Page 45 of The Rust in Her Hair

"I know,” I say, trying to reassure him "She's an omega and she's hurt. We're wired to protect. It’s understandable that you’d lock in."

He shakes his head like I’m not understanding.

"No. I got—" His throat works as he swallows. "I got hard, Nico." Shame makes his whole face tight. "She was hurt. Shaking. Scared out of her mind. And I wanted—" His teeth click shut. He forces the rest through them. "The urge to pin her down and fuck her hard, to claim her—" He sucks in a harsh breath. "It was the strongest thing I have ever felt. I have never in my life wanted anything the way I wanted her right then."

That stops me cold.

I open my mouth to give him an easy answer again. That a protective drive can cross its wires sometimes. But Adrian sees my argument coming and shuts it down.

"Don't." His blue-gray eyes stay on mine, steady and wrecked at the same time. "It had nothing to do with protecting her. I know the difference. I've been around hurt omegas before, and it never once felt like this." He drops his head, too ashamed to look me in the eye. "This was for me. I wanted her for me."

I've got nothing.

I’m too stunned.

Adrian isn’t this kind of alpha. He’s soft, and sweet, and charming as all hell. There’s not an aggressive bone in the man’s body.

The shower’s still running when Owen’s footsteps move down the hall, and I feel him before he clears the corner.

Our bond snaps taut and pours everything he's carrying straight into me. His rush of emotions drop low in my gut, cold, all of it pointed at the girl in the bathroom.

Grief, helplessness, and deep fear for Lyra.

A second later, the beta comes around the corner with his glasses already off, hooked in two fingers. His eyes pull down at the corners. He crosses to the couch, sits, then scrubs one hand down his face.

"Owen." I go to him. "Talk to me."

He pinches the bridge of his nose where the frames usually sit.

"Give me a second." His voice comes out thick. "I just need a second."

I crouch in front of him and set a hand on his knee. Through our bond, I feel him fighting to gather himself back up for my sake, and he’s losing.

"Nico," my sweet beta whispers. "She…I can’t⁠—"

The front door swings open.

"Honey, I'm home." Mack backs through it with a pink bakery box balanced flat on one broad palm, bumping the door shut with his heel. "Snagged the last of the good ones, so everybody mind your manners or I'm eatin' the maple bar my own damn self⁠—"

He stops inside the door.

His eyes track across the room. Owen folded over on the couch with his glasses in his fist. Adrian rigid and pale in the center of the room. Me down on the floor at Owen's knees.

His grin holds one more second, then slides clean off his face.

"Y'all are home mighty early," he says. "Thought Owen would be hunkered down at the library all day."

Nobody answers him.

Owen keeps his eyes on the floor. Adrian hasn't moved. I stay where I am, crouched at Owen's knees.

Mack looks around at all of us as the quiet scratches on.

"Alright. Who died?" He holds out his hands, balancing the donuts on one flat palm. "Somebody tell me, 'cause I got maybe four good jokes loaded up, and I'd hate to waste 'em on the wrong funeral."

"Nobody died," I say.

Owen lifts his head. His voice scrapes thin. "Lyra's here."