(MILES)
Fifteen minutes later, the fever breaks.
The feverish lust fades as my knot slips out of Arlo's body. I feel weak and foolish, probably because I have never experienced an alpha rut before. My brain is still groggy, and my muscles mush. The fact that I lost complete control with Arlo mortifies me.
I claimed him.
Panic courses through me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. What we just did with each other was a fucking disaster. I have no idea where or how to begin to fix it. I can't claim Arlo. The kid wants to kill Sasha. And even if he wasn't driven by some sick murderous vendetta, I have no desire to claim an omega now. Hell, I don't want a kid right now. And even if I secretly wanted that, Arlo would be the last omega I'd pick. He is too sassy. Too obnoxious. Too mouthy.
He is hell-bent on murdering my best friend.
