Page 4 of A Murderous Omega

Fuck, she was fast. She darted around a corner, then clambered up a fence, using her bound hands to haul herself up. She reached the top and grinned down at me, slicing her hands down hard on the razor wire and opening her bindings.

I snared a hand around her ankle, only for Lark to reach around and swipe at me with a knife that appeared like magic. She aimed for my throat, and I jerked back just in time for her to slice through my raised forearm instead.

Pain shot through me as she sliced deep, that and unmitigated lust for this delightful omega.

She was perfect. My cock hardened as I followed her up the fence, not nearly as neat and elegant as she. I dropped to the other side with a thud, the landing jarring my bones.

The omega was meters ahead of me, her gorgeous ass encased in tight black denim tucked into shitkicker boots, and it took everything I had to concentrate on catching her rather than watching that fine ass as she ran.

“Omega,” I barked. “Stop.”

To my shock, she skidded to a halt. Fuck yes, she really was a scent match for us, just as I suspected. My bark shouldn’t have worked on anyone but Conor, anyone but my pack. But with a scent match? All bets were off. Before I could shove down my sense of wonder at how lucky we were and bark again, she shook off the command and dashed forward.

I chased her through the warrens, well aware Conor was tracking my movements on his phone. She was too smart to corral, but⁠—

Shit.

Where’d she go?

I stopped, listening carefully, panic sluicing through my veins at the thought of losing her, of the thought of her running through the streets of the city at night, a lone omega, with no one to protect her from big, bad alphas on the hunt.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I caught the soft thud of her boots as she ran. On silent feet, I took up the chase again, only to discover her in a blind alley, swearing viciously.

Lark whirled around, her sable hair loose and disheveled from her flight.

Her chest heaved and sweat dotted her brow. Her eyes, such a deep brown they were practically black in the dark, flicked toward the fire escape to her left, then back toward me.

“Don’t come any closer,” she growled, wielding the same knife she’d used against me earlier.

“Run all you want, little omega. I live for the hunt,” I purred as I stepped closer, watching her eyes dilate as she took in my scent, amplified by the physical activity. The rumble in my chest soothed her. “And so do you.”

Her nipples peaked inside her bra, ill-concealed through the fabric of her thin T-shirt, but she didn’t drop the knife. Interesting. Idly, I wondered if adrenaline was fucking with her omega instincts.

“Stay the fuck back,” she snarled.

I ignored her. Of course I did. She was my mate, and there was no way on this goddess damned earth I was going to let her walk away from me, not now, not when she was so fucking close.

Her lilac and vanilla scent blew over me, and I had to adjust my cock as it swelled.

“You’re so gorgeous,” I cooed. “So clever and sexy, murdering all those omega-abusing alphas. Let us take care of you, little one. Let us worship you like you deserve.”

She snorted. “Yeah, sure, if worship is code for ‘give up my freedom’.”

I blinked. What? That’s not how⁠—

She took advantage of my momentary confusion to take a running leap for the fire escape.

Mon dieu, she was magnificent.

Conor and I stalked Lark for almost two years, noting her habits prior to her kills, analyzing her delightfully murderous history to help us predict her next targets. She murdered alphas who abused omegas, getting closer and closer to the assholes who ran the Omega Institute.

For the last three kills, we’d beaten her to the punch, hoping to draw her out so we could catch and claim this gorgeous, murderous, fascinating woman.

I dashed after her, wrapped my fingers around her ankles, and yanked her downward, rolling as we fell so she’d land on top of me.

Momentarily stunned by the impact, neither of us moved.