Character's POV
The glowing white numbers—99.99%—burned into my retinas like battery acid.
I was hiding the Lycan King's heirs directly under his nose.
A violent shudder ripped through my spine. I gripped the edge of the metal console, my knuckles turning bone-white. The oxygen in the bunker suddenly felt too thin to breathe. I had to get back upstairs before he noticed anything strange.
"Mommy," Arthur whispered from the shadows. "He... he left his coat."
My head snapped up.
Through the security feed, Caleb's heavy trench coat lay draped over the shop counter. He had dropped it when he rushed in to check the loud crash Mia had staged.
If his men came back for it... if they stepped into this shop again...
"Lock the bunker from the inside," I rasped, my throat raw. "Do not open it until I say the code word."
I turned and sprinted up the concrete stairs, bursting into the dim shop. I snatched the dark wool coat from the counter and pushed through the front door into the freezing, damp night air.
Caleb's heavily armored SUV was idling at the end of the alley, its red taillights bleeding into the thick mist. He stood by the open passenger door, his broad back to me, speaking in low tones to his lieutenant.
"Caleb!" I called out, forcing my voice to sound breathless and fragile.
He paused, slowly turning toward me.
But before my foot struck the pavement, every dormant, lethal instinct of the Nightshade Guild exploded into my blood.
The hairs on the back of my neck violently spiked. It wasn't a sound. It was the sharp, metallic tang of ozone and highly concentrated silver. Then, the distinct, heavy mechanical clack of a mounted heavy machine gun chambering a round.
Ten o'clock. Rooftop edge.
Time dilated. The freezing air turned to molasses. I dropped the coat. My hand instantly reached for the concealed military dagger strapped to my thigh. I was going to throw it. I was going to put a hole through the shooter's skull before he could even squeeze the trigger.
Before my bare fingers could even brush the hilt, a terrifying blur of lethal speed collided with me.
"Get down!" Caleb roared.
A massive arm wrapped around my waist like a steel vice. He lifted me effortlessly off the ground, spinning us violently.
A hellish storm of armor-piercing bullets rained down from the sky, instantly shredding the pavement where I had been standing milliseconds ago.
Caleb slammed my back against the thick concrete pillar of the alleyway, pressing his massive, rock-hard body completely over mine to shield me from the shrapnel.
Concrete dust and sparks exploded all around us. The deafening roar of the heavy machine gun rattled the teeth in my skull.
But all I could feel was him.
His chest was a wall of pure muscle pressed flush against my breasts. His heavy, ragged breaths fanned across my collarbone, the intoxicating, dominant scent of cedar and raw Lycan power flooding my senses, short-circuiting my brain.
"Are you hit?" He backed me tighter against the pillar.
His golden eyes blazed with an unrestrained, demonic fury in the darkness. We were too close. The suffocating heat radiating from his skin burned right through our clothes.
"I-I'm fine!" I gasped, forcing my body to tremble violently, clutching his tactical shirt like a terrified civilian. My heart was pounding out of my chest, but not from the bullets. From his terrifying proximity. His absolute, domineering protection.
"Stay exactly here," Caleb commanded. His voice dropped into an unnatural, multi-layered demonic growl. The bones in his face physically shifted. His jaw elongated, his fangs extending over his bottom lip, his eyes glowing like pure hellfire. "Do not move."
He violently pushed off the pillar.
The Lycan King unleashed himself into the night.
Screams—guttural, desperate screams of sheer terror—instantly erupted from the darkness.
I peeked from behind the shattered concrete barrier, my lungs burning.
Four heavily armed mercenaries dropped down from the fire escapes. Their tactical gear bore the frosted silver wolf-skull insignia.
My blood instantly ran ice cold.
The Northern Frostmane Rebels. My father's usurpers. Locke's men.
They hadn't come to assassinate Caleb Blackwood. They had tracked down my scent. They were here to kill me.
And Caleb was currently tearing them to bloody shreds, thinking he was protecting an innocent single mother.
A massive rebel swung a silver-laced combat axe at Caleb's blind spot. Caleb didn't even shift his stance. His claws elongated, and with one brutal, terrifyingly fast swipe, he decapitated the mercenary. Blood sprayed into the mist.
He was a god of war. An unstoppable, ruthless butcher.
But my sharp eyes caught the subtle red laser dot sliding across the wet asphalt.
A secondary sniper. Hidden behind the rusted dumpster at twelve o'clock, aiming a heavy anti-materiel rifle directly at Caleb's exposed spine.
Caleb was distracted by three massive Lycans rushing him at once. He wouldn't see the sniper in time.
My terrified civilian mask completely vanished. My face turned entirely devoid of emotion.
I crouched low in the shadows, perfectly blending into the darkness. With a fluid, ghostly flick of my wrist, two microscopic silver needles appeared between my fingers.
The sniper's finger tightened on the trigger.
I didn't even aim. Muscle memory took over.
A flash of silver sliced through the rain. The sniper let out a choked gargle, his windpipe instantly paralyzed by the deadly precision of the Nightshade Guild. He collapsed backward into the trash silently.
At that exact second, a shadow detached itself from the wall beside me. A rebel had flanked Caleb, raising his blade toward my neck.
He never finished the motion.
My military dagger slid from my sleeve into my palm. I reversed the grip and sliced flawlessly across his throat. The attacker's eyes widened in sheer disbelief as his life poured out down his chest. He collapsed silently at my feet.
Instantly, I dropped back to my knees, shivering violently, curling my body into a tight ball of fake terror.
Silence slammed into the alley.
The gunfire stopped. The screams died. Only the heavy sound of rain hitting the bloody asphalt remained.
Heavy, predatory footsteps approached my hiding spot.
Caleb stood over me. His tactical shirt was soaked in enemy blood. His claws slowly retracted back into his human fingers. The demonic fury in his eyes receded, leaving only an agonizing gentleness as he looked down at me.
My chest heaved. I looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.
Caleb dropped to one knee. His large, rough hand reached out, his long fingers gently wiping a splatter of warm rebel blood from my pale cheek.
"Shh," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating with absolute protection. "Don't be afraid. I've got you."
I let out a broken sob, leaning my face into his warm palm like a helpless prey animal seeking shelter.
But behind my back, perfectly concealed within the heavy folds of my dark coat, my left hand tightly gripped the blood-drenched hilt of my military dagger.
The red droplets dripped silently onto the wet concrete.