Page 42 of Your Wild Omega (The Feral Actress #2)

Chapter thirty-five

Red

Rickon glances up at the imposing courthouse before rubbing my upper arms. “Are you sure you’re okay to be here?

” he asks for the fourth time this morning.

He’s the one who should be hesitant about facing his former abusive partner who throttled his neck, but he’s worried about me instead. I only stabbed the guy with a fork.

“I’m not made of glass, you know,” I shoot back, leading Zack up the stairs to the left of the central swathe of neatly mown grass.

A perfect lie, and Rickon knows it, because I am made of delicate mosaic illusions and patchwork movie lines. But the confrontation with Hudson Vatters barely registers on my trauma radar, so I really can walk in there and sit through his trial.

No, the pain of walking these steps comes from the memories flooding in of the day I climbed Callisto like a tree on the small square of grassy lawn, only to be shot down.

It was a clear day like today too, and I was giddy with my first taste of freedom.

I studiously avoid looking at the patch of green grass and fix my gaze on the doorways above us, swallowing crowds into the shadowed interior where classy bastards in silken suits dispense justice.

Callisto waits for us inside, bouncing lightly on his shiny shoes as he scans some documents.

Rickon already spent an evening with him, going over his statement and prepping for cross-examining.

I found a list at home Callisto gave him of things he must not say on the stand today.

Seems court is even more complicated than I thought.

“Good morning,” Callisto says, smiling. He nods once as our eyes meet.

I thought the bouncing meant nerves, but he appears calm. Serene even. I thought the same that first day when I followed him, unable to believe he’d left his omega out on the lawn. This courthouse is Callisto’s domain, and in here he’s a king.

“Hi,” Rickon says shakily.

“Ready for the big day?” Callisto asks, extending his arm to guide his best friend. “We’re down the hall here in room two.”

I trail behind them, worrying Zack’s leash through my fingers.

Callisto holds the door open for us to enter, revealing a cream-painted room heaped with wooden furnishings.

The only color comes from the curling-ribbon logo with a motto about justice mounted at the front of the room.

I look up. Moldings on the walls and high ceilings give the place a historic aura.

How many horrific crimes have been tried and sentenced in a place like this?

Kinda feels like I walked through a portal to a foreign world, one where people like me shouldn’t be. Zack reaches out and takes my hand, and I cling to his fingers gratefully.

“You can sit here,” Callisto says, indicating a row of seats in front of the carved barrier. “We’ll be just a few feet away over there. Will that be okay?” He holds my gaze, searching for my reaction.

I glance across the wooden wall to the two tables for the prosecution and defense, and nod. “Yeah, this should be fine.”

I slip down the row and take a seat, Zack settling in beside me and Agent Josef sitting on his other side but leaving one empty seat between them. My feral alpha seems to have come to a chilly truce with his guards, with Zack mostly ignoring the OCB officers when they accompany us out.

We watch as Callisto rests his hand on Rickon’s shoulder and steers him to the front before setting out several black document folders. He chats with my alpha, quickly putting him at ease with a joke I can’t hear.

I slump down in my chair. Rickon’s in good hands.

I thought I was prepared to face our attacker, but I flinch when the big beta walks in with his lawyer and sits down on the defendant’s side.

A whiff of pungent wood shavings perfumes the air.

For a moment, I picture my beloved Fabby McStabby fork sticking out of his arm, but the moment I blink, the mirage is gone.

The nausea remains, twining through my belly like a snake, and I cover my midriff with my hands. I really loved that fork, but I lost her to police evidence after Hudson’s unwanted visit. He’s a real piece of shit.

“All rise for Her Honor, Judge Gail Firston.”

I tug Zack upright as everyone rises, and we remain standing as the jury files in. A long speech follows about upholding justice and the process of the law, and some bullshit about innocent until proven guilty.

Callisto goes first, presenting a matter-of-fact summary of how Hudson entered our apartment and throttled Rickon.

I try to pretend they’re not talking about me as the lawyer recites my actions of stabbing his arm and threatening him with a knife before the police arrived on the scene.

Thankfully, I never got charged for that, since the wound wasn’t deep and it was deemed self-defense.

But I am wracking up a long list of close calls with the legal system.

After Callisto, Hudson’s lawyer speaks, reciting a different tale of Hudson defending himself from a crazed pair who attacked him when he came to the apartment to collect his belongings.

Even though he only speaks for a couple of minutes, the man hints at a picture of volatile, pheromone-crazed exes, as if Hudson could never hurt a fly.

I peek at the jury under my lashes with a silent scoff. Will they buy it? Hudson’s doing his best to look nonthreatening with open posture, his hands clasped neatly on the table. My gaze flickers to our side and at that moment, Rickon turns, also glancing across the room at his former lover.

My breath hitches. No matter what games Hudson plays, he can’t outperform my beautiful alpha.

Rickon presses one slender hand to his throat as if he can still feel the bruises, toying gingerly with the top button on his crisp shirt.

He skipped the corset today, but the intricate paisley vest hugs his body, revealing his narrow waist.

I wasn’t sure the silver eyeshadow he brushed on this morning suited him, but here in the lower lighting, he looks almost bruised. Fragile, precious, someone to protect. Definitely not someone who could pose a risk to a burly beta two feet taller than him.

I draw in a deep breath and sit up straighter to listen to the other proceedings. Witnesses follow the opening statements, ranging from neighbors who heard the screaming, to the police who first attended the scene.

I’m fine until they bring out the pictures of Rickon’s blue-black throat.

Then it feels like the bruises march off the screens and onto my body, and the adrenaline of that day poisons my bloodstream.

I wish I had Rickon’s treasured kitchen knife in my hand right now so I could leap across the barrier and slash that neutral expression off the beta’s face.

The room presses in, and my control over Red Jones skitters as if my heat were here.

I cling to the acting roles that served me in the past: Red Hawk, Alpha Spy femme fatales, Kayla Grants from Crime Scene Squad . But they all seem to slip through my mental grab like melted butter.

Hudson gets up on the witness seat and a cold chill breaks out in me, condensing on my skin.

His lawyer gets him to confirm that he was in a relationship with Rickon. Then, with a strategic glance over his shoulder, he asks, “Can you describe the sexual intimacy you had with Mr Jones?”

Hudson smiles fondly, an expression that doesn’t belong on his face at all. “Rickon liked things rough.”

He says more, but a droning noise drowns out my hearing. A shudder runs through me and a shadow looms over me. It’s Ray.

He smirks and runs his thumb up my thigh, collecting my slick and bringing it to his nose. “Pain is a whole different ball game, pet. Although, you do seem to like things rough.”

“I hate you!” I snarl.

He nods. “I’m sure. But hate fucking is fun too.

” He leans over me, and the disgusting scent of his licorice musk clogs my nose.

“She’s ready,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire.

“Aren’t you, pet?” His hands tighten around my thighs.

“Nothing to say, ’Lev? Don’t be shy. I know you want this alpha cock. ”

I leap to my feet, swinging my fist in the air. Rickon and Callisto turn, and so does Hudson. His eyes narrow, and fury radiates off him, scorching what little oxygen remains in the air. Ray isn’t here, but Hudson is. Pressure explodes behind my eyes. I’m going insane. I can’t stay here.

Blindly, I tug on Zack’s leash and throw myself over legs to reach the end of the row.

I’m halfway to the door when I stumble. Big hands close around my waist, lifting me off my feet, and a sweet malt-barley cloud fills my nose.

It’s so good, I suck in three more deep breaths while clinging to Zack’s neck.

When I open my eyes, the scenery’s changed, as if we’ve teleported.

I dig my fingers deeper into Zack’s shirt, anchoring my sanity on his burly body.

Rickon comes flying out of the building. “Red?”

I swear under my breath. “Go back in,” I mutter, throat squeezing around the words. What if the judge rules something bad because he ran out?

Callisto looms through the doorway behind him, the sun making his black hair shine.

“Go back!” I cry, shivering.

“It’s okay, Red,” Callisto says, spreading his hands and coming a step closer. He stops when Zack stiffens and clutches me tighter.

“The judge agreed to a short adjournment. Even juries need toilet breaks, you know.”

I let my head fall on Zack’s shoulder, relief flushing the panic out of my system.

“That was tough, hey?” Rickon says shakily, resting one hand on his hip.

I study him from Zack’s shoulder. He’s always struck me as having a surreal beauty, like an anime man come to life, or a demigod. I offer my hand and he takes it. “I wanted to kill him,” I admit sheepishly.

Rickon swallows hard and nods in understanding.