Chapter 25 - Thalia
Smoke and debris swirl through the air, mixing with the sounds of chaos outside—shouts, growls, the crunch of shattered glass under heavy boots. A cacophony of violence and primal fury echoes from the main corridors, signaling that the Rosecreek team has arrived in full force. Their battle cries ricochet through the hallways, mingling with the howls and screams of panicked guards.
Aris and the team are tearing through the Smoke’s compound, and for a brief, bone-deep moment, hope surges through me that we might just survive this.
I glance down at Rafael, still beside me on the ground, and with a surge of determination, I help him to his feet. He’s bleeding and unsteady, but his eyes blaze with that same unyielding intensity that got him here. He gives me a nod, and for the first time, I feel like we’re a true team.
Together, we stagger forward, propping each other up as we move through the thick haze. Just outside, Bigby’s booming laugh carries over the sound of the gunfire, his massive frame almost entirely blocking the hallway as he swats away guards like they’re made of paper.
Beside him, Aris is a blur of efficiency, dispatching guards with swift, lethal precision, his movements smooth and deadly. Percy flanks him, transformed, his eyes flashing with a ruthless glee as he strikes down an enemy with a sweep of his claws, every movement calculated.
Byron and Ado are back-to-back at the rear, covering the team with steady, controlled shots from a rifle and a pistol respectively, eyes scanning every corner with twin sharp precision. I know Zane probably isn’t far away either.
Seeing them, the original team in full force, brings a swell of fierce pride in the Rosecreek pack that I barely recognize. They’re here for him—for Rafael—and, impossibly, for me.
I lock eyes with Rafael, and a silent agreement passes between us. We’re both exhausted, battered, bleeding, but this is the moment we finish what we started.
“I love you,” I see him mouth.
I nod. I can’t bear to say anything. We steel ourselves and turn toward the far end of the corridor, where Yannick is already backing away, his face twisted in a sneer of pure malice.
“Going somewhere?” Rafael growls, voice rough and ragged but still filled with that fierce resolve to protect me, to get me out of this place. As the dust clears, he lets go of me and steps forward, claws out, every muscle coiled tight with barely restrained fury.
Yannick’s expression hardens, but there’s a glint of panic in his eyes as he sizes us up. He raises his gun again, leveling it at Rafael. “You think you can just walk in here, tear apart everything I built? Kill the people I raised?”
Rafael bares his teeth in a snarl. “You’re a parasite, Yannick. And this ends now.”
With a roar, he launches himself forward, and the two collide in a flurry of claws, fists, and blinding fury.
Rafael’s strength is wild, and each strike is landed with brutal, unrelenting force. But Yannick is fast, sidestepping and ducking under Rafael’s blows, his movements sharp and serpentine. They clash in a deadly dance of strength and agility, each blow reverberating through the concrete walls.
I don’t stand idle. Summoning whatever strength I have left, I rush forward, dodging an errant blow from a nearby guard, and aim for Yannick’s back. But just as I raise my knife, another wave of guards closes in, surrounding me. I grit my teeth, slashing at them with all I have, determined to fight through despite how weak my body feels. One guard lunges at me, but I duck, slicing upward to catch him across the chest, sending him sprawling back.
Through the melee, I glimpse Ado—calm, almost serene, yet devastatingly effective as he disarms a guard nearby with a fluid twist, his blade finding its mark with swift precision. There’s a fierceness in his gaze that I haven’t seen before, a reminder that every member of this team is all for one, one for all.
Another explosion rocks the compound, this time farther down the hall, as Bigby hurls a grenade, clearing a path through the remaining guards. A battle cry tears from Aris’s throat as he drives forward, taking down two guards in a single blow, his gaze cutting through the chaos like a blade toward us.
Amid the chaos, Yannick and Rafael’s fight rages on, their growls and snarls blending with the noise around us. Yannick manages to get a brutal punch to Rafael’s ribs, and Rafael staggers back, but only for a second. He recovers with an agility that defies the injuries he’s carrying, lunging forward to grab Yannick by the collar and hurl him against the wall with bone-shattering force.
“Still think you can break her?” Rafael growls, his voice low, dangerous. “Still think you have a right to her?”
Yannick spits, a mix of blood and venom in his glare.
“You don’t know anything about what she owes me,” he sneers, swinging at Rafael with his blade, which Rafael narrowly dodges.
My heart pounds, torn between fear and fury as I watch them clash. Yannick’s hatred, his twisted sense of ownership over me, fuels him, and he fights with a desperation that’s terrifying in its intensity. Rafael, on the other hand, fights with a quiet, controlled rage, every strike, every dodge, calculated and relentless.
But I see it—the moment when Yannick gets the upper hand. He feints left, drawing Rafael off balance, and slams his elbow into Rafael’s side, forcing him to stumble. In an instant, Yannick’s blade is pressed against Rafael’s throat, poised for a killing blow.
My mate dodges, veering backward. The blade slips—I see it penetrate the top of his chest. Two inches deep. Not his heart, but still a potentially fatal spot, at the juncture where his ribs meet his sternum.
“Rafael!” I scream, my voice cutting through the din.
Acting on pure instinct, I pull out the small hidden blade strapped to my ankle—a last-resort weapon I’d forgotten I even had. My body aches, muscles screaming in protest, but I push forward, heart pounding as I close the distance between us.
Yannick doesn’t see me coming. With a final, desperate surge, I plunge the blade deep into his side, right between the ribs.
There is no echoing scream, no howl of rage. His eyes widen in shock and pain as he gasps, his grip on Rafael faltering. He turns, fury blazing in his gaze, but it’s too late. He’s vulnerable, exposed.
Rafael seizes the opportunity, his eyes fierce with determination and something else—a deep, relentless fury born from everything this man has put us through. With a roar, he transforms and delivers the final blow, a brutal, decisive bite to the throat that sends Yannick staggering back, blood spraying from his mouth as he collapses.
The leader of the Smoke slumps to the ground, his face twisted in a rictus of disbelief and rage, the life draining from his eyes as his body hits the cold, blood-soaked concrete.
As chaos and noise surround us, Rafael shifts back. We’re both unsteady on our feet. We stare at one another.
“It’s over,” Rafael murmurs, voice raw as he looks at me. His hand reaches out, bloodied and trembling, and I take it without hesitation. His gaze, fierce and unyielding, softens as it meets mine. “You’re free.”
What happens next is almost an out-of-body experience. I see a million things in my mind all at once.
The scent of smoke, the crackle of fire. My father’s voice as he called my name for the last time, the night the Smoke came for us. Flames swallowing the only home I’d ever known, the twisted smile on Yannick’s face as he promised I’d learn to obey, as he caught Maia and me and threw us into this life.
The endless years that followed—all the forced loyalty, the betrayals I committed on his behalf, the deception woven so deeply into my life it became second nature.
Each memory flashes like a strike to my heart. All the packs I’ve infiltrated, pretending to be one of them, always on the outside, living for the brief moments when they’d accept me just enough to let down their guard.
The fear, the shame, the disgust I carried inside me with every forced betrayal, each one worse than the last. The hollow, numbing terror that nothing would ever change. That Maia and I would stay shackled to the Smoke, pawns to be moved and sacrificed as they pleased.
But woven through the darkness, a few threads of light. The rare moments with Maia—her laugh echoing off broken walls, her determination to keep us both alive, her stubborn belief that someday, somehow, we’d escape. Her hand gripping mine through every beating, every hopeless night. My best friend, the only piece of my old life they couldn’t tear from me, no matter how hard they tried.
And then, this last season. Meeting Rafael as the cold drew in around us. His easy laugh, the warmth in his eyes when he talked about his pack, his family. The way he looked at me—steady and kind, penetrating, curious. Always wanting to know, wanting to see. Even when I lied and withheld pieces of myself, there was something so solid in him, something that saw through me and never turned away. And somehow, without even trying, he cracked through my walls, slipping into the part of me that thought it was dead.
I collapse into his arms. Rafael holds me, and together, our knees give out; we fall toward the floor and stay there as the battle rages on around us, knowing the team will keep us safe.
Over Rafael’s shoulder, I see Maia, kneeling in the rubble nearby. We make eye contact. She looks horribly injured still, but no worse than she was, and no longer chained or flanked by guards. She grins up at me, a cheeky, childish thing that shines even through the blood and the swelling, one hand braced against the cold concrete floor where we’ve suffered for so long. Where we will suffer no longer.