Chapter Eight
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Theron
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My vision slips in and out, edges out of focus before it sharpens then blurs again. My concentration lags, heavy and sluggish, like I'm forcing my mind through mud.
What the hell?
Alec swears under his breath. Conrad grips the edge of the table hard enough that the wood creaks.
We're experiencing the same thing. Fucking hell. She drugged us.
Or tried to.
My jaw clenches as I force my thoughts to align. Was it the ring? The brush of her hand? Fuck. We should have seen it. We always see everything.
But then she touched us.
And everything we are, years of discipline, control carved into our being nearly from birth, didn't matter. She burned us and erased every thought from our minds.
If the dose had been lethal, we'd already be dead. All because she unraveled so utterly completely with just a touch, a kiss that altered who we are.
Even in this state I can still feel her lips on mine. Soft. Warm. So fucking innocent, her innocence cushioned every cruel and horrendous thing I've seen and done. And I know the same applied to Alec and Conrad, my friends—closer to me than any brother could be.
Then with her body pressed against us, delicate but unyielding, her heart pounding so hard I could feel it ripple through me. Her scent. Fuck. Not the perfume she was wearing—her scent. Just her. It strips us down to something primal. We knew this was going to happen, and it did.
And now she's gone.
We stagger, forced to brace against solid surfaces as the drug tries to pull us under. Our muscles lag, our reflexes are dulled, but nothing will stop us from getting to her.
It was a smart move on her part to drug us and try to escape. We would always find her. Doesn't she know that? But to do so now, in a fucking storm, from a cabin in the mountain, is just fucking asking for punishment.
Without the helicopter, she's exposed to the elements. Fully. Completely. The thought hits us hard.
What the fuck is she thinking? When we get our hands on her... And if she ever puts herself in danger like this again—No. There won't be a next time.
My jaw tightens hard enough that it aches. We force ourselves to move. Shake it off. Override the drug through sheer will and training. We splash cold water onto our faces, shocking our systems into functioning mode. It's enough. She's out there. We need to get to her. That's all that matters.
We put on jackets and boots, and each take a gun, acting on instinct now.
The storm is already turning. Her tracks are easy at first—uneven but purposeful, cutting toward the tree line.
She's not running blind. She knows the path down the mountain. But she's not going to make it in this weather.
The realization turns our blood cold, and we push harder, faster, ignoring the lag in our systems.
If something happens to her—
No.
I shut it down immediately.
Nothing is happening to her. My hands flex as the tension coils in my stomach. I'm trained not to feel emotion, but this time I don't hold back. Because if she so much as gets a scratch from this... fuck.
I glance at Alec and Conrad, and they're thinking the same as me.
Adrenaline slams through us, burning out the last of the drug's hold as we increase our pace.
The wind howls louder now, tearing through the trees.
Snow comes down harder, visibility dropping by the second.
Her tracks begin to disappear beneath fresh snowfall.
Our focus is now razor-sharp. We will find her. And that's when we see it. Fabric snagged on a jagged branch, except it's her jacket. She didn't stop to free it; she probably couldn't, and discarded it instead.
"Fuck," I mutter. We scan the perimeter, our instincts kicking in. We're ready to split up, then we see her. Relief hits us like a physical force. But just as we close the distance she disappears.
The crack of ice splitting open echoes through the snowfall.
I surge forward, lunging just as the surface gives way beneath her.
My hand catches her arm mid-drop, my grip hard and tight as I haul her up with brutal force just as the ice fully collapses.
Alec and Conrad close in and pull us both back onto solid ground.
She didn't go under. Not even a second. Not even a breath.
Her body is already shaking violently, shock setting in fast as cold seeps through her too quickly. We strip off our jackets, wrapping her in them immediately, sealing in what little heat we can. She's disoriented, her lips are pale, her breathing uneven.
We then take turns running and carrying her back to the cabin. There is no visibility anymore. Snow falls heavily all around us. We move on instinct and memory. Nothing else matters but getting her out of the cold and into the cabin.
We don't need to say anything to each other. One glance and we've locked in the thought. We always knew she was ours. But somehow this just solidifies how much of ours she is.