Each man gave me a different sort of strength to draw on: Colter was unwavering, Kylian buzzed with eagerness, Luka was thoughtful, Ridge was bold. In my head, I imagined weaving all their energies together as if I could forge a shield from it.
And I'd needed that shield when Luka pulled up video proof of the princes' claims.
Noth news reports showcased the devastation of a mysterious airborne illness and advised people to stay indoors while footage panned over shopping-mall floors coated in glass and blood. Later broadcasts showed smoke rising as people burned the dead in mass pyres because there were too many for burial to be an option. A half-singed teddy bear had fallen out from one burning mass to the ground—causing me to weep until my throat was flayed open and raw.
My men had wanted to stop research then.
But, once I'd quelled my sobbing, once the ache in my ribs was more manageable, I'd pushed. "More, Luka. I need to see it. I need it branded into my brain."
He'd reached out and covered my hand with his own. "Love, you don't?—"
"I do. Someone needs to mourn them. Someone needs to take responsibility. Someone has to stop this. But I need to know the details in order to do that. It doesn't matter how much they hurt."
He'd bitten his lip and glanced at Ridge and then Colter, almost as if he was looking for someone else to speak up against my plan. But all of them had been surprisingly stoic, even Kylian.
My psychopath had stared out the window with a furrowed brow and muttered, "I wonder if I collected the wrong sets of teeth…"
The same queasiness seemed to hit us all as we finished off what we could find in the news and moved on to social media posts. They were even worse. People hiding, recording final goodbyes in strained whispers. Pleading for help. Some were found as they held their phones. I couldn't bear to watch, even with blurred-out images, because the screams alone were enough to strip my bones to nothing.
Project Harpax is a nightmare.
And I have to stop it.
I stare at my moon-dipped reflection and see how pale and bloodless my cheeks are. That won't do. I can't walk into the room looking like a ghost. I inhale slowly, trying to center myself as I add more blush to my cheeks with soft, steady swipes.
"We can help," Ridge states as I spritz on the slightest hint of perfume, hoping to hide any nervous sweat that might betray me.
I gaze at him in the mirror, trying to pour all my gratitude into my expression. "You're amazing. But you can't help with this."
His brows lower in consternation. "I don't think?—"
"The bigger the audience, the more she'll feel the need to prove herself. And if other alphas are there?" I pause, letting the message sink in because Ridge knows I'm right.
My mother will never allow herself to look weak in front of other alphas.
Never.
"This is a battle I need to fight alone," I say softly as I spin and walk toward him.
He grits his teeth but merely pulls me into a tight hug, kissing the top of my head. "You're infuriating, you know."
I smile, my cheek pressed to his chest, to that firm heartbeat I love more than my own. "You're infuriated because I'm right."
"Yes," he admits with a growl as he clutches me closer.
I let him hold me for a second because he needs to...and maybe a little because I need him to.
But I pull away sooner than I want to because I can't let myself sink into comfort. I have to remain vigilant and sharp. Just as I did when I walked up to the gates of Eros, I'm going to have to dig deeper than I ever have in order to pull off the impossible.
Candles flicker on the dining table, a huge bouquet of red roses perfuming the space as I stride in, interrupting what was clearly a romantic dinner in for my parents wedged between meetings and an evening press conference. They're tucked around a small round table in a dining room that contains more windows than walls, starlight gleaming down from all directions.
Dad’s eyes widen at the interruption, but my mother's narrow, immediately censuring. There was a time when her rebuke would have made me wilt.
Not now. Now there's a snarling energy swimming through me, and I'm very close to snapping.
Slow. Slow, Brylee.
I stop before I reach the table, standing firm and formal, just close enough to speak without being overheard by the guards posted outside the doors.
