Adrenaline and fear pump into my veins with every erratic surge of my heart.
Has she been hurt?
Killed?
No. I refuse to even consider that, as if somehow thinking it will make it reality.
She’s fine.
She has to be fine.
And if she’s not fine…
Images of castrated penises, severed limbs, and disemboweled bodies play on a loop in my head, and I can’t stop the bloodthirsty smile from curling up my lips.
Everyone will die.
The last hour has been the most stressful of my life—and I once defused a bomb while held at gunpoint, listening to the sound of my comrades screaming in agony.
The second Ridge told us what happened to our mate, we sprang into action. The king and queen were shepherded away, and Colter cornered Brock and his alphas and instructed them to go to an address in the middle of town. Apparently Teddie’s there. I have no idea how he returned home so quickly, or why, but that’s a problem for Future Kylian.
Present Kylian doesn’t give a damn about anyone except his missing mate.
It’s fucking killing me that I can’t immediately jump into action. My hand practically twitches with the need to stab, slice, and maim. The second I get my hand on one of those Noth fuckers?—
I force myself to take a deep breath, to replenish my lungs that seem to be rapidly shrinking with each consecutive second.
I can’t lose my head.
Not yet.
Not when we still have no idea where our mate is.
Luka—with the help of a few other alphas, all with degrees in computer sciences—is trying to track the van she was thrown into, but unfortunately, that’s proving to be a dead end.
We have a vague, grainy image of a nondescript vehicle leaving Darling Academy and passing the guardhouse, where two alphas were found murdered. Then they pulled onto a side street and then wham-bam, thank you, ma’am—gone. Theymust have a hacker or two on their payroll as well, their sole responsibility to shut off cameras.
I hate this.
I fucking hate this.
I hate?—
“Stop pacing,” Ridge growls from where he stands beside me in the tiny room.
I think it once was a classroom, perhaps an art studio, but it has quickly been converted into a central hub to find Brylee.
Luka, along with two professors, sits behind computers, typing away, their brows furrowed in concentration. Another alpha pack is poring over a map, and two more unfamiliar men are conversing in the corner, where a bunch of easels are set up, each one holding an oil painting depicting a boring-ass fruit basket.
Through it all, Madam Ellora flits from person to person, checking on us and asking if we need anything.
The first time she asked me that, I growled so loudly that she squeaked and stumbled backwards, almost tripping over her high heels.
She hasn’t come near me since.
“I hate this,” I tell Ridge.
I feel so completely and utterly helpless. It’s a new feeling for me. The second we have a location, a target, something, I can do what I do best. The three Ms. Murder, maim, and mutilate. But for now, I’m stuck twiddling my damn thumbs, my mindchurning over worst-case scenarios that play on repeat in my head.
