Page 152 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

“The neural pathways change during transformation,” I repeated slowly, my mind racing. “So if we could force them to shift…”

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, pieces of a plan starting to form. The facility’s systems, the environmental controls, the very infrastructure Moira had built to contain these people…

“Well?” Isla prompted, watching my face. “What are you thinking?”

I looked at the feeds showing Kit and Rory, still unaware of what was closing in on them. Then back at the dozens of controlled wolves moving through the corridors.

“I’m thinking,” I said slowly, “that Moira’s about to discover why you should never give a hacker access to your entire facility.”

35

Kit

Ipressed myself against the corridor wall, struggling to catch my breath. The gauze against my neck was already soaked through, warm blood trickling down.

“This way,” Rory whispered, checking around the corner. The lights were back on—one small mercy. “We’re almost to Felix. I… I think.”

I tried to catch Felix’s scent in the air, but the metallic tang of blood overwhelmed everything else. My head spun, and I blinked rapidly to clear my blurring vision. I needed to heal, and fast.

“Rory, I think we should shift. I—”

WHAM.

Two men slammed into us from a side passage. I reacted on instinct, wrenching the gun from the nearest one’s grip as his fingers closed around my throat. Behind me, Rory grunted as he grappled with the second attacker.

The shifter’s eyes were vacant, pupils blown wide. Whatever they’d done to him, there was nothing human left behind those eyes. I drove my elbow into his solar plexus, using his momentum to flip him over my shoulder. He hit the concrete floor with a sickening crack.

A gunshot echoed through the corridor. I spun to see Rory standing over his attacker’s body, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead.

“Fuck,” he breathed, hands shaking around the smoking gun.

“Quick, we need to shift while we can,” I said, wiping blood from my lip. “Your transformation takes longer—”

Rory’s face went white, his gaze fixed over my shoulder.

“Kit.”

I turned slowly.

Our father stood at the far end of the corridor, rifle raised. His eyes held the same vacant quality as the controlled shifters, yet something else lurked beneath the emptiness. Recognition? Rage?

Rory stood frozen still. “He’s… here.”

“Move,” I grabbed Rory’s arm, but the sound of more approaching footsteps echoed from both directions. Fuck. How many soldiers did Moira have?

Malcolm’s finger tightened on the trigger.

I shoved Rory sideways as the first shot rang out, concrete exploding where his head had been. Behind us, Rory grunted as something—someone—slammed into him.

“Kit!” he shouted, but his voice was already moving away, engaged in his own fight.

More shots. The gun bucked in my hands, but my aim was off, blood loss making everything swim. From the corner of my eye, I caught glimpses of Rory wrestling with two shifters, their movements horribly coordinated.

Malcolm aimed, and I threw myself sideways, his shot punching through the air where I’d been standing.

Then my legs gave out.

I hit the floor hard, the corridor tilting sickeningly. The gash in my neck pulsed with each heartbeat, blood streaming out of me. Too much. I’d underestimated the wound. Malcolm loomed over me, rifle forgotten as his hands found my throat.