I reached up and touched his face.
He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.
I said, “We have to finish this.”
He opened his eyes and said, “It’s almost over.”
He pulled me up, and it was almost over.
But not in the way I’d hoped.
We were too spread out. I couldn’t see Carter or Kelly, but I could hear them snarling somewhere in the trees, their anger evident. The bond between us was stretched tight and thin, pulsing in dull rage.
I thought I saw a flash of Elizabeth, full wolf and graceful, eyes bright and teeth bared, but then she was gone, Omegas crawling after her.
Mark was crumpled on the ground, breathing shallowly. Gordo stood in front of him, tattoos glowing, blood dribbling down from a gash on his forehead. A group of Omegas surrounded them. Gordo grinned. His teeth were bloody. He said, “Yeah. Come on. Come on.”
And then there was Thomas. The Alpha.
I said, “No,” because he was bleeding from every inch of exposed skin, half-shifted, eyes red and claws dripping. Dead Omegas were strewn about his feet, gore spilling into the grass of the clearing.
He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling. His right arm hung uselessly at his side, a knob of bone poking through on his forearm, his healing not yet kicked in. His shoulders were hunched and fangs extended, and still more Omegas came. They poured out from the trees and I didn’t know how there could be so many. How so many Omegas could be in Green Creek without us knowing. Without Thomas knowing, because this was his land. This was his home and I didn’t understand.
They swarmed on him and he roared.
The trees shook in the forest.
The stars were bright overhead.
And then we were betrayed.
Joe growled deep and low in his throat, muscles twitching, ready to launch himself toward his father. To help him. To save him.
Osmond said, “Hey,” and as we turned, startled, he backhanded Joe across the face.
The force of the hit knocked us both off our feet. Joe flew into a tree, crying out as his back snapped viciously, falling and writhing on the ground.
I lay on the ground, stunned, watching the stars in the sky above. I thought of my mother and, for a moment, forgot that she lay covered in a blanket in our house, her blood cooling underneath.
I said, “My head hurts, Mom,” but the stars didn’t say anything back.
Then the stars were blocked out.
Osmond looked down at me, head cocked.
I said, “You did this.”
He said, “There really wasn’t any other choice.”
He raised his foot above my face. I wondered if it hurt to have your skull smashed in.
Richard Collins said, “Leave the human alone, Osmond. I’m not finished with him yet.”
Osmond drew his foot away but didn’t move from my side.
I turned my head. The grass felt cool on my cheek. Joe was lying feet away on the ground. His skin was sweat-slick, face twisted in a grimace of pain. His hands were fisted at his sides.
I said, “Joe,” or tried to at least. It came out broken and weak. He didn’t hear me. Or, if he did, he was in too much pain to do anything about it.