30 Ava: Omega? (III)
I groan as searing pain lances through my ribs, fairly certain that at least a few are broken from the impact. Gasping for air, I blink through the haze of confusion, trying to make sense of the chaos surrounding me.
Derek is slumped over the steering wheel, a grotesque trickle of blood oozing from his hairline. In the backseat, Jeremy lies crumpled in a disturbing, bloody mess, unmoving and alarmingly still.
For one hysterical second, I muse that this is precisely why seatbelts exist. Should’ve worn a seatbelt, Jeremy.
I grit my teeth against a wave of pain as I claw my way into the passenger seat.,
My shaking hands fumble with the door handle, but the door remains stubbornly jammed. Peering through the cracked windshield, I realize this side of the car
has collided with a tree. A few inches of trunk are all
that’s blocking my door from opening.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I muster what little strength remains and kick the door with
everything I have. Before I can kick again, the door
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flies off.
I don’t stop to question my luck. As I tumble out of the wrecked vehicle, gasping for fresh air, a strong hand suddenly grips my arm, yanking me upright. I whirl around, my heart pounding, only to find myself face–to–face with a stranger–a tall, imposing man with chestnut hair and piercing green eyes.
His gaze sweeps over me, assessing, before he speaks in a deep, authoritative tone. “Are you injured?”
I sway into him, my battered body screaming in protest as I fight to remain upright. A dizzying wave of nausea washes over me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning.
That’s when the scent hits me–ocean fresh, with a woodsy scent lingering just beneath, along with something that can only belong to one of my kind. A shifter. My eyes fly open, locking onto the stranger’s intense gaze, and I instinctively flinch away from him.
A mistake.
My legs buckle beneath me, and I brace myself for the unforgiving impact of the ground. But instead of hitting the hard earth, I find myself enveloped in a
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strong embrace, cradled against a broad chest.
The stranger–no, the shifter–has swept me into his arms with an ease that belies his impressive stature. I tense, every fiber of my being screaming at me to fight, to flee, but I’m utterly powerless against his hold.
His chiseled features are set in a grim line as he studies me intently. “Are you injured?” he rumbles, his deep
voice laced with concern.
my
I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in
throat. The events of the past few hours have left me reeling, and I can’t seem to find my voice amidst
the chaos.
He frowns, his brow furrowing as he takes in my silence. “We need to get you to safety,” he declares, his tone brooking no argument.
Panic seizes me, and I struggle feebly against his iron grip. I can’t go with him!
But my efforts are futile. He merely tightens his hold, cradling me closer to his chest as if I weigh no more than a child.
“Easy now,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing.
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“I’m not going to hurt you. Rowan, take care of the rogues,” he orders over his shoulder as he strides away from the scene of the accident, carrying me with ease.
I struggle against the waves of pain crashing over me. “Who are you?” I rasp out, my voice hoarse. “What’s going on?”
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