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Summary
The leader stepped forward, and the betas flanking him moved further out to the side to keep a clear line of fire on Max without impeding the alpha’s progress. The alpha’s nostrils flared and his advancing steps stuttered, pausing and then resuming twice as fast. Max felt a sick little swoop in his belly, grim satisfaction that his plan was working mixed with an awareness of what that would mean for him later. Guns down, gentlemen. Oscar protocol.
The betas lowered their rifles instantly, pointing them at the ground in front of Max instead of his chest. Max took a deeper breath in, his tension easing a bit as he moved past the part of the plan where he might just get shot dead before he had a chance to try to bargain. It had always been a risk; it had just seemed like a better death than slow starvation.
The alpha stepped closer, looking him over. He was a big man, but also quiet, light on his feet. Max tipped his chin up. It was a gesture of submission, and it showed that his neck was bare. No bonding bites, no competing claims. The added vulnerability made him tremble a little harder, but it was worth it for the way the alpha zeroed in on his throat.