Noah should have known better.
Trouble followed him like a damn shadow, and yet, he still found himself caught in it—again.
It started the moment Theron walked away. The tension between them still clung to Noah's skin, a phantom weight that he hated to admit was distracting. He had planned to shake it off, to pretend that the way Theron had looked at him—like he was something his—didn't linger in his thoughts.
But, of course, the pack wasn't done testing him.
"You think you're special, don't you?"
Noah sighed, already exhausted before even turning around.
Logan stood there, arms crossed, lips twisted in a smirk that made Noah want to roll his eyes. Behind him, a few other betas lingered, their expressions somewhere between amused and expectant.
Noah tilted his head. "I don't think. I know."
The betas chuckled, but Logan's smirk sharpened. "You really should learn your place, omega."
Noah sighed dramatically. "And let me guess—you're going to teach me?"
Logan stepped closer, crowding into his space. "I could. Or…" His eyes flickered with something dark. "I could let the rest of the pack decide what to do with an unmated little rogue like you."
Noah stiffened.
He didn't miss the implication.
His skin crawled, instincts prickling with warning. He had been in situations like this before—cornered, outnumbered, underestimated. But he wasn't the same broken omega they expected.
He didn't submit.
Ever.
"Wow," Noah drawled, shifting his weight, gaze flicking lazily between them. "You really think you scare me?"
Logan's smirk faltered. Just a fraction.
Good.
"I don't scare you?" Logan repeated, voice low.
Noah grinned. "Not even a little."
The air turned heavy. The betas around them exchanged glances, unsure whether to step in or step back. Logan, though—he wasn't the kind to walk away from a challenge.
Which was why Noah threw the first punch.
It connected hard, right against Logan's jaw, sending him stumbling back. The moment of shock on his face was delicious, but Noah didn't have time to enjoy it before the others moved.
Three against one. Not ideal.
Noah ducked the first swing, countered the second, and managed to land another hit before one of them caught his arm, yanking him back. A knee slammed into his ribs, knocking the breath out of him. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but Noah had been hurt worse.
He twisted, using the momentum to wrench free, barely avoiding the next hit—
And then, a snarl ripped through the air.
Not his.
Not Logan's.
Theron's.
The impact came fast.
Logan barely had time to react before Theron was on him, slamming him back with enough force to shake the trees. The alpha's hands gripped his throat, golden eyes burning, furious.
The entire pack stilled.
"Mine."
The word was low, guttural—undeniable.
Noah's breath caught.
Theron's snarl rumbled through the silence, his body tense with barely restrained violence. "You touch him again," he growled, voice edged with something dangerous, "and I will end you."
Logan gasped, struggling against Theron's grip, but the alpha held him there, muscles flexed, teeth bared.
The message was clear.
No one touches Noah.
Not unless they want to die.
Silence stretched before Theron finally released him, letting Logan drop to the ground, gasping for air. The other betas stepped back, faces pale, avoiding Theron's gaze entirely.
And then, golden eyes locked onto Noah.
Not just looking—claiming.
Noah swallowed hard, body still thrumming with adrenaline, but before he could say anything, Theron grabbed his wrist.
"Come with me."
This time, Noah didn't fight it.
Because the way Theron held him—the way his grip trembled just slightly, like he was barely holding something back—
It wasn't just dominance anymore.
It was need.
And that?
That was even more dangerous.