Click.
Click.
Click.
Nooooo!
I'm out of bullets.
Heated wrath and determination deflate into a resigned defiance that stiffens my posture.
Of course I outwitted an entire warehouse only to end up here, in the middle of nowhere, shot down by a machine. Fate loves irony.
And what’s more ironic than this?
Brittlely, I glare at the drone because I’m not going to hide from death. If the bastard operating his little joystick from the safety of a control room blasts apart my face, I want him to see it. Be haunted forever by it. I want that alpha soldier to know he killed an omega in cold blood.
There’s a crackling sound that makes my eyebrows jump.
Then a mechanical, tinny voice—but a familiar one—speaks, and my heart nearly ruptures.
“Brylee. It’s Luka. Stay right there. We’re coming to get you.”
Oh. My. God.
My knees give out, and I end up splayed in the dirt, turning it to mud with my tears.
“Brylee!”Kylian’s voice stabs right through my chest, fear ringing clearly in his tone.
Blinking my swollen eyes, my throat parched beyond belief, soreness eclipsing all conscious thought now that my adrenaline has worn off, I shove myself up from the ground and glance blearily through the tree branches.
Is that a helicopter in the field I just ran through?
How did I not notice it?
I realize, belatedly, that I must have passed out while waiting for them. Of course, after a bit of torture, escape, and near death, I’m not surprised to find exhaustion won out.
There are stomping footsteps, and then Kylian appears. He’s dressed in camouflage fatigues that blend in with his surroundings, except for the massive gun dangling from a harness on his shoulder, though that seems nearly forgotten as he gets closer.
His deep, warm eyes find me, and his handsome face blurs a second before strong arms encircle my back.
A blubbering whimper erupts from my lips as I lean forward, shove my nose against the base of his neck, and greedily inhale Kylian’s scent.
The soft musk is like a tonic. An instant soothing force, like honey on my sore, raspy soul.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he says in a velvety croon.
My arms wrap around his neck and my fingers curl, digging into his skin, and I collapse into his strength. His broad chest and steady hold console me in a way I’ve never fathomed as I glide my cheek against him.
There’s something magical about it, like two sparks merging into a greater flame.
Perhaps it’s a temporary delusion. Maybe it’s a stress-induced effect. Near-death experiences and all that.
But I don’t think so.
Some tiny part of me thinks that this shift I feel is something else entirely.
Carefully, with more delicacy than I ever knew the playful alpha was capable of, he scoops me into a bridal hold.
