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The Wyverns get shit done for us on a massive scale.
Their pack pours out resources like my brother pops pills, shutting a city block to trap Kairo. Their guys on the ground bag trucks of Triad soldiers. By the time we touch down on the hospital helipad, the building swarms with agents in Wyvern House’s trademark black camo.
Power is fucking beautiful.
While the Wyvern omegas hold down comms, Atlas, Hunter, Finn, and Jett storm the stairwell with our pack.
Me, Bish, and Reese helped ourselves to semi-automatics from their armory.
Dutch took a machete.
He’s barely said a word since he shook off the sedatives. Only asked about Marisol, then numbly listened to Finn’s talk about skinning.
“There was some kind of incident downstairs,” Atlas calls. “Let’s move.”
Reese bulls through the door. “Let’s fucking go.”
Snarl echoing to the basement, I sprint ahead.
I want blood. “Kairo is mine.”
Reese follows close. “I want Jericho.”
“All yours.” Whether we smother them or slit their throats. Today’s the day we finally cut the fucking cord.
“I just want Solly.” Dutch’s sigh ghosts down the stairs.
“Soon.” Bish pats our golden retriever’s bouncing shoulder, uncharacteristically affectionate. “The tulip prince can never crumble.”
We’re all a little fucked up right now.
“Not crumbling. I’m fucking pissed.” Dutch leaps a landing, waving his machete.
“Time to do something about it.” I shoulder through the door.
The hospital’s VIP program caters to the rich and dirty. It’s usually overstaffed with omega nurses in tight uniforms.
Now it’s empty, except for the Wyvern agents clustered around a stretcher in the hall.
When they part, my rage condenses to a molten mass.
Kairo Moon is already dead.
His ripped shirt is missing buttons. Blood spatters his arms, mauled face, and the white of his stress-bleached hair. Unmoving, unbreathing, he looks frail and unthreatening.
Weak.
I was expecting a throw-down battle with the invincible alpha who dictated the rules of the underworld and the course of my fucked-up childhood.
He lost before I could win.
But the victory means nothing.
With nowhere to vent, I choke on trapped fury. “Where. Is. My. Mate.”
I stalk forward. Kairo’s lip is split. He’s beaten to hell, but the blood on his knuckles says it wasn’t a one-way fight.
