Chapter 33 Kit
Kit
The surgeon’s blade bit deeper into my neck, and I gritted my teeth against the horrible tug of pressure.
Blood trickled down, warm against my skin.
The restraints held me fast as they worked, and all I could do was stare up at those blazing surgical lights and try not to think about what they were about to shove into my brain.
“Steady now,” the surgeon murmured. “Almost through the subcutaneous layer.”
Priya stealing my mug to read my tea leaves. Late night chess sessions with Seb. Felix’s arms wrapped around me on my bike, holding me like he never wanted to let go.
A door slammed open with such violence that the sound ricocheted off the theatre walls.
My eyes snapped towards the entrance—
Rory.
Rory, right here.
No. Surely not.
Yet there he was—standing in the doorway, wrapped head to toe in thick ski gear, a rifle gripped in his gloved hands.
The surgeon’s hands stilled against my neck.
“What the—”
The first gunshot exploded through the room, deafeningly loud in the enclosed space. A guard crumpled beside me, blood spraying across the pristine floor. The surgeon jerked away from my neck, his scalpel clattering to the ground.
Another shot. Another body dropping.
Moira’s voice cracked like a whip through the chaos. “Rory!”
My heart lurched.
No. No, no, no—he can’t be here. Not Rory.
He advanced into the room with his rifle raised.
“Rory!” I roared, thrashing against the restraints. The head brace held firm, keeping me pinned.
“Rory, put the gun down!” Moira shouted.
“Like hell I will!” His voice rang out clear and defiant, exactly like the stubborn little shit I’d grown up with. “Miss me, you psychotic bitch?”
He swept the rifle across the room, his eyes wild with adrenaline.
You beautiful, reckless idiot.
“Don’t hurt him!” The words scraped my throat raw as I fought the restraints. “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt him!”
“Lockdown!” Moira screeched. “Now! Stations! There could be an army at our doorstep!”
“You bet there’s an army!” Rory shouted back, a savage grin splitting his face in two.
He moved out of my line of sight. The sound of a scuffle erupted—grunts, the crash of medical equipment, something shattering against the wall.
A gunshot. A yelp of pain.
“Rory!”
The lights cut out.
Panic rippled through the room in gasps and confused shouts. My eyes adjusted quickly—not wolf-sharp in this form, but far better than the humans fumbling around in the dimness.
Emergency strips finally flickered on, bathing everything in sickly green.
I blinked to find Rory pressed against the wall, one hand clutched to his side. He was still standing. Still moving.
Shadows converged on him. He swung the rifle like a club, sending one sprawling.
“Rory!” I bellowed into the green-tinged chaos. “Emergency release—under the table near my feet!”
He fought his way towards me, limping slightly. A guard grabbed at him—Rory drove an elbow into their face, kept moving.
The crack of splintering plastic echoed through the room. Someone screamed. Another body slammed into the wall hard enough to rattle the medical cabinets.
Metal scraped against concrete as Rory dropped to the floor, disappearing beneath the surgical table.
“Found it!” His voice rang out from below, triumphant.
The distinctive snick of hydraulics releasing cut through the noise. The restraints around my ankles popped open with a satisfying click, followed by the ones at my wrists. The head brace hissed as the pressure released.
I rolled off the table, ripping IV lines from my arms as I moved.
The cannulas tore free, sending fresh blood streaming down my forearms to join the mess already flowing from my neck.
My legs nearly buckled—whatever shit they’d been pumping into me was still working through my system.
I pressed my palm against my neck wound, feeling the torn skin beneath my fingers.
Not deep enough to kill me, but bleeding like hell.
A roll of gauze sat on the surgical tray. I grabbed it, wadding it against my neck as I scanned the room for threats. The surgeon cowered behind an overturned cart. Two guards lay motionless on the floor.
No sign of Moira. Or our father. Had Rory noticed him there in the corner, in the chaos?
“I shot the armed men first,” said Rory, proudly. “First time and everything.”
“Nicely done.” I wrestled a firearm from a dead man’s grip. My medical gown gaped open at the back, flapping uselessly. I tugged at the thin fabric with disgust. “Hold on. I’m not getting out of here like this.”
One of the guards wore dark combat trousers in roughly my size. I crouched beside his body, wrestling the fabric over his boots and off his legs. The material was still warm. I tried not to think about that as I pulled them on, leaving the ridiculous gown in a heap on the floor.
“Come on!” Rory’s hand found mine in the dim light, tugging me towards the door.
I stumbled, still unsteady on my feet. “Why did Moira turn off the lights?”
“That wasn’t her!” Rory hauled me forward. “That was us.”
Relief flooded through me so suddenly, I nearly collapsed. “Seb’s here?”
Rory’s grip tightened on my hand. “Um. No. Not Seb.”
I stopped dead, processing his words. “What do you mean? Where’s Seb?”
“London.”
“You said us!”
Rory’s eyes darted away from mine. “Yeah. Me… and… and your secret mate.”
The floor was ripped from beneath me as every drop of blood in my veins turned to ice. “Felix is here?” The words came out as a snarl. “You brought Felix here?!”
“I didn’t bring him anywhere!” Rory snapped back, his jaw set in that stubborn line I knew too well. “I followed him. This entire bloody plan is on him. You’ve got him to thank.”
Terror clawed up my throat, savage, vicious. Felix was here. In this place.
An inhuman growl tore from my throat.
“Where is he?”