Page 47 of Omega's Fever

“I can’t lose you.” The words seem to tear out of him. “I know I don’t have the right. Know this is all kinds of fucked up. But the thought of Cobb hurting you, of you bleeding out in some alleybecause of me—”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know him like I do.” Kellen’s hands clench and unclench at his sides. “He destroys everything he touches. Everyone who gets in his way. And now he’s noticed you. Because of me.”

I move closer still. “I’m not backing down, Kellen.”

I reach up, my hand trembling as it hovers near his face. He goes statue-still, not even breathing.

My fingers make contact with his jaw, and we both shudder. The slight scratch of stubble sends electricity racing up my arm. He leans into the touch with a sound that sends shivers up my spine.

“Milo...” His eyes open, dark and desperate as a drowning man’s. “If we do this, there’s no going back. You need to understand that. You are risking everything.”

“I know.”

I rise up on my toes and press my lips to his.

For a heartbeat that lasts forever, he doesn’t respond. Then his control shatters like glass. His arms come around me, pulling me against his chest with desperate strength.

My hands fist in his t-shirt, holding on as my knees tremble. Every point of contact burns through my clothes.

When we finally break apart, we’re both gasping like we’ve run miles. The scent of arousal hangs thick between us.

“This is insane,” I pant against his throat, tasting salt and need.

“Yeah.” His hands flex against my waist, holding me steady when I want to fly apart. “Probably going to get us both killed.”

We’re playing a dangerous game now. Both of us. And I don’t know if I’m going to survive it.

15

Kellen

“The State calls Danny Rivera to the stand.”

Sutter is wearing a burgundy suit today, the color of dried blood. She smells of burned coffee and I don’t think she’s looked at me once since the trial started. I’m not really of any interest to her. I’m not really a person. I could be replaced with a stuffed bear or a six year old or a photo of me in a gold embossed stand. I don’t think she’d care as long as she got the win and sent me to prison.

The scent would annoy but instead I have Milo’s much closer, almost drowning it out. His sweet vanilla hits me in waves every time he shifts in his seat beside me. And he shifts a lot. My beautiful omega is antsy as hell.

Danny Rivera shuffles to the witness stand. I remember him from The Pit, although I didn’t know him well. He’s lost weight since the raid. His cheap suit hangs loose on his frame, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows repeatedly.

The bailiff holds out the Bible. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.” Danny’s voice cracks on the second word.

He’s lying already.

Sutter approaches the witness stand with measured steps. “Mr. Rivera, can you state your occupation for the court?”

“I was a bartender. At The Pit.”

“And how long did you work there?”

“About eighteen months.” His eyes dart to me, then away so fast I almost miss it. “Started in March two years ago.”

“Can you describe your duties?”

Danny lists the obvious—mixing drinks, handling cash, cleaning. His voice gains a little strength as he recites what sounds like a rehearsed script. Then Sutter moves in for the kill.