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Connor rests against his window frame, frowning at the street below and taking a deep sip of his plain black coffee, just how he likes it, ‘dark as his soul’ according to his assistant Ricki. The homeless omega, the one that’s been hanging out in the neighborhood recently, making money on drawings of passersby and quick paintings of the city, is gone. He’s been here every day for almost a month, and now he’s gone. It doesn’t sit right in Connor’s gut, and he trusts his gut; he has to, being a PI, or he wouldn’t make it.
He sets his mug down on his desk and grabs his trench coat, giving Ricki a quick “I’ll be right back,” on his way out the door.
On the street, it’s hard to pick up the vanilla-peach blossom scent of the omega under the generally gross smells of the city, but it’s there, faintly.
He’d been keeping an eye on the omega simply because that’s what wolves in the city do for each other. He hasn’t seen a lone omega in years, and this one appears to be living on the street. All of his instincts have been screaming at him to take the omega in, but he also can’t help feeling like that’s asking for trouble.
Not that denying his instincts seems to have stopped trouble from finding him. As he follows the faint scent of the omega down the block, he starts to pick up notes of distress and quickens his steps. He hears the whimpered sound of pain before he actually sees the omega, and he breaks into a run, rounding the corner around into a dead-end alley. The whole place stinks of garbage and trapped omega, making his hackles rise and his claws want to poke out.
It takes him only a second to assess the situation - the omega is being jerked around by the arm, shaken like a rag doll almost, and the culprit is a huge guy a whole head taller than him. The fight couldn’t look more lopsided if they’d tried, and Connor can see it in the blooming bruise over the omega’s face.
The second he identifies the attacker as a beta wolf, he springs forward to knock him to the ground. The omega stumbles as well, then hastily scoots away, toward the alley wall, trying to get out of striking distance. He’s cradling his arm against his body in a way Connor doesn’t like, but he can’t take the time right now to look after him, not when the attacker’s popping teeth to take a chunk out of his neck.
It’s over brutally fast, though. Connor’s an alpha, whether he likes it or not, and he’s not about to let some punk ass beta push an omega around and just stand by. He wrestles the beta into submission, forcing the guy to bare his neck and freeze as if he’s waiting for the killing blow.
Connor lets his claws extend, biting into the beta’s skin. “What do you want with him?”
The beta looks between Connor’s face and the omega’s, as if making a decision. “He was asking for it. He’s practically in heat, out in the street like that? Another second and he’d’ve been begging for my knot.”
Connor’s fist plows into the guy’s face, knocking him out. “Wrong answer.”
He sits back, finally looking over at the omega, who’s shivering against the wall, still clutching his arm. “You’re safe now, okay?”
Wide-eyed, the omega just shakes his head, as if he doesn’t believe Connor. Hell, he probably doesn’t. Connor raises his hands placatingly. “I’m not going to hurt you, promise. I need you to make a choice, though. I can call the police, tell them I saw him attack you. Or I can call the leader of the pack that owns this particular chunk of San Francisco and have them distribute some pack justice.”
“Th-th- that one. The second one,” the omega whispers, shuddering. “Please.”
“You got it. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” Connor stands, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “You got a name?”
“Everybody has a name,” he mumbles, still staring at the beta.
Connor rolls his eyes. “You want to give me yours?”
“Not especially, when you haven’t done so either.”
Connor pulls out his wallet and fishes through it until he finally finds a beat-up business card. “Connor Haywood.”
He lets the omega peruse the business card as he turns away to make the call to the Killian pack leader. There’s the necessary chit-chat, so by the time he gets back to the omega, he’s surprised to see him still sitting there, staring at the business card.
He’s even more surprised when the omega looks up at him with hard, determined eyes. “You’re a PI.”
“You going to tell me your name yet?” Connor reaches out to help the omega up to his feet.
The omega keeps his arm tucked against him as he hands Connor back his care. “I’ll do you one better. I want to hire you.”
Connor raises a skeptical brow. “And how exactly are you going to pay me?”
He grimaces at the prone beta below. “You want the real story? This guy didn’t attack me because of my heat. My father’s the pack leader of the most influential pack in the Midwest, and he sent this guy to kill me. If you can keep me safe from him, I’ll make sure you get your due.”
Connor looks down at the omega, his arms crossing over his chest. Inside, he can feel the thrill of the hunt start to ignite with a mystery too intriguing to ignore. “Why does your father want to kill you?”
“Because nine years ago, I ran away from home with nothing but the clothes on my back. He’s three months from declaring me legally dead and accessing the money my mother left me, but it’d be a whole lot easier for him if I was actually dead.” The omega straightens his back, looking determined. After nine years on the street, Connor believes it. The omega holds out his left hand to shake since the right one is still immobilized. “Zachary Parsons. Nice to meet you. Call me Zach.”
The name sets off a ping in Connor’s brain even as he shakes Zach’s hand awkwardly. “Zach Parsons, the kid who’s kidnapping drew such big attention even the humans noticed?”
Zach’s eyes are shadowed, betraying what must be a bone-deep exhaustion at finally letting someone in on his secret. “That’s me. Less a kidnapping, more like a murder attempt. Can you help me?”
Everything about the omega, from his sweet, innocent scent to the stubborn set of his jaw is screaming at Connor’s alpha instincts. “I’m yours,” he says with a sense of finality.
