet wood as I fight the urge to reach for him instead.

"The little runaway bride," he murmurs, and even through the mask's modulation, his voice drips with dark promise. His thumb traces my bottom lip, smearing what's left of my lipstick. "Did you really think you could escape?"

I want to be strong.

To show defiance.

But my Omega instincts are screaming at me to submit, to bare my neck, and let this powerful Alpha claim me. The conflicting desires leave me trembling, caught between fight and flight.

Or something far more primal.

"I won't go back," I manage to say, though it lacks conviction.

I know my expression shows a glimpse of that hardness.

A pinch of the radiating anger I carry in my heart thanks to the one who ruined my destiny; a Father who’s eager to use his Omega daughter as a business transaction than don her with blessings before she leaves the family to join one who will ignite eternal happiness.

"I won't be sold off to the highest bidder."

His other hand comes to rest beside my head, effectively caging me in. The rain continues to pour around us, but I barely notice it anymore.

Not when his scent is all I can focus on when every nerve ending in my body is attuned to his presence.

"You can run," he whispers, his voice carrying a hint of amusement that makes my stomach flip and my core clench with need, "but you can't hide little Omega."

I’ve been caught red-handed.

Now my fate will be determined by this masked psycho…