Chapter Eight
S unlight spilled through the penthouse windows, pale across steel and stone, the city already moving far below. Up here, the quiet felt earned. Last night lingered in the air—warmth, skin, the settled certainty of choice.
The shower ran down the hall. Riley’s. Rafe heard it through the walls, the steady rhythm easing his wolf with the simple truth that she was there. Safe. With them.
Dorian stood at the island with his phone to his ear, posture loose but alert, voice low and professional—the tone he knew his brother reserved for Victor and Ivan. Operations never slept.
Rafe cracked eggs into the pan, butter hissing softly. Feeding her steadied him more than anything else. Mate wasn’t just bond or instinct—it was choosing the ordinary things. Breakfast. Plans. A life built without pretending danger didn’t exist but refusing to let it rule.
Dorian ended the call and leaned back against the counter, watching him for a moment before speaking. “They found something. We have to report upstairs in an hour.”
Rafe didn’t look up as he stirred the pan. “Chimera.”
“Yeah.”
He flipped the eggs anyway, plated them carefully. There was an hour. Still time for this.
Footsteps sounded down the hall, soft and unhurried.
Riley came into the kitchen wearing jeans and one of his t-shirts, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends.
The marks on her neck were visible where the collar dipped—faint, unmistakable.
Not a claim of ownership. A connection. Rafe felt his wolf lift at the sight, a low satisfaction rolling through him that he didn’t bother to suppress.
He crossed the kitchen in two strides and kissed her good morning, slow at first, then deepening as her hands slid into his hair and she made that small sound in her throat that told him he hadn’t misread the moment.
He lifted her easily, setting her on the stool at the breakfast bar, hands firm at her waist as if anchoring her there.
Dorian came in behind him and went straight to her, kissing her just as thoroughly, just as unrestrained.
Riley leaned into him without hesitation, fingers curling into his shirt.
Rafe watched the exchange with a small, private smile as he finished plating, the sight of them together easing something old and sharp inside his chest.
Dorian rested his forehead against hers when he pulled back. “Morning, sweetness.”
Riley blinked, still a little breathless. “Good morning.”
“Come and eat breakfast, beauty,” Rafe said, setting the plates down in front of her. “Then we have to go upstairs and report in.”
Riley’s gaze sharpened. No fear. Just focus. God, Rafe admired that about her. “What’s happened?”
Dorian’s expression tightened just enough to signal the shift. “We have a mission to prepare for. Ivan traced a lead to a facility with confirmed links to Chimera. Hard intel this time.”
They ate quickly but not carelessly, conversation moving easily between them—Dorian outlining what little they knew, Rafe filling in gaps with what experience suggested, Riley asking the kind of questions that told him she wasn’t just listening, she was already thinking three steps ahead.
By the time they reached Command, the floor was alive with motion.
Screens glowed with satellite feeds and blueprints.
Voices stayed low but constant, the hum of preparation threaded with urgency.
Riley stayed close, absorbing everything.
Malik gave her a brief nod of acknowledgment.
Kairo flashed her a quick grin. No one treated her like she didn’t belong.
Two men approached who moved differently—lighter on their feet, eyes constantly scanning.
“Leopards,” Dorian said quietly, shifting just enough to give Riley a clear line of sight. “Kairo and Rylan Vance.”
The two men inclined their heads in unison. Kairo’s mouth curved into an easy, almost lazy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, while Rylan’s gaze stayed sharp and assessing, tracking Riley the way a medic might assess a patient—quick, thorough, respectful.
“Field medic,” Kairo said, not a question.
Riley nodded. “Trauma and extraction. I don’t get in the way.”
Rylan huffed a short laugh. “Good. We hate obstacles.”
Before the moment could settle, two broader figures moved in behind them, their presence heavier, denser, the air around them seeming to tighten. Razorbacks. Rafe felt his wolf acknowledge them instinctively.
“Razorbacks,” Rafe said. “Jarek and Aleksy Kawolski.”
Jarek dipped his head, eyes flicking briefly to the marks at Riley’s neck before returning to her face, expression unreadable. Aleksy’s mouth twitched, something like approval in his gaze.
“You stay behind the line unless called,” Jarek said calmly. Not dismissive. Protective.
Riley met his stare without flinching. “I’m not stupid. My ass stays where it needs to, to help those who need it.”
That earned her a nod. Not agreement—acceptance.
Rafe watched the exchange with quiet satisfaction. No posturing. No explanations needed. She fit. And everyone in the room could feel it. Riley had met each of them without hesitation, her calm earning instant respect. A few words exchanged. A quick assessment on both sides.
The plan filled the central screen—entry points, blind zones, internal security—layers of information stacking until the building looked less like a structure and more like a problem that needed to be solved. The Bears would stay behind, anchoring Command. Everyone else would deploy.
They approached the facility just before full daylight, when the world was caught between night and morning and sound carried too far if you weren’t careful.
It sat at the edge of the industrial sprawl, concrete squatting low and wide among warehouses and loading yards, its walls stained with years of neglect.
No signage. No windows at ground level. The kind of place that relied on anonymity more than fences.
“Ugly,” Kairo murmured over comms, voice barely more than breath. “I hate buildings that pretend they don’t exist.”
Rafe felt his wolf come fully awake as they moved in, the air heavy with old oil, damp metal, and something underneath it all that made the back of his neck itch.
Wrong. The perimeter was quiet in a way that wasn’t natural—no guards smoking, no idle movement, just cameras sweeping in slow, methodical arcs.
“It’s too fucking clean,” Dorian said quietly. “They’re expecting trouble. Just not us.”
They advanced in coordinated silence, boots whispering over gravel and cracked concrete. Hand signals passed down the line, precise and economical.
“Leopards, eyes forward,” Malik’s voice came through, calm and steady. “Call anything that breathes.”
Leopards ghosted ahead, barely disturbing the air. Razorbacks took the wider angles, heavy presence held in check.
“Left side’s dead,” Rylan reported. “No movement.”
“Copy that,” Jarek replied. “Holding wide.”
Every step forward tightened the coil in Rafe’s chest. The first breach was surgical. A muted charge slapped into place, a brief flash of pressure, and the door folded inward with a sharp metallic crack before it hit the floor.
“Go,” Rafe said softly.
They poured through the opening.
Inside, the air was cooler and stale, recycled too many times, the faint hum of power vibrating through the concrete.
A man stepped out of the first doorway, weapon half-raised, eyes wide with surprise.
Rafe fired once. The shot punched through the man’s chest and dropped him where he stood, the body hitting the floor with a dull, final sound.
“Contact, right,” Aleksy warned.
Another guard rushed the corner. Jarek met him head-on, driving him back into the wall with brutal force. Bone cracked. The man slid down, unconscious or dead—Rafe didn’t check.
Violence came in tight bursts after that.
Gunfire echoed down the corridors, sharp and contained.
Leopards struck fast and silent, blades flashing, bodies crumpling before alarms could fully sound.
Razorbacks moved like battering rams, clearing space with sheer force, weapons barking in controlled pairs.
Rafe tracked it all at once—the rhythm of shots, the direction of movement, the way resistance clustered and then broke.
He dropped a second man as he tried to run, the impact snapping the body sideways.
Another went down screaming when Dorian put him through a reinforced door hard enough to cave it inward.
“Multiple contacts ahead,” Kairo muttered. “They’re amped. Heart rate’s elevated.”
They advanced over broken glass and blood-slick concrete, boots sliding, breath loud in Rafe’s ears. As they pushed deeper, the structure itself changed. Walls thickened. Doors were reinforced steel. Weapon emplacements jutted from corners, half-deployed.
“This is it,” Dorian said. “Inner section.”
They stacked outside the barrier, bodies tight to the wall, weapons trained forward. Rafe could hear shouting on the other side now—raised voices, hurried movement. Prepared. Waiting.
“Razorbacks, on me,” Rafe ordered quietly. “Leopards, hold overwatch.”
He took position at point, shoulder brushing cold concrete, weapon steady despite the adrenaline hammering through him. He caught Dorian’s eye across the narrow space.
No words. Just understanding.
Rafe lifted his hand.
The breach was seconds away.
****
T he sound hit before the picture did.
A sharp, concussive crack tore through the speakers in Command—metal ripping, pressure thudding through concrete. The breach. Riley was already on her feet before she realized she’d moved, hands braced on the edge of the console as the body-cam feeds flickered, then stabilized.
Rafe’s view filled the largest screen first—dark corridor, muzzle flash, bodies moving in disciplined lines. The camera shuddered with each step, each impact. Riley’s heart lodged in her throat and everywhere else at once.
“Contact, right,” someone called, distorted through comms.