The Omega's Unexpected Knot

Prologue Havoc

Tonight, the fire burns hot and bright.

Too fucking bright.

I stand at the edge of what’s left of some half-assed campsite, jaw clenched as smoke curls through the trees and the last stubborn embers glow beneath my boots.

Fucking teenagers.

Blowing off steam before school starts up again in a couple of weeks.

And yeah, I get it.

I do.

Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hunt down every last one of the little assholes and shake some sense into them.

I glare at the evidence they left behind.

Beer cans.

Unused condoms—figures.

Cigarette butts.

A plastic baggie with enough weed left in it to tell me exactly what kind of party went down out here.

Christ.

“Idiots,” I growl.

My Wolf agrees.

Hunt.

“No.”

Bite.

“Definitely no.”

He snarls inside my head, and I rub a hand over the back of my neck.

These kids could’ve killed someone.

Could’ve burned down half the fucking mountain.

All because they were careless.

Reckless.

Stupid.

Young.

And that last word stops me cold.

Because I was young once.

Careless once.

Reckless?

Fuck.

That might as well have been my middle name, but Havoc works just fine.

The memory comes hard and fast, same as it always does.

Prom night.

Blood.

Screaming.

My Wolf losing his goddamn mind.

And a girl who almost paid the price for something she never could’ve understood.

I close my eyes.

Bad fucking idea.

Because suddenly I’m there again.

Scared.

Horny.

Angry.

Too dominant for my own good and carrying a monster inside me nobody knew how to control.

Not even me.

Especially not me.

I’d been sent to the Macconwood Pack when I was still a pup.

My mother’s decision.

Probably the smartest thing she ever did for me.

I was born in Columbus, Ohio, into the Moon City Pack.

Fucking shit pile was too small, too weak, and too fucking scared of what I was becoming to hold me.

Dominance shows early in Wolves.

Mine showed too early. Too fast. And too fucking strong.

My mother knew exactly what that meant.

Sooner or later, the Alpha would see me as a threat.

Didn’t matter that I was a kid.

Didn’t matter that I had no interest in challenging him.

A dominant male in a weak Pack is a ticking fucking bomb.

Eventually, somebody decides he has to die.

My mother wasn’t willing to wait around to see which one of us struck first.

So she sent me away.

Hid me right under the nose of the strongest Wolf Pack in North America.

The Macconwood Pack.

If anyone could handle me, she figured they could. And for a while, she was right.

Life was good. I went to school. Lived with a nice widow lady who treated me right. Then I turned eighteen.

And my monster woke the fuck up.

I still don’t remember everything about that night. That’s the worst part.

Pieces.

Flashes.

That’s all I got.

A pretty dress.

Perfume.

A racing heartbeat.

Fear.

Hers.

Mine.

A flirty smile aimed at another man. And my Wolf reacting to it like the goddamn predator he is.

I almost killed them.

Fuck.

Even after all these years, admitting that makes something inside my chest twist.

I almost killed a couple of innocent kids on their fucking prom night because I couldn’t control the thing living inside me.

Rafe Maccon stopped me.

Barely.

And that’s saying something.

Rafe isn’t some run-of-the-mill Pack Alpha. The male is powerful as fuck.

Strong enough that Wolves from other territories know his name. Strong enough to command respect without demanding it.

But even he looked at me differently after that night.

Not scared.

Rafe Maccon doesn’t scare easy. But he was stunned.

Like he’d gotten a glimpse beneath my skin and realized there was something in there neither one of us understood.

Like I was something wrong. Something fucked up.

Not wrong, my Wolf’s voice rolls through me like distant thunder.

I open my eyes and stare at the shit still burning on the ground beneath the trees we chopped down, and the charred sleeping bags left behind. Then I aim my hose at them.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Not wrong. Strong, my Wolf insists.

“Yeah.”

I kick dirt over the last glowing ember.

“That’s the fucking problem.”

Years have passed since that night, and the Wolf Packs still haven’t chosen a High Alpha to lead them all.

Politics.

Egos.

Territory.

The usual bullshit.

Most days, I couldn’t give two fucks who gets to sit at the top of the canine food chain.

Except—I think a High Alpha might be the only Wolf alive, powerful enough to stop me if I ever completely lose control.

And that fucking sucks.

Because there isn’t one. Which leaves me alone.

Well, just me and the monster.

So I stay away.

Far from both the Moon City Pack and the Macconwood Pack.

Away from my mother.

From women who might look at me and see something worth trying on for more than a night.

Far fucking away from anyone I could hurt.

I traded Pack territory for wildfire lines a long time ago.

Out here, nobody gives a shit if I’m too aggressive.

Too dominant.

Too fucking feral.

The fire doesn’t care what I am.

It comes for everything.

So do I.

And when my Wolf needs violence?

I give him something useful to fight.

Fire.

Trees exploding around us.

Smoke thick enough to choke a man unconscious.

Heat hot enough to blister skin.

Danger that sends sane men running the other way.

I run toward it.

Because fire doesn’t bleed when I hurt it.

Fire doesn’t scream my name.

Fire doesn’t look at me with terror in its eyes.

My radio crackles against my shoulder.

“Havoc.”

I glance toward the blackened stretch of forest.

“Yeah?” I reply out loud because my team doesn’t need radios to hear me.

Monsters all.

“You planning on standing there all fucking night?” Wreck barks.

A grin tugs at my mouth.

Asshole.

“I’m contemplating the decline of civilization.”

Silence.

Then he answers.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

I snort.

Yeah, that’s more like it.

I look over the remains of the campsite one more time.

The flames are handled.

Nobody died. The mountain is still standing. And the mess is nothing but damp ashes now.

Tonight counts as a win.

But my Wolf shifts restlessly beneath my skin.

He’s been worse lately.

Stronger.

Meaner.

Harder to contain.

I know what that means. Or at least what I’ve always assumed it means.

Eventually, one of us is going to win.

Me.

Or him.

And fuck, I’m not stupid enough to bet on myself.

Still...

I have to admit, hope is a hard thing to kill. Even for me.

Because Wreck was fucked too.

Maybe not exactly like me.

But close enough.

He spent years believing the monster inside him was something he had to keep chained.

Something broken.

Something dangerous.

Then he found Gia.

His Omega.

His fated mate.

And somehow, that changed everything.

The fucker still has issues. Plenty of them.

Like his charming personality.

But I have to admit he’s different now.

Steadier.

Whole.

Good for them both. Seriously. I mean it.

But as for me?

Nah.

That shit isn’t happening.

Some Wolves are meant to find their Omegas.

Some are meant to lead Packs.

Some are meant to build homes and make pups and spend the next hundred years knotting their mates every chance they get.

And some of us are meant to stand between the fire and everyone else.

I know which one I am.

I’ve known since prom night.

My Wolf growls.

Liar.

“Fuck off.”

Coward.

“Screw you, Fluffy.”

She is ours.

My entire body goes still.

“What?”

You know who I mean.

“What the fuck, Monster?”

The bastard inside me didn’t answer.

Usually, baiting the Wolf worked. Call him a monster. Call him a psycho. Poke at the mean son of a bitch until he snapped back with a growl or shoved against my control just to remind me he was there.

Not this time.

He retreated into the back of my mind, slipping into that dark place where I could still feel him but couldn’t fucking reach him.

“Fucking psycho,” I muttered.

That made two of us.

Still nothing.

And for some reason, his silence bothered me more than his rage ever did.

It left me feeling anxious.

Restless.

Itchy beneath my fucking skin.

Like something was coming, and every instinct I possessed knew it, even if I didn’t have a goddamn clue what it was.

I hated that feeling.

I rolled my shoulders and tried to shake it off.

Enough.

The fire was contained. The hot spots were handled. Now it was time to pack our gear, get back to the cabins, and get the fuck off this mountain before I started inventing problems where there weren’t any.

I headed toward the trucks, boots grinding through blackened earth and wet ash. Smoke still hung low between the trees, carrying the bitter scent of scorched pine, burned fabric, and the remains of those assholes’ campfire.

Behind me, hoses dragged over the ground as we started breaking everything down.

Work.

Good.

I understood work.

Work gave my hands something to do and my Wolf something else to focus on.

Or it usually did.

Because just when I thought the furry bastard had finally checked out for the night, claws scraped slowly down the inside of my consciousness.

I stopped walking.

There you are.

The Wolf paced once.

Restless.

Agitated.

Searching.

“For what?” I muttered.

Nothing.

Just another scrape of claws.

A low vibration rolled through my chest.

Fuck.

And then, because apparently I enjoyed torturing myself, my mind went straight to her.

Gabriella Santos.

Gabby.

And fuck me.

Just thinking her name did something strange to my chest.

Felt like a goddamn lightning bolt striking.

She was a pretty thing.

Dark hair.

Soft curves.

Tired eyes that still somehow lit up every single time that little boy of hers called her Mommy.

That kid of hers, Matteo, could be halfway across The Joint and all he had to do was yell for her and Gabby changed.

Every fucking time.

Her shoulders loosened.

Her face softened.

Those tired eyes warmed.

Like no matter how shitty her day was, that kid was her whole damn world.

Of course, I’d noticed.

I noticed too fucking much where Gabriella was concerned.

The way she tucked strands of dark hair behind her ear when she got flustered.

The way she planted one hand on a curvy hip when some asshole customer pissed her off.

How she kept smiling even when I could smell the exhaustion rolling off her.

How she always made sure Matteo ate when she never did on the job.

How she laughed with her whole fucking body when something really got her going.

And that fucking smile.

Bright.

Sweet.

Real.

Not something that belonged anywhere near a male like me.

My Wolf pressed forward suddenly.

Hard.

My teeth clenched.

“No.”

He didn’t retreat this time.

Instead, the bastard went utterly still.

Watching.

Waiting.

Like somewhere inside that monstrous head of his, he knew something I didn’t.

That should’ve been enough to scare the shit out of me.

Instead, all I could see was Gabriella smiling.

And that was a hell of a lot more dangerous. For her and me.

Because, you see, I’d noticed her long before Gia ever showed up in Ember Hollow.

Hard not to when we ate at The Joint often enough for Gabriella to know exactly how we took our burgers.

And yeah, her looks were damn fine, but it was her scent that fucking wrecked me every time I caught even the smallest whiff of it.

Firewood smoke and September mornings.

Bright.

Crisp.

Clean.

Warm enough to make me want to get closer and breathe her in straight from the source.

Too fucking good for the likes of me.

Fuck me.

And isn’t that the fucking problem?

Her scent had been getting under my skin for weeks.

At first, I’d tried to ignore it. She was pretty. I had eyes. Of course, I noticed her.

But this wasn’t just noticing. Every damn time we walked into The Joint, I found her before I consciously started looking.

Monster did too.

The bastard woke up the second her scent reached us.

Sweet.

Warm.

Female.

And something else.

Something underneath all of it that neither one of us could seem to name.

Whatever it was, my Wolf fucking wanted it.

He’d lift his head inside me like he was testing the wind.

Watching.

Listening.

Waiting.

And the closer Gabriella got?

The worse he became.

He paced beneath my skin whenever she walked past our table. Scratched at me when she leaned close to put down my plate. Growled if I didn’t look up when she spoke.

Like the fucker was afraid I might miss something.

Her voice.

Her smile.

Her scent.

Her.

And if another male looked at her for too fucking long?

Forget it.

That was when Monster showed his teeth.

One hungry glance from some asshole sitting at the counter and suddenly my Wolf was pushing against my skin, demanding blood over a woman who didn’t fucking belong to us.

I had to remind myself that murder was generally frowned upon.

Mine.

My steps stopped dead.

Every muscle in my body locked.

There it was again. That fucking word.

“No.”

Mine.

“She’s not.”

The denial came too fast.

Too hard.

My Wolf shoved forward, and a growl vibrated through my chest.

“Shut the fuck up.”

MINE.

“Goddammit, I said no.”

Because Gabriella wasn’t mine.

She couldn’t be.

She was a single mother with a sweet little boy who looked at her like she personally hung the fucking moon.

She had responsibilities.

A life.

A kid who needed her.

And they both deserved stability.

Safety.

A male who came home every night.

A male who could toss that little boy onto his shoulders without worrying his claws might come out.

Someone Gabriella could fall asleep beside without wondering if this would be the night the monster finally broke loose.

She needed normal.

Hell, she deserved normal.

And there wasn’t one fucking thing normal about me.

I’d spent years building my life around that truth.

Keeping my distance.

Burning off the rage.

Giving the Wolf fires to fight and mountains to run so he didn’t turn his teeth on people who didn’t deserve them.

I knew what I was.

Dangerous.

Unstable.

Too fucking dominant for my own kind and way too feral for a soft female with a little boy depending on her.

So whatever this obsession with Gabriella was?

I’d handle it.

I always handled my shit.

Whatever my Wolf thought he knew?

He was wrong.

He had to be.

Because I’d already almost destroyed one innocent female when I was eighteen.

I sure as fuck wasn’t going to risk doing it again.

Not to Gabriella.

Never to her.

The thought of frightening that woman—of putting even one second of fear into those tired, pretty eyes—made something savage twist inside my chest.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

Whatever the hell happened next, I knew one thing for damn sure.

I needed to stay away from Gabriella Santos.

Far away.

Far, far the fuck away.

My Wolf went strangely quiet.

Then the son of a bitch laughed.

I gritted my teeth.

Asshole.