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“You came!” he exclaims, looking pleased to see us.
“You know I love watching you run around,” Micah croons, putting on an overly flirtatious tone.
Cabe flips him off, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Here—to keep you warm,” I offer, holding out my cup of hot chocolate.
“That’s sweet of you.” Cabe smiles, taking the cup and trying a sip. His face immediately contorts into a grimace. “Maybe too sweet. Is this thing half sugar?”
I stick out my tongue out and grab the cup back. “More for me then.”
He jogs back onto the field, and a few minutes later the game kicks off. There’s no referee, and each player wears a blue or yellow penny to show which team they’re on. Micah seems to have picked up surprisingly little soccer knowledge despite attending Cabe’s games since middle school. It’s fun to just hang out and chat while watching Cabe in his element, but eventually my butt goes numb. The second I complain, Micah scoops me up and settles me on his lap, pulling so my back rests against his chest. I tense up at first, but once his arms come around to lock against my waist I find myself relaxing into him. He’s much warmer than the metal bench, and with the way my heart is pounding I have no doubt my body temperature has shot up a few degrees as well. Highly effective warming strategy, I must admit.
Some of the spectators come and go, but I stay content and cozy in my Micah cocoon. Cabe scores a goal, and when Micah hands me the last of his hot chocolate to finish, I decide this afternoon deserves a nearly perfect rating.
Of course, that’s when the sirens ring out.
* * *
The shockof the piercing wails freezes my blood and stops my breath. It feels like a minute passes, but really it only takes a few seconds for me and Micah to scramble to our feet, both of us pulling out our phones. After the test of the alert system a few weeks back, Lincoln made sure my phone number was added to the campus security message alert system. In the field that day, I hadn’t known there was going to be a test, which only added to the panic I experienced. As I click on the text from the university, I hope to see a notification of another system test. Instead it’s a warning to seek immediate shelter due to a campus security incident.
People around us are yelling, some panicking or confused and others quickly taking off. A few seem to think the whole thing is a joke, and my sudden rage at their blasé attitude almost erases my fear.
Almost.
“Let’s go,” Micah says, grabbing my arm and tugging me along after him down the bleachers. Cabe joins us immediately, and together they lead me at a run toward what I can only assume is the nearest building. My legs feel like lead, but somehow I manage to keep up, and I make it inside along with most of the other people from the field. There’s shouting, and I hear a few girls crying, but my brain struggles to process anything. All I can manage is to cling to Micah and burrow my head into his chest, trying to hide from the confusion and terror pressing in around me.
“This way,” I hear someone say, and I feel Micah moving me deeper into the building. From the smell, I can tell we’re in a locker room. A men’s locker room, if I had to guess. The stale, sour smell of old sweat only lingers in my nose for a minute before being replaced by Micah’s burned coffee and my own spoiled rose. Clear markers of distress. I hear Cabe barking out orders nearby, and his normally refreshing lime-and-tonic scent has also turned sharp.
Micah leads me over to a bench and helps lower me down onto it. When I see his phone in his hand, I scramble to do the same. Information is what we need right now. I don’t see anything new from the school, but I have several texts from Lincoln, Leo, Tanner, and Mason, all of them asking where I am and urging me to find someplace safe to hide. My fingers, numb from the shock and sitting outside for an hour, refuse to work enough for me to manage a reply. An incoming call lights up my screen—Lincoln’s number—but before I can answer, Cabe’s loud curse cuts through the room.
“Motherfuckers!”
I look up in alarm and see that worried gaze is pinned right on me.
“What is it?” Micah demands.
“I don’t have all the details yet, but my unit commander sent out a notice there’s been an attempted kidnapping over by the math building. They haven’t caught anyone, but sounds like there are multiple men on campus and ...” He hesitates as his eyes flit toward me and away again. “They think the group is targeting omegas.”
My stomach sinks, my worst fears confirmed, at the same time as a woman gasps next to me.
“W-what?” she asks, her eyes wide and her whole body shaking. I can tell immediately she too is an omega, her height, scent, and extreme fear giving her away.
The whole room falls silent, and for a heartbeat all I can hear is harsh breathing underneath the continuing peal of the siren.
Then Cabe jumps into action. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”
Luckily, the soccer players are all used to working together as a team, and they move seamlessly around the room as Cabe hands out instructions. Everyone is told to stay quiet, the lights are turned off, and a few guys pile what they can find—a few trash cans and an industrial laundry basket—in front of the door to the locker room. Apparently, there aren’t any locks, so Cabe assigns three guys to stay posted by the door in case someone tries to come in. The rest of us huddle against the far wall, a bank of lockers between us and the door. The other omega, whose name I learn is Chloe, sticks to me like a magnet, our hands clasped together so tightly the skin goes white. The friends she was with huddle near us as well, tears pouring down one girl’s face. Reception is spotty inside this concrete building, but I watch as Chloe frantically texts her pack with the hand not clutching my own.
Micah remains wrapped around me, his arms the only thing keeping me from completely curling into a ball. His face is tucked against my neck, and every so often he whispers to me that everything will be all right. I don’t bother with my phone, trusting Micah to let everyone know where we are.
Cabe, meanwhile, stays by the door, pacing as he types away at his phone, probably talking with others in his reserve unit to find out what’s happening. Every so often he walks over to us, running his hand comfortingly along my head and leaning in to scent-mark me. It’s a possessive move and something I’d normally be taken aback by, but in this situation, all I feel is gratitude. I’m impressed with his control over his emotions; his scent has lost its sharp edge now and is simply pumping out calming pheromones. I wish I could do the same, as much as for myself as all the others around me, but I definitely don’t have enough composure for that.
So that’s how we all stay. For hours.
25
Mason
