Don’t Let Them Corner You
A guttural, bone-deep growl tore through the Upper Wing, so low the walls themselves seemed to shudder.
Inside one of the silver-lined cells, Kane Whitlock prowled like a beast that had forgotten it was ever human. Six-foot-seven of pure muscle and madness. Black eyes, no pupils, no mercy, just endless void. He spun and slammed his fist into the bars.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Heaven-forged silver bit into his knuckles, searing flesh down to the bone. Skin blistered, split, smoked. Healed in seconds. Split again. Kane didn’t flinch. Pain was just noise; the only thing that mattered was the scent crawling under the door, thick, sweet, maddening.
Omega.
Their Omega.
Ripe, terrified, and bleeding somewhere far too close.
His cock punched through the front of his ruined pants, thick and angry, leaking against his abs. Another snarl ripped out of him, half man, half monster.
In the next cell, Saint Crowther didn’t pace. He sat perfectly still, rocking heel to toe, heel to toe, the way a sniper breathes before a kill. One ice-blue eye glowed beneath the fall of black hair. His claws tapped a slow, patient rhythm on the concrete.
Kane gripped the burning bars, smoke curling from his palms. “You smell her, Saint. She’s out there. Right fucking now.”
Saint’s only answer was a soft inhale, nostrils flaring. The scent hit him like a blade between the ribs. His claws flexed, carving grooves into the floor.
The timer on the far wall glowed red: 02:00:11… 02:00:10…
Kane laughed, cracked and wild. “Soon,” Saint murmured, voice gravel dragged over broken glass.
Kane snarled louder, slamming the bars again.
Downstairs – The Lockers
The instant Rhys’s voice sliced the air, cold and final, Jaxon’s hand jerked from Scarlett’s throat as if it had been burned. He and his pack scattered like roaches under sudden light, shoes shrieking against marble, gone in a heartbeat.
Scarlett dragged in a ragged breath and slapped trembling fingers to her neck. Four tiny punctures wept warm blood that painted her fingertips red.
Lily and Milo had flattened themselves against the lockers, faces chalk-white, eyes blown wide with terror. Their once-sweet scents curdled into something sharp and sour, thick enough to choke on.
Jaxon was gone.
Yet they still shook.
Then Scarlett saw him.
Rhys Valdane moved down the hallway like he owned the very air everyone else breathed. Each slow, deliberate step made Lily whimper and Milo’s knees knock together.
Scarlett’s stomach dropped through the floor.
They weren’t afraid of the Alpha who had nearly crushed her windpipe.
They were afraid of the one who had just saved her.
Rhys stopped inches away, towering over her. His amber gaze locked on the thin rivulets of blood trailing down her throat.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, low and almost gentle.
His hand rose. Long fingers brushed the wounds, barely a graze, but heat exploded through Scarlett’s body, pooling low and treacherous between her thighs. Instinct took over; she jerked back and shoved his hand away.
His eyes snapped to hers, gold bleeding into something darker, hungrier. Scarlett froze, pulse hammering so hard she felt it in her teeth.
“I…I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m fine…”
Rhys said nothing. He lifted the finger that had touched her blood, slid it between his lips, and licked it clean, slow, deliberate, savoring every drop.
Scarlett’s knees nearly buckled.
A faint, terrifying smile curved his mouth.
Then he turned and walked away, calm as death, leaving the hallway drenched in pine, smoke, and a darker promise that sank straight into her bones.
Scarlett stared after him, watching the last flash of broad shoulders vanish around the corner.
Only then did she whirl back to her friends.
Lily’s legs folded. Milo lunged, catching her before she hit the floor, crushing her against his chest while she buried her face in his blazer and sobbed silently.
Scarlett stood rooted, fingertips glued to the four burning punctures. They throbbed in time with her heartbeat, but the sting no longer belonged to Jaxon. It belonged to Rhys.
“Scarlett,” Milo rasped, voice cracking. “We have to move. Now.”
She blinked, throat raw. “He… he just left.”
Lily’s laugh came out wet and broken. “That’s how it starts. Please, before he comes back.”
Milo’s hand clamped around Scarlett’s wrist, warm, shaking, unbreakable. “Pack Diplomacy. East wing. Stay between us.”
They ran.
Three small Omegas pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, arms brushing, scents tangling into a single cloud of sugar and panic. Their shoes squeaked too loud on the marble. Every echo sounded like footsteps behind them.
Halfway down the corridor, the lights stuttered.
Once.
Twice.
A deep, metallic groan rolled up through the floor, slow and hungry, as though something monstrous was clawing its way out of the earth.
Scarlett’s heart slammed so hard her vision blurred.
Lily’s fingers found hers and squeezed until bones ground together. Milo’s breath hitched.
“Don’t look back,” he whispered, voice splintering. “Just walk.”
They didn’t stop until the heavy oak doors of the classroom loomed ahead.
Only then did Lily lift her head, eyes swollen and red behind crooked glasses.
She stared straight at Scarlett, deadly serious.
“Whatever you do, Scarlett… don’t ever let them corner you alone.”