Jareth was still fuming when he stormed into his manor. The omegas scurried out of his path in avoidance, but their presence was a blur to him. His mind was a single, burning point of focus. He took the stairs two at a time, his movements so swift and predatory one might have thought he was in his wolf form. He moved straight to the heavy oak door at the end of the hall, turned the key in the lock with a sharp click, and stepped inside.
Isolde sat up with a gasp from the bed where she had been lying, idly tracing the faint, silvery lines of old scars on her arm. The door hitting the wall had been the only warning.
"You scared me," she said, her voice a low, curt whisper. She tried to feign nonchalance, lying back down and resuming her idle tracing, an attempt to shield herself.
