The Omega and The Arrogant Alpha (by Kylie) novel Chapter 212

The first impact jolted me forward hard enough that my teeth clicked together.

Ben swore and fought the wheel, tires screaming as the back end fishtailed. My hands flew to the dash, instinctive and useless. The road ahead was a ribbon of black, trees pressing in on both sides, headlights barely cutting through the dark.

“What the hell?” I said, breath sharp and too loud in the confined space of the car.

The second hit came faster. Heavier. Metal shrieked. Something popped in the trunk with a hollow bang that made my stomach drop.

Ben did not panic.

That scared me more than the crash.

“This isn’t road rage,” he said, voice tight but steady, every syllable clipped and controlled. “Brace.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. I twisted in my seat, craning to look through the back window. Headlights. Too close. Way too close. Close enough that I could see the slight wobble as the driver corrected their line.

Intentional.

Then another set appeared, offset to the left, pacing us with unsettling precision.

Two vehicles.

My wolf stirred, heat flooding my chest as if someone had struck a match inside me. Senses snapped awake like a switch thrown hard. Smell rushed in first, crashing over me in layers. Hot rubber. Oil. Burned metal. Adrenaline. And beneath it all, threaded through the chaos, something familiar in a way I did not want to name yet.

“Ben,” I said. “There are two.”

“I know.”

He yanked the wheel right without warning. The car skidded off the asphalt, gravel exploding under the tires as we tore down an old service track barely wide enough for one vehicle. Branches slapped the sides, screeching along the doors like claws.

The headlights behind us wobbled.

One of them clipped a tree.

I heard the crunch even over the engine and the pounding of my blood. Ben glanced in the mirror just long enough to confirm it.

“One’s down,” he said. “Hold on.”

The relief lasted half a heartbeat.

The second car did not stop.

It followed us straight into the forest track, engine roaring, headlights bouncing wildly over roots and ruts. Whoever was driving knew exactly what they were doing. They kept distance, just enough to react, just enough to ram again if they wanted to.

They knew what that meant.

Ben laughed once, sharp and breathless. “Good. Now they know you’re not a bystander.”

The road ended without warning.

Ben did not hesitate. He aimed the car straight between two trees and drove.

The undergrowth exploded around us. Branches shattered. Leaves and dirt blasted up over the hood. The car bottomed out hard, scraping rock, momentum finally dying as we slammed into a shallow ditch.

“Go,” Ben said.

We were out of the car before the engine finished coughing its last breath.

I grabbed my pack automatically. Ben did the same. No shouting. No wasted movement. Just motion drilled into muscle and bone by years of not surviving on luck alone.

We ran.

The forest swallowed us whole within seconds. Darkness thickened, canopy blotting out the moon. My breath came fast and sharp, but my body felt light, tuned, ready. My feet found the ground without thought. I knew where to step. Where not to.