Chapter 34
COLTER
The campfire crackles, casting dancing shadows across our makeshift shelter. My fingers trace the worn edges of my mask, a habit I've developed since we left.
Three days.
Seventy-two hours without her scent, without her warmth, without Brylee.
Too long.
Eternity.
The emptiness is a physical ache in my chest, a hollow space where her presence should be.
"Anything?" Ridge's voice cuts through the night, acerbic as always.
He's sharpening his combat knife, the rhythmic scrape-grind echoing in the darkness, each stroke a reminder of the violence that keeps us from her.
"Nothing," I growl, the word rumbling in my chest. "The Noths haven’t left their camp in days."
The silence from the front is worse than anything else. It leaves too much room for imagination, for fear to take root and grow like poison.
Kylian paces like a caged animal, his dark eyes glowing in the firelight. "They shouldn't have made us leave her. Shouldn't have forced us here." He kicks a loose rock, sending it skittering into the darkness. "She needs us."
Luka adjusts his glasses and finally looks up from his tactical tablet, its blue light illuminating his sharp features.
"The orders were clear. The eastern front needed all available alphas. Brylee’s safer at the castle than she would be anywhere else." His voice is rational, detached, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his thumb keeps stroking the edge of the tablet.
"Safer?" I snarl, rising to my full height, the shadows stretching around me. "Without us? Without her pack?" My fists clench at my sides, the leather of my gloves creaking. "Wrong. All wrong."
The thought of her alone, unprotected, makes my alpha instincts roar. She's ours. Our omega. Our responsibility. Our everything.
Ridge slides his knife into its sheath with a soft click, his movements economical and precise. "We finish this. We go home. Simple as that."
His eyes meet mine over the fire, and for a moment, I see the same fury, the same desperation that burns in me. He just hides it better beneath layers of stoicism and command.
Before anyone can respond, a beta—one of our radiomen—stumbles into our campsite, face pale under a sheen of sweat. His eyes are wide with terror.
"Alpha Team X." He gasps, hands on his knees, struggling to breathe. "Emergency. Bus carrying soldiers under attack. Thirty miles east. The pr—"
He tries to say something else, but a wheezing cough takes over.
Kylian is already grabbing his backpack, a predatory grin spreading across his face, the first genuine emotion I've seen from him in days. "Finally. Something to kill."
The bloodlust rolls off him in palpable, malevolent waves, a welcome distraction from the worry that's been eating at all of us.
Ridge stands, his expression unreadable beneath the moonlight. "Load up. We move in five."
His voice is calm, but I see the way his knuckles whiten as he grips his rifle.
I don't need to be told twice. Brylee's face flashes in my mind—her smile, her scent of vanilla and sugar mixed with something akin to cinnamon, the way she fits perfectly against all four of us, the small space she occupies in our hearts that somehow makes us whole.
We'll protect these soldiers.
Because no one should be separated from their pack.
Not like we were.
The Humvee rumbles down the deserted highway, its engine a steady thrum beneath us.
Luka's fingers fly across his tablet, the screen casting an eerie blue glow on his face. "Two miles ahead. Thermal signatures show a vehicle pursuing a bus."
"Armed?" Ridge asks, scanning the horizon, his body coiled and ready.
"Jeep with two mounted machine guns," Luka confirms, his voice tight with concentration. "Bus is a reinforced model, but not armed, taking heavy fire. Multiple casualties probable."
I grip my rifle tighter, the metal cool against my gloved hands. "We finish this."
The thought of innocent soldiers being cut down like this makes my blood boil.
They're someone's mates.
Someone's brothers.
Someone's sons.
Kylian whoops with excitement from the back seat. "Let's hunt."
He's checking his ammo, his movements fluid and eager, eyebrows dancing.
For him, this is release.
For me, it's necessity.
As we crest a hill, the scene unfolds below like a nightmare. A military-green jeep swerves behind a battered bus, bullets sparking against its metal frame. The bus weaves erratically, trying to evade, but the jeep matches its every move, relentless as a predator.
"Luka, disable their vehicle," Ridge commands calmly. "Kylian, Colter—on me. We're going in hot."
The Humvee skids to a halt behind a ridge. Luka's fingers dance across his tablet, and suddenly the jeep sputters, the electronic board overloading and dying in a cough of black smoke that billows up the inside of the windshield and then flares out into the sky like dark feathers.
As the jeep rolls to a stop, its occupants grow desperate, and the machine guns swivel in our direction. We burst from the vehicle, weapons raised. Four figures in tactical gear moving as one, a well-oiled machine of death and protection.
We fan out across the hill and start firing so there are too many targets for them to easily hit. Through our headsets, Kylian hums the song “Invaders Must Die” as bullets start to pelt the sand in front of my boots, sending up sprays of dirt.
Their aim is a little off, and they start to adjust, swiveling the barrel of that gun up toward my face. But I just grin as I lower my weapon, grab a grenade from my vest, and yank the pin with my teeth.
I lob it in a perfect arc as Ridge peppers the jeep with so many bullets that the windshield cracks.
A bullet slams into my vest like a punch, but the metal plates over my abs convert deadly fire into a bruise, and I laugh. Not because anything’s funny. But because it makes them pause.
Stupid.
Fatal.
Boom.
A neon-orange burst flares just above the left side of the jeep and swallows up the head of one of the gunners.
He slumps as Kylian punches the sky, voice amplified by the night air. “Fuck yeah! Hole in one!” Then, our wildest member sprints ahead, screeching, “Who wants a bullet necklace?”
The second gunner falls, and Kylian swivels back, pointing a scolding finger at Ridge. “Stop killing all my toys!”
Ridge simply replies, “Get the driver.”
My rifle kicks against my shoulder as I take down a passenger that flees out of the jeep, a clean shot through the chest. Kylian moves like lightning, eliminating the driver and another soldier with precise shots before they can properly aim.
Ridge handles the remaining two that rush from the vehicle with cold efficiency.
But we've underestimated them. More soldiers pour from hidden positions in the surrounding hills and derelict buildings, their guns roaring to life. Bullets kick up dirt around us, tracer rounds painting deadly red streaks across the darkness.
"Cover!" Ridge yells, diving behind a boulder. "Colter, left flank! Kylian, right! Luka, provide suppressing fire!"
I move without thinking, years of training taking over. My rifle barks again and again, each shot finding its mark. The air fills with the coppery scent of blood, the screams of the dying, and the percussive thunder of gunfire.
Kylian is a whirlwind of motion as he ducks and weaves, his rifle a deadly extension of his arms. He takes down three enemies in rapid succession, a feral grin on his face. This is where he belongs, in the heart of chaos, the golden retriever transformed into a wolf.
Luka's voice crackles in my earpiece. "Sniper, ridge top, two o'clock. Colter, you're exposed."
I drop to the ground just as a bullet whizzes overhead, close enough to feel the wind of its passage. After rolling behind a cluster of rocks, I return fire, my shots keeping the enemy pinned down.
"Ridge, Kylian, advance on my mark," Luka directs, his voice steady despite the chaos. "Three, two, one…"
They move in perfect synchronization, Ridge's calm precision complementing Kylian's aggressive assault. Together, they clear the ridge top, the sniper falling with a choked cry as our psychotic team member rushes forward and slices at the man’s hand.
I push forward, my focus narrowed to a single point: eliminate the threat. Each target falls before my rifle, my movements fluid, deadly. This is what I was made for—big, scary, unstoppable.
But every kill is another moment away from her, another reason this war needs to end.
Adrenaline jolts through my veins with the speed of a train, but it’s for all the wrong reasons.
Hate.
Hurt.
I want to feel that rush from her instead.
The last enemy falls, and suddenly there's silence, broken only by the guttering rumble of the bus's engine, which sounds like it’s dying, and the ringing in my ears.
We approach cautiously, weapons still raised, scanning for any remaining threats. The bus has stopped, doors slightly ajar, smoke curling from its engine.
“Recruits, it’s Alpha Team X. We’ve been sent to retrieve you,” Ridge declares so that the passengers on the bus aren’t gearing up to fight. He begins to move forward. "Anyone injured?"
The door creaks open, and a blonde figure stumbles out, uniform covered in dust and blood. I freeze.
Something familiar.
Something wrong.
"Teddie?" Ridge asks, stepping forward. "What the hell are you doing here?"
The figure straightens up and wipes blood from a cut on their cheek. As they turn toward us, the waning sunlight catches their features. My heart stops.
Not Teddie. The face is similar, but the eyes—those are Brylee's eyes. Wide with shock and recognition, the same deep blue that I've seen filled with laughter, with desire, with trust.
"Brylee?" The name escapes my lips, barely a whisper, lost in the aftermath of battle.
She flinches, then her expression hardens with determination. "I had to come. I had to. I needed to see you and…"
My world tilts.
Our omega.
Our mate.
Here.
In the middle of a war zone.
Dressed as her brother.
Driving a bus under fire.
Rage and relief war inside me, a storm of emotions so powerful I can barely breathe. I want to shake her for her recklessness and pull her into my arms all at once. Behind me, I hear Kylian's sharp intake of breath and Luka's muttered curse.
She's alive.
She's safe.
And she's going to be the death of us all.