Chapter 25
KYLIAN
The air in the nesting room is thick, heavy with the scent of our pack, Brylee’s sweet omega heat, and the sharp, coppery tang of Colter’s satisfaction.
I’m sprawled on my back, limbs loose, a lazy grin plastered on my face. My hand is still sticky from her, and I can’t help but bring my fingers to my nose, inhaling the perfect, musky scent of her release mixed with mine.
God, she’s a masterpiece.
Colter’s a heavy, breathing weight on top of Brylee, his massive frame covering her completely.
His knot is still locked inside her, a biological chain that won’t break for a while yet.
His mask is slightly askew, and from my angle, I can see the corner of his mouth twitch in what passes for a smile for him.
Luka leans against the padded white headboard, looking utterly debauched but still managing to appear sophisticated, his suit jacket discarded on the floor. Ridge, now dressed, is in an armchair past the end of the mattress, his leg propped up, his eyes soft as he watches our omega.
“You did so good, Princess,” Luka murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble. He reaches out and smooths a stray piece of hair from her damp forehead. “So perfect for us.”
“The best,” Ridge adds, his voice gruff with emotion. “Our good girl.”
Brylee makes a soft, contented noise, a little hum of pleasure that goes straight to my cock all over again. She’s nestled against Colter’s chest, her body pliant and sated.
This is it. This is heaven. Four alphas, our omega, the scent of completion in the air. Nothing could ruin this mo—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound is sharp, violent, completely out of place. It’s not the hesitant rap of a servant; it’s a demanding, peremptory pound that says I own this place, and you will answer to me.
Every muscle in the room tenses. Colter lets out a low growl, his arms tightening protectively around Brylee. Ridge is already trying to sit up straighter, his hand going to his side where he’s wounded. Luka’s easygoing expression vanishes, replaced by sharp, calculating alertness.
Brylee freezes. I feel her panic spike, her scent souring with a sudden, sharp burst of fear. Her eyes fly open, wide and terrified.
“No,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “No, no, no…”
“Where is Princess Brylee?” a woman’s voice calls from the other side of the door. It’s cold, imperious, and dripping with disdain. The queen. Brylee’s mother. The Royal Bitch herself. “I know she’s in there. Open this door at once.”
Brylee’s whole body starts shaking.
“She can’t see me like this,” she chokes out, her gaze darting between the four of us, wild and desperate. “She can’t—”
“Hey, hey, look at me,” I say, rolling off the bed and landing on my feet in a smooth, silent motion. I’m already grabbing my jeans from the floor. “It’s okay, Princess. I’ve got this.”
“Kylian, no,” Ridge starts, but I wave him off.
“Relax, fearless leader. I’m just going to have a little chat.
” I pull my shirt over my head, the fabric sticking slightly to my skin.
I shoot Brylee my best, most unhinged grin, the one that says everything is fine, and I am definitely not about to start a bloodbath.
“I’ll take one for the team. Send her on a wild goose chase.
You guys just…stay busy.” I wink at Colter, who is still glaring daggers at the door. “Don’t move.”
I slip out of the room, closing the heavy nesting door softly behind me.
The queen stands in the entryway, her back ramrod straight, dressed in a severe, tailored pantsuit that probably costs more than a small car.
Her blonde hair is pulled back so tightly it looks like it hurts.
Her eyes, the same cold blue as Brylee’s but devoid of any warmth, narrow as I approach.
“You,” she says, her voice dripping with condescension as she looks me up and down.
I can see the exact moment her nostrils flare. She smells it. The heat. The sex. The pack. She knows exactly what we were doing. The thought almost makes me laugh.
“Where is my daughter?”
“Your Highness,” I say, giving her a sloppy, insincere bow. “Fancy seeing you here. Brylee’s a little…tied up at the moment.”
I can’t resist the pun.
Her lip curls in disgust. “Do not test my patience, boy. I demand to see her. Now.”
“And she’d love to see you, I’m sure,” I chirp, keeping the grin plastered on my face. “But she’s…indisposed. Very important royal business. Can’t be disturbed.”
The queen scoffs, a short, ugly sound. “Indisposed? I can smell what kind of ‘business’ she’s conducting from here.”
She takes a step closer, invading my space, trying to intimidate me. It’s cute.
“I always knew she was weak. Letting her base instincts control her like this. It’s unbecoming of a princess.”
My grin doesn’t falter, but something inside me goes cold and sharp.
Weak?
She thinks our Brylee is weak? The omega who just took on an entire warehouse of alphas after she was kidnapped? The omega who managed to escape without any help whatsoever? The omega who managed to tame me and my brothers?
The rage is a hot, metallic taste in the back of my throat. I picture the queen’s head on a spike. It’s a pleasant image.
Bad, Kylian.
No murdering royalty.
I’m pretty sure that’s, like, treason or something
“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear your opinion on her base instincts,” I say, my voice light and breezy. “Mothers always know best, right?”
She ignores my sarcasm. “This entire…situation…is a disappointment. I had a perfectly suitable alpha team selected for her. A strategic alliance. Powerful, pedigreed alphas who would have elevated this kingdom. Instead, she chooses…this.” She gestures vaguely at me, then at the door. “A pack of mongrels.”
Mongrels. The word hangs in the air.
In my head, I’m not just imagining her head on a spike anymore. I’m imagining those “perfectly suitable alphas,” their throats torn out, their fancy uniforms soaked in blood. I see their faces, contorted in fear as I show them what a real mongrel can do. It’s a beautiful, violent symphony.
Sorry, Brock. You were a good friend, but now you have to die.
Outwardly, I just keep smiling. “Well, you can’t help who you scent match with, can you? The heart—and the knot—wants what it wants.”
The queen’s face is a mask of cold fury. “Tell my daughter she is to report to my study the second she is…finished.” She says the word “finished” like it leaves a foul taste in her mouth. “We will be discussing her future. And it will not involve you.”
“She won’t be finished until this heat has broken, Majesty. And I’m going to make sure I make her come so many times that she’ll never be finished with me.”
Her nostrils flare, and her alpha scent explodes.
But if I were scared of alphas, I wouldn’t make a career out of killing them.
I step forward into her space, pleased to find I loom several inches taller than her. I lean down until we’re almost nose to nose and I can taste just how delicious her fury is. “Brylee is our mate. Not your pawn.”
She turns on her heel and storms down the hallway, her back as stiff as a board. I watch her go, the pleasant fantasy of bloodshed fading slightly. I wait until the click of her shoes disappears completely before I turn and slip back into the nesting room.
The tension has eased, but only slightly. Brylee is still tucked against Colter, but she’s looking at the door with wide, worried eyes. The moment I’m inside, her gaze snaps to mine.
I walk over to the bed and sit on the edge, my body sinking into the soft mattress.
I reach out and cup her cheek, my thumb stroking her soft skin.
The rage from my encounter with her mother is still simmering, but it’s transforming into something else, something fierce and protective and overwhelmingly tender.
“Don’t you worry about her,” I say softly, my voice losing its manic edge. It’s just for her. “She’s gone.”
Luka and Ridge are watching me, their expressions questioning. I ignore them. My entire world narrows down to the omega in front of me.
“She doesn’t deserve you,” I murmur, my gaze tracing every line of her face. The curve of her lips, the sweep of her lashes, the little furrow of worry between her brows. “Not even a little bit. Your parents, the other omegas, the academies, none of them. They don’t get to have you. You’re ours.”
Colter, still locked inside her, shifts slightly. He places one of his massive hands on her stomach, a silent, grounding weight. He agrees. We all agree.
Brylee’s worried expression softens, and a small, watery smile touches her lips. She leans into my touch.
“Yours,” she whispers, the word a vow.
And in that moment, with Colter’s knot still tying her to us, with Ridge and Luka watching over her, and with my hand on her cheek, I know. I would burn this whole kingdom to the ground for her.
She’s perfect. And she’s ours.