Page 50

I buck hard beneath his weight, throwing him off balance enough to drag myself across the floor. He scrambles after me, one hand swiping for my ankle, and I kick free to stumble to my feet.

He lunges.

I duck under his outstretched arm, twisting away from his grasp, and drive my elbow into his kidney. The blow lands with a satisfying thud, and the Alpha howls, spinning toward me with dark fury.

“You little⁠—”

I don’t give him time to finish. My next strike targets his knee, the heel of my boot connecting with the side of his joint. He staggers but doesn’t go down, and his answering swing catches me across the jaw, sending me stumbling back into my desk.

The sleek glass top cracks, splintering beneath me as I hit the floor. Pain shoots up my spine, but I roll to the side as the Alpha lunges, his fist striking the hardwood where my head had been a second before.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say, scrambling to my feet. “You can still walk away.”

“From an Omega?” He charges again, and this time I’m ready, sidestepping and using his momentum to send him crashing into my bookshelf.

Novels scatter with a series of thuds, and the Alpha swears as he rights himself. Blood trickles from a cut above his eye, his breath comes in ragged pulls, and his rage turns uglier.

“I’m gonna make you regret the day you walked into the Blue Note,” he snarls, circling me with the careful steps of someone who’s been in enough fights to know better than to rush in again.

My back hits the wall beside my kitchenette. “You need to leave.”

He lunges again, quicker than before, and his fingers close around my throat, squeezing as he drives me back into the side of the fridge. “I don’t think so.”

Black spots dance through my vision as his grip tightens, his weight pinning me in place. My hands find his wrists, trying to break his hold, but he’s bigger, stronger, and rage fuels every movement.

“Should have stayed with your boyfriend,” he hisses, spittle hitting my cheek. “Should have⁠—”

I bring my knee up between his legs, and this time the blow lands solid. The Alpha’s grip loosens enough for me to twist away, dragging air into my burning lungs as I stumble into the kitchen.

He’s on me in seconds, grabbing the back of my shirt and yanking me off balance. I land hard, my chin striking the tile with enough force to rattle my teeth, and his weight comes down on my back, one hand fisting in my hair.

“You’re gonna pay,” he growls, dragging my head back. “For everything.”

My fingers scrabble across the tile, reaching for anything I can use as a weapon. They close around the leg of my kitchen stool, and I swing it back as hard as I can, the wood connecting with his shoulder.

The Alpha yelps, his weight lifting far enough for me to roll free. I’m back on my feet in an instant, backing toward the counter as he rises, fury etched into every line of his face.

“You’re dead,” he says, and charges.

I sidestep again, but he’s learning, and his arm shoots out to catch me around the waist. His momentum carries us both into the kitchen, my back hitting the counter with enough force to knock the air from my lungs. His hand returns to my throat again, and he lifts me, my feet leaving the floor.

“Think you’re so special?” he snarls from inches away. “You’re nothing.”

The world begins to narrow, black spots scattering through my vision as his grip tightens. My fingers scrabble across the counter behind me, searching for anything I can use.

They close around the marble wine chiller Alexei gave me last Christmas, heavy stone carved into the shape of a lion, the gag gift a covert joke about the meaning of my name.

I swing it up and around, putting all my weight behind the blow. It connects with the side of the Alpha’s head with a sickening thud.

His grip on my throat vanishes as he drops, his head striking the counter on the way down with a stomach-turning crack. He lands sprawled across my kitchen tiles in a growing pool of blood.

The sudden silence rings in my ears.

I stand frozen, the wine chiller still clutched in my hand, blood spattered across my cardigan and the front of my cream shirt. My breath comes in wheezing gasps, my heart hammering as I stare down at the body on my floor.

I’ve killed before.

Three times, in fact. Once, when I was sixteen and cornered by a member of a rival family who recognized me despite my attempts at disguise. Once, when I was nineteen, to eliminate a witness who could have placed Alexei at the scene of a hit. Once, when I was twenty-two, a mercy killing for a man who’d served the family faithfully until he’d been shot and couldn’t be moved to safety.