My Alpha Savage

Heat

KILLIAN DRAVEN

The hall reeked of smoke, sweat, and cheap perfume.

I hated every second of it.

Victor had insisted I make an appearance. Said the Alphas needed to see I was alive and still in command. As if they could forget. And if they ever did, I'd be happy to remind them exactly who is in charge.

I stalked through the crowd with my jaw clenched and my hands itching for violence. Every man here looked the same: overfed, overconfident, and drunk on power they didn’t earn. And the women… betas with too much paint on their faces, circling around them like flies, eager to get their next meal ticket. I didn't spare any of them a glance.

All I wanted was a hot bath, strong whiskey, and blessed silence.

Instead, I had to stand here like some prize stallion, letting these bastards toast a war I'd won with my own blood.

Victor pressed a drink into my hand, his eyes telling me to play nice. I took it without thanking him and drained it in one burning gulp. Not nearly strong enough.

He said something about border patrols and new recruits. I wasn't listening. My skull felt like someone was driving spikes through it, and the thick air clung to my skin like fever sweat.

Just a few more minutes, I told myself. Then I could get the hell out of here.

I raised my glass for a refill, and some beta female appeared to pour it. She leaned over deliberately, making sure I got a good view of what she was offering. Tall, sharp-chinned, with glossy lips that probably cost more than most people made in a month.

And quite bold too. No scent of fear rolling off her, which was unusual. I couldn't remember her name, but she looked at me like she expected me to. Her scent was thick, laced with cheap perfume and desperation. She knew who I was. What I could give her if I chose her.

"Congratulations, Alpha Killian," she purred, tilting her head to expose the pale column of her throat. I didn't look; there was no need. I could smell her want from a mile away.

She stepped closer anyway, braver than most or maybe just more desperate for status. Her shoulder brushed mine as she leaned in.

"You looked like you could use some company," she whispered, eyes flicking to my mouth.

I stared past her at the wall. The stone wall behind her was infinitely more interesting than whatever game she was playing.

Still, she stayed. Leaned in, her shoulder brushing mine. Her hand grazed my arm, like she thought she had a right to touch me.

She wasn't brave, just stupid. I could have destroyed her hand for that. Instead, I looked at her, really looked, and thought, would she scream?

It was a lazy thought, born more from boredom than desire. I'd been at the front lines for days, surrounded by blood and death and nothing soft to break the monotony. Maybe I could use her. Just once. Take the edge off. Shove my c**k down her throat until she forgot how to speak.

I let her continue her pathetic display. Let her drag painted nails across my sleeve, let her press those glossy lips against my jaw while she whispered filthy things. My body responded with basic male interest, heat stirring low in my gut, but I kept my expression neutral.

Then she placed her hand on my thigh, testing her limits.

I grabbed her wrist, not gently. Her eyes went wide, breath catching as real fear finally hit her. She knew what I could do, how easily I could render her hand useless in seconds. Power surged up my arm, begging to be released, that familiar heat that wanted to destroy everything it touched.

But I shoved it down.

The scent of her terror filled the air between us when our eyes met.

"I could..." she stammered.

"Leave." My voice cut through the noise like a blade through silk.

She blinked. Her face fell. Her mouth opened and closed like a dying fish before she finally turned and left without another word, her heels too loud on the stone floor.

Victor didn't even look up. He'd watched me crush women's dreams with less effort.

I ran my thumb along the ring on my finger, cold metal, heavier than it should be. The whole reason for this f*****g celebration. It was supposed to help me control my gift, channel it somehow.

I had no idea if it actually worked. Probably not. But I'd gone to war for this piece of jewelry, destroying an entire territory to claim it. Now that it sat on my finger, I felt... nothing.

It wasn't glowing. It wasn't warm. Wasn't doing a damn thing.

But I wore it anyway.

Because maybe it meant something. Maybe it was the key to not being a walking weapon for once in my miserable life.

I stood, sick of the heat, the fake laughter, and the choking cloud of alcohol and desperation.

Victor rose too. "Leaving already?"

"I've had enough." I snapped.

The guards fell in behind us as I pushed through the hall. Conversations died when I passed. Eyes dropped to the floor. No one dared to meet my gaze.

Good. Let them fear me. The Outlands weren’t under the royal thumb, and that made things messy. Made Alphas cocky. But not around me. Never around me.

I stepped into the corridor, jaw clenched, ready to call it a day. All I wanted was to sleep off this headache and forget the battle.

Then something small and warm crashed into me.

Hard enough to jolt me out of my thoughts, but I didn’t budge. A tray clattered to the floor. Delicate fingers brushed mine, too light, too careful, too deliberate.

And just like that, my night got interesting.

A small, cloaked figure bounced off me, stumbling a bit before muttering something.

And that was my first clue.

People didn't bump into me. Ever. They saw me coming from fifty feet away and scrambled out of my path. Servants, guards, betas, even other alphas—it didn't matter. They moved, or they got moved.

But this one hadn't.

My fingers twitched, and I immediately felt the difference. The ring was gone.

Clever little thief.

Victor cursed behind me, scandalized that anyone would dare touch me, but she was already turning to disappear into the crowd. I shot out my hand and caught the edge of her hood, yanking it back.

Dark hair spilled down her back like ink on paper. The first thing I noticed was how pale her skin was, almost translucent under the corridor light, smooth, flawless. Like porcelain that might shatter if I breathed on it too hard.

And then her eyes. Big. Wide. The soft, dewy kind that begged for mercy. Brown, I think. Like the color of honey caught in sunlight. The kind that drew the attention of predators like me. They froze when they met mine, soft and startled, like she hadn’t expected to be caught.

Everything slowed for a heartbeat.

Then Victor's voice shattered the moment. "Thief! She's a thief!"

Her gaze flicked past me, calculating her chances. I saw the exact moment she decided to run.

I wasn't surprised when she bolted; I was expecting it. The look on her face had given her away. She barely managed two steps before I was on her, my hand wrapping around her throat and slamming her into the stone wall.

Her feet dangled, toes barely brushing the ground. Her nails scraped at my wrist, desperate and useless.

It was a pity, I thought, right before I unleashed my gift on her. I quite liked her. Something about her made my blood heat in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Too bad she tried to steal from me; I might have considered taking her to my bed instead.

She squeezed her eyes shut and went limp, surrendering to what she thought was coming.

I let my power flow. The familiar cold fire raced down my arm, hungry to destroy, to burn, to turn her into nothing but ash. I felt it leave my hand, felt it reach for her throat like a living thing.

But nothing happened.

"Why isn't she dead?" Victor stepped beside me.

I didn't answer because I had no f*****g clue.

The power was there; I could feel it crackling under my skin, that cold bite I knew better than my own heartbeat. It had left my hand, reached for her flesh.

But she remained whole. Untouched. Alive.

She didn't burn. Didn't scream. She just stared at me with those glowing eyes, shaking, lips parted like she couldn't understand why she was still breathing.

Neither could I.

Confused and more unsettled than I cared to admit, I released her.

She crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. The stolen ring fell from her palm and hit the stone with a soft chime, but she didn't seem to notice.

Instead, she clutched her stomach and doubled over with a soft, broken cry. Her body jerked once, then again, like something was tearing her apart from the inside.

That's when her scent hit me.

Thick. Sweet. Intoxicating.

The smell rolled off her in waves, soaking the air, drowning out everything else. It punched me straight in the gut and set every nerve ending on fire.

No f*****g way.

I stared at her as she trembled and clawed at the wall behind her, trying to understand what I was seeing. What I was smelling.

An omega. She was an omega.

But that was impossible. Omegas didn't survive in the Outlands. They were hunted, captured, and sold before they could take their first breath of freedom.

Yet here she was, going into heat right in front of me.

Every Alpha in the corridor felt it too; I could see it in their faces, the way their pupils dilated, the way they leaned forward like wolves scenting prey.

My voice came out rougher than I intended, full of something I hadn't felt in years.

"Omega."