What the fuck?
One crazed lunatic with deadened nerves, I'd understand. But two?
I scan the field of naked Noth alphas with newfound trepidation.
"They're fucking nuts," Luka says into the headset.
"Yeah, got that much figured out," Ridge responds drily.
Meanwhile, Colter and I have reached the trees, and we plunge into the brush without reservation. Inside my head, I visualize slamming the doors on our vehicles and peeling out of here with screeching tires. We just have to get back to them.
Hurry.Hurry.
My boots pound against the grass, and Alpha Team X calls out a retreat behind me.
Colter's huge shadow runs beside me as we make it back to the field where we'd set up camp. Our camouflaged tents are still there, more than we now need. We get close to a fire ring where the men roasted hot dogs last night, and I start to blast through it, but a scent in the air stops me in my tracks.
"Do you smell that?" I ask, whirling to look at Colter, nose guiding my face from side to side.
"What?" he asks.
He reaches out an arm and pins me to his side as he barrels toward the trees.
"Pennies," I respond. "It smells like copper."
Is that blood?
Doctor Tamara, maybe? I know she made a run for it—probably back to the cars. But did she get captured? Killed?
Except…there's something else mingling with the scent that's throwing me off. I can't identify it, but it's something robust and pungent that gets stronger after we pass the middle of camp and near X's tent, the largest of them all.
When we reach the tent, a flap flies open, and a massive figure emerges. He's the reason the whole camp smells like pennies. The metallic scent rolls off him in waves, and I feel like I've entered a mint where coins are stamped.
My heart and my feet screech to a halt at the same moment as a sense of disbelief washes over me.
It's the eldest son of Nóthos' king. Stefan Kairos.
Holy fucking hell.
Even though the Noths elect a president who runs the day-to-day and the war, there's a historical royal family that still lives in the kingdom. I don't exactly know what they do other than swim in money.
But their three princes are rarely ever seen in public. I only know what they look like from a briefing I eavesdropped on between my mother and her security advisor.
What could have dragged Stefan from his palace?
His long black hair sweeps across his forehead. He has a jaw that could cut glass, a neck as thick as my thigh, and he's so tall that he dwarfs Colter by a good half a foot. My brow furrowsbecause I'm certain our intel doesn't have him that tall. I swear I read something that said he was only six feet.
He takes a step closer, and I realize that his collared shirt is tattered, his black pants are torn, and he's not wearing shoes. Immediately, a stinging awareness takes up residence in the back of my throat as questions barrage my mind.
Was he in that lab? Was he underground? What is going on?
"Prince Theodore," he says, and it seems like the words take effort, as if he's dragging them up through his chest, retrieving them from somewhere deep.
The sunlight shifts and casts a bright streak across his face, and that's when I realize that his irises are surrounded by a ring of glowing blue that's the exact same shade as the vial from my broken memories.
My gut clenches.
Colter moves to slide in front of me, but my hand shoots out to stop him.
