Chapter 25 Miranda
MIRANDA
Entropy is the tendency of a system to move toward disorder. It is the heat death of the universe. It is the rust that eats the gear.
Right now, entropy is eating Jackson Roux alive.
I am standing over him in the dim, flickering light of the fishing shack, my hands slick with blood and black sludge. I have a rag pressed to his flank, applying pressure, but it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a paper towel.
The liquid silver has spread. It’s tracking through his veins like mercury, visible under his pale, sweaty skin.
Where the poison touches, the flesh turns grey and necrotic.
The heat radiating off him is terrifying—not the comfortable, furnace-warmth of the Wolf I slept beside, but a frantic, overheating engine running without oil.
"Stop," I whisper, pressing harder. "Just... stop spreading."
Jax arches off the table, his spine bowing violently. A guttural, wet sound tears from his throat as a convulsion seizes him.
His muscles lock up. His jaw clenches so hard I hear a tooth crack.
"Jax!" I grab his shoulders, trying to hold him down, trying to keep him from thrashing off the table. "Stay with me. Look at me."
His eyes fly open. The amber is dull, clouded by a milky film. He doesn't see me. He’s seeing the pain.
The seizure passes, leaving him limp and gasping, his chest heaving with shallow, rattling breaths.
I look at the rag in my hand. It’s soaked in black ichor.
"Remy," I say, my voice trembling. "We need to flush the wound. Do we have alcohol? Distilled water? Anything?"
Remy is slumped against the doorframe, clutching his own bleeding shoulder. He looks grey. He looks defeated.
"It won't work, Miranda," he says. His voice is hollow, stripped of all the light and humor he had days ago. "It’s in the blood stream. It’s binding to his cells."
"There has to be a counter-agent," I insist, throwing the ruined rag into a bucket and grabbing a clean shirt from a hook on the wall. "Every poison has an antidote. That’s basic chemistry."
"Not for this," Remy says. He walks over, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. He looks down at his Alpha. "Silver burns the magic out. Once it hits the heart... the Wolf dies. The man follows."
"He isn't dying," I snap, tearing the shirt into strips. "He’s fighting. Look at his heart rate. It’s erratic, but it’s strong."
"He’s dying, Miranda," Remy says gently. Too gently. "I can smell it. The rot is already in his lungs."
"No."
I refuse to accept that data point. I reject the conclusion.
Jax’s hand twitches. He lifts it, groping blindly until his fingers brush my arm. His grip is weak, a ghost of the crushing strength he had this morning.
"Remy," Jax croaks.
"I’m here, Boss," Remy says, stepping closer, leaning over him.
"Get her... out," Jax wheezes. Each word costs him something vital. "Take the boat. Go deep into the marsh. Don't stop... until you hit the coast."
"I ain't leaving you, Jax," Remy says, his voice breaking.
"That’s... an order," Jax grinds out. He turns his head, his clouded eyes trying to find mine. "She’s the target. Get her... away from the fire."
"Stop it," I say, grabbing his hand. It’s freezing cold now. The heat is centering in his core, abandoning his extremities. "I am not leaving. I am not going anywhere."
"You promised," Jax whispers. "You promised... you wouldn't let them take you."
"They aren't taking me because you aren't dying!" I shout at him. "You don't get to quit. You’re the Alpha. You’re the apex predator. You don't get taken out by a syringe full of metal!"
I look at the black web spreading across his stomach. It’s inches from his heart.
Panic, cold and sharp, drives a spike into my chest. I’m losing him. I’m watching the only thing that has ever made sense in my life disintegrate, and I don't have the tools to fix it.
Think, Miranda. Think.
My father.
The thought hits me like a hammer to the head.
"Silver," I whisper.
I turn to Remy. "You said my father... you said everyone called him Silver because he was immune."
Remy blinks, confused by the pivot. "Yeah. That was the legend. He took a round to the chest and healed it."
"How?" I demand. "How does a wolf survive the one thing designed to kill it?"
"Nobody knows. He was just... strong. An Enforcer."
"Biology doesn't work on 'just strong,'" I argue, pacing the small space between the table and the wall. "There has to be a mechanism. A genetic mutation. An enzyme."
I look at Jax. He’s fading. The rise and fall of his chest is getting shallower.
"If my father was immune," I say, my mind racing, connecting wires, looking for a circuit, "and I am his daughter... then I carry that genetic marker. I carry the immunity."
"You're a Chimera," Remy says. "You ain't a Wolf. It’s different."
"It’s the same blood!" I scream. "Jax said it himself. I carry the blood of the strongest Wolf in the swamp."
Outside, the world explodes again.
A shockwave rattles the shack, knocking a jar of nails off the shelf. The sound of gunfire is closer now. The pop-pop-pop of rifles mixing with the roar of flames.
I run to the window and shove the shutter open.
The bayou is burning.
Gregor has escalated. He’s not just using lights anymore; he’s using incendiaries. Orange flames lick at the Spanish moss, climbing the cypress trees like living things. The smoke is thick, oily, and black, blotting out the moon.
Through the smoke, I see shapes moving. The battle has spilled into the deep marsh. The Howlers—Jax’s pack—are being pushed back. They’re fighting, but they’re tired, wounded, and blind.
"They’re losing," Remy says, standing behind me. "Without the Alpha... the line is breaking."
"If we don't stop this," I say, watching a tree crash into the water in a shower of sparks, "there won't be a swamp left to hide in. If the Hunters win tonight, they’ll hunt us down one by one."
I turn back to Jax.
He’s convulsing again. A violent, full-body spasm that lifts his hips off the table. Foam gathers at the corner of his mouth, pink with blood.
I rush to him. I grab his face, forcing him to look at me.
"Jax, listen to me," I beg. "You have to fight the silver. You have to push it out."
He stops thrashing. He goes limp, his head lolling back.
"Can't," he breathes. "Too... heavy."
"You have to!"
"Go," he whispers. A tear tracks through the grime on his cheek. "Please, Miranda. Run."
The command hangs in the air. The logical choice. The survival choice. Variable B.
I look at the door. The boat is right there. I could leave. I could disappear into the night, survive the war, and live the rest of my life alone, safe, and broken.
I look at Jax.
I look at the jagged scar on his neck. I look at the hands that built me a fire and held me while I cried. I look at the man who looked at a monster and called it his heart.
"Run," he says again, his voice fading to nothing.
I reach into my pocket. My fingers close around the iron spike. It bites into my skin, grounding me.
I pull my hand out. I slam the spike onto the table next to his head. The sound is loud, final.
I lean down until my lips are brushing his ear.
"No."
I straighten up. I look at Remy.
"We aren't running," I say. My voice is steady. Cold. "We’re fixing this."
"How?" Remy asks, looking at the dying man. "He’s gone, Miranda. The silver hit the heart."
"No," I say, grabbing the knife from the table. "The heart is just a pump. And I know how to jump-start an engine."
I climb onto the table, straddling Jax’s hips. I look down at his grey, dying face.
"I am the daughter of Silver," I say, raising the knife. "And I am not letting you die."