Page 14 of His Beast

Quinn's straining cry finally reaches me through the haze and I slowly turn to look at him. Blood is splattered across his face, but I don’t think he notices. Quinn curls in on himself, whimpering as his heat begins to take over once more, stronger than it had been. His scent floods the locker room, mixing with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid scent of burnt birchwood. Rage consumes my senses, my head throbbing with each heartbeat.

Danger! Kill! Mate! Claim! Protect!

I let the metal bat slip easily from my bloodied grip, moving away from the remains on the floor to the pretty precious thing that calls out to me as he lets out another pained whimper. Crowding Quinn’s body with my own, I capture his lips in a kiss that’s more aggressive than I had intended it to be. He mewls against me, lowering himself on to his back as I free my aching cock, my hips thrusting forward into the cool air, desperate to be inside him, to claim him. Blood from my hands mixes into his curls as I grip the back of his head, harder than I intend to, staining some of them a deeper brown. Leaning forward, I flick my tongue against my mark, an uncivilized growl rumbling low in my chest. My body feels feverish, as if we were sharing the same fever while he pants and whines through our embrace, echoing the animalistic need that’s clawing to the surface.

He’s was safe now, I made sure nothing will hurt him, but my brain is struggling to process that information as Quinn let’s out a frustrated cry. He struggles with his jeans and my feral brain doesn’t know patience enough to help him carefully as I grab the waist band in front, tearing easily through the fabric, liberating a slick hard cock and eager hole. I probably should’ve been gentler, kinder. I probably should’ve taken my time to open him up to me, give in to his pleasure before seeking my own. Instinct cared not for ‘probably’s.

His body effortlessly swallows my cock as I push deep into his body, my knot already forming. My fingers bruise his flesh with bloodied fingerprints as I take him roughly, unable to stop the snapping of my hips as I surged forward, his screams bouncing off the walls of the locker room.

“Deeper,” Quinn cries, fingernails biting into my biceps as if he’s clinging to me for dear life, arching his back and spreading his legs to give me more space to take him. “Deeper, Valla, please!”

Snarling, I moved forward and place his legs on my shoulders as I bend him forward, his knees almost connecting with his chest while I bite my mark, desperately trying to claim him once more. The taste of honey coated copper pennies spurts across my tongue as he lets out a surprised yelp, head thrown back in the throws of pleasure, his hard cock leaking precum across his stomach. Blood from my past mixed with the blood of my future into his beautiful curls as it seeps from my bite and the carnage beside us across the concrete floor. My past was over, my future beneath me. Unable to fight it any longer, my knot slips into his warm embrace, expanding and locking us together as my orgasm rushes through me in white hot waves, filling my beloved. Quinn lets out a gruntled moan, fingernails digging into my arm hard enough to create bloody half moon shapes, his cum splashing across his stomach and chest. Panting, his gazes down at me, his eyes clearing slightly as he stares at me. His beautiful Omega’s song fills the room, while he reaches forward, cupping my cheek.

“My precious beast.”

Quinn

Epilogue

I knew going to the fight was a bad idea. My heat had arrived early, but I had refused to sit out the biggest fight of Zayn’s career. I should’ve gone and waited in the car like I said I would, instead, I ended up making a mess of everything, and the guilt is eating at me. The side effects of the drug Markus gave him didn’t last very long, but while it had remained in his system, Zayn wasn’t really aware of what was happening around him, only experiencing aggression and unquenchable lust. In between heat spikes, I was able to get us home, re-emerging later from my nest and diving headfirst into chaos.

Markus is dead, beaten to death with the same baseball bat he hit Zayn with before trying to kill me. I hadn’t realized we had sex next to his mangled corpse until after the fact, and I’m trying very, very hard not to think about it. The day after my heat ended, detectives showed up at the house to ask Zayn a few questions about his part in Markus’ death. Reeking of Omega heat pheromones and being Valla made the detectives a little uncomfortable, which only amused Zayn, who refused to answer any of their questions in the house, insisting they sit outside for their interview.

Apparently, Markus owed a lot of people a lot of money, and he used his fighters to pay off his debts. Zayn was his best cash cow, an almost guaranteed win in any fight, which provided consistent income to keep the creditors happy. He had a lot of money placed on the campaign fight and had purchased an illegal drug on the black market to make sure Zayn had won. It was also discovered that because Zayn had been a minor at the time of his attack, the state had attempted to contact Markus as his guardian. He had refused to claim Zayn, so the state had covered his medical bills, which meant Zayn had owed him nothing. Markus hadn’t expected Zayn to come back after the attack, and when he had, he had used it to his advantage. The apartment and car that Zayn owned were seized as assets to pay off any remaining debt that Markus may have owed, but the detective assured him that no one would be expecting Zayn to cover the remaining balance.

Because Zayn had murdered Markus to save me, it’s been ruled as self defense and that’ll be handled in court in a few months. While Zayn hasn’t been arrested, he’s still informed not to leave the state. Markus’ death spread through the underground fight ring like wildfire, with many rings trying to get Zayn to sign with him, many offering him absurd amounts of money to fight in their ring. He’s turned each of them down, much to their disappointment.

In the three weeks that followed, I’ve started having nightmares, replaying that moment over and over, remembering the cool metal of the gun’s barrel against my temple. The visions of Zayn seemingly impossibly too far away to help me as he bled from the back of his head, anger and terror on his face. There are random moments when my chest feels tight and I feel like I’m sweating, even though my heart beat never changes. It’s like an active anxiety attack, but without the symptoms. I remember the fear of being separated from Zayn so vividly. The fear that my life would be ending, that I would never see the future he had envisioned for us.

“I want to open my own gym,” he announces one evening as he sets the table for dinner. “But I want it to be open to children and teenagers. Any designation can join, but a space where they can learn the basics. Despite everything, Markus still gave me a place I needed as a confused and hurt teen. I had nowhere to go, no outlet. Punching a bag was very therapeutic.”

“Then do it,” I encourage, dishing out the salmon and broccoli alfredo.

“I’ll need to take out a loan,” he states matter-of-factly. “Markus took everything so I have no savings. I’ll need a location too.”

“I think Alec’s brother has an Alpha in real estate, they should be able to find you a location. I can probably just loan you the money, depending, of course how much the building is.”

Zayn shakes his head quickly. “No, bee. You’ve done so much for me already, a loan is fine. It’s what I want.”

“And I can’t convince you to just pay me back?”

Zayn shook his head again, a soft smile on his face as he comes up behind me, nuzzling into my neck, his tongue flicking over my bonding mark. His purr rumbles across my back, and I close my eyes briefly to savor his touch while swaying slightly at the counter as if we were slowly moving to music that only we can hear. Since that night, I’ve sought out his touch more frequently, spending more time in the new couch nest I’ve built, snuggling against him so often that my deadlines for the next novel are starting to suffer. I’m struggling to be separated from him, and even at dinner I need to touch him. I’m back in therapy again, and my therapist explained that trauma tends to manifest in weird and confusing ways, but that’s normal. We’re working through it slowly with the aid of low dosage anxiety meds that that seem to be helping, but lately they’re making me nauseous and exhausted, my body heavy.

Zayn pulls away from me slightly, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Why do you smell different?”

“Excuse me?”

Pulling out of his embrace to look at him better, I glance up at him, equally confused by his question. I open my mouth to seek clarification when a realization hits me unexpectedly and my eyes went wide. What if it isn’t the medication making me so sick?

“Bee?”

Immediately moving around him without a word, I dash down the hall to our bedroom before Zayn can say anything. Entering the bathroom and begin digging through the cupboards before finding the pink box I was looking for. I had bought it on a whim after my heat, but in the chaos of Markus’ death, I had forgotten about it. But surely not, right? Zayn is only a few steps behind me, slowing his pace when he sees the box in my hand, his eyes mirroring the look I had only moments before. Looking up at Zayn, kaleidoscopic emotions flooding our bond: trepidation, anxiety, hope, but above all, love and reassurance. Opening the box with shaky hands, I follow the instructions diligently, before capping the test and wait.

A new form of anxiety is trying to take root and my body shakes from the abundance of adrenaline it creates. Without saying a word, Zayn scoops me up and carries me down the hall to the nest in my office, laying me down among the blankets and pillows. The scent of books mixing easily with his smoked birch fills my senses as he turns on the fairy lights, creating a low glow in the room. I didn’t know I needed my nest until I was surrounded by it, and I love that he automatically knew to bring me here. Dinner sits long forgotten on the dining room table, thoughts swirling around in my head as I listen to the low rumble of Zayn’s purr, soothing my anxiety.

The nightmares of the locker room linger in my life every day, but to me, a positive test would be the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to Markus. He wanted to keep Zayn trapped, controlling him, and giving him rewards as he saw fit. Markus hated that I had foiled his plan by showing Zayn what affection can truly be. That genuinely caring for someone isn’t transactional. Despite his situation, Zayn saw a better life for himself, and he was willing to do what he needed to make it happen. A child would be evidence that Zayn’s sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, that Markus’ death wasn’t for nothing. That Zayn has moved on and will have a brighter future going forward. But…what if I’m wrong?

“What if it’s negative?” I whisper, hands still shaking around the test.

“Then we’ll try again.”

“And you would still love me?”

“I would still love you even if you were a little honey bee.”

I chuckle softly before taking a deep breath, trying my best to block my emotions from him as I flip the test around, tears springing to my eyes.

Holy fuck.

“Looks like our hive just got a little bigger.”