Chapter 27
Nadia
The abandoned ranger station sits ten miles off the main road, hidden by dense forest and accessible only by a rough track that barely qualifies as a path.
I’d spotted it on a map when I was frantically trying to come up with a plan to get him out before it was too late.
Irrational. Reckless. I’m still astonished that it worked.
I guess we had the element of surprise on our side.
And the fact that my teammates probably couldn’t believe that I’d do such a thing.
I fight off a swirl of guilt.
It couldn’t be helped.
At least we made sure nobody got hurt. Somehow, Jericho knew that without me having to tell him.
He cuts the engine, and we sit in silence for a moment, both of us listening for pursuit that hasn’t caught up yet.
“We need to check the building,” I say. “Make sure it’s actually abandoned.”
He nods. We exit the truck together, moving quietly through overgrown brush toward the small wooden structure. It’s old—maybe decades since anyone used it regularly. Windows are intact but dirty. The door is locked, but the lock is rusted.
Jericho breaks it with one sharp pull. Dragon strength making it look easy.
Inside: dust, old furniture, a small kitchen area with a camp stove. One room with a cot. A bathroom that probably doesn’t have running water. But it’s shelter. It’s hidden. It’s better than being exposed on the road.
“We can stay here tonight,” Jericho says. “Rest. Plan next steps.”
I nod. My body is starting to register what we just did: broke out of Aurora, fought through friends and colleagues, stole a vehicle. I’m a fugitive now. Everything I built is gone because I chose to believe him.
The weight of that choice presses down on me, but I push it away. Can’t afford to question it now.
“You’re bleeding,” I say suddenly. Notice the dark stain spreading on his left side.
He glances down. “It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.”
“Nadia—”
“Jericho.” I move closer. “Let me see.”
He sighs but lifts his shirt. There’s a gash along his ribs. Not deep but bleeding steadily. Must have happened during the fight when we broke through the vehicle bay.
“Sit down,” I say. I gesture to the old chair.
He complies. I move to the kitchen area, find some relatively clean rags, and water from our supplies. Bring them back.
Kneeling beside him, I start cleaning the wound. He tenses under my touch but doesn’t pull away.
Being this close to him is harder than I expected, especially with my wolf showing interest.
Now is not the time, dammit.
Even without the heat cycle, my wolf is insatiable.
“You should have said something,” I murmur while working.
“It’s not serious.”
“It’s deep.”
“I’ve had worse.”
I don’t doubt that. His torso is marked with scars—some old, some relatively recent. Evidence of centuries of combat.
My hands are steadier than I feel. Being this close to him brings back memories I’ve been trying not to think about.
Heat floods my face. I focus harder on cleaning the wound.
“You’re hurt too,” he says quietly.
I look up. He’s watching my face with unsettling intensity. “I’m fine.”
“Your shoulder.” His hand comes up. Gentle. Touches where my shirt is torn and there’s dried blood visible. “Let me see.”
“It’s nothing—”
But he’s already carefully pulling the fabric aside to examine the wound. His fingers are warm against my skin. The touch sends heat through me that has nothing to do with injury.
We’re close now. Very close. His face inches from mine as he examines the cut on my shoulder. I can feel his breath. Can see the way his pupils dilate slightly when our eyes meet.
The air between us shifts. Charged with tension that’s been building since we got in the truck. Since we escaped together. Since I chose him over everything else.
“Nadia.” My name is rough in his throat.
I know I shouldn’t do this. Know we have bigger problems. Know that last time we were this close, I walked away and shattered something between us that might not be repairable.
But my body remembers his. Remembers exactly how he felt. Remembers the sounds he made when I came apart around him. Remembers wanting him to mark me with an intensity that terrified me.
His hand is still on my shoulder. Warm. Steady.
“We shouldn’t—” I start.
“I know.” But he doesn’t move away.
Neither do I.
His hand slides from my shoulder to cup my face. Gentle. Asking permission without words, the same way he did in the training facility before everything went wrong.
This time, I don’t pretend I don’t want this. Don’t lie to myself about what I feel.
I lean into his touch.
He kisses me slowly. Carefully. Like he’s afraid I’ll pull away again. Like he’s giving me every opportunity to stop this before it goes further.
I don’t stop it. I kiss him back with everything I’ve been denying. My hands find his shoulders—careful of his injury. His other hand finds my waist, pulls me closer until I’m pressed against him.
The kiss deepens. His tongue traces my lower lip. I open for him. Taste him. Let myself want him without guilt or logic or the complications that stand between us.
My wolf surges with fierce approval.
Finally. Mate. Yes. This is right.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Foreheads touching. Neither of us quite ready to let go.
“What happened between us—” he starts.
“I know.” I pull back enough to meet his eyes. “I walked away. Told you it didn’t mean anything.”
“Didn’t it?” The question is vulnerable. Raw.
“It did.” Honest. “It meant something. I just wasn’t ready to admit what.”
“And now?”
“I’m still not ready.” The truth hurts. “But I’m done lying about it.”
Something in his expression softens. Relief maybe. Or understanding. “What are we doing, Nadia?”
“I don’t know. Running. Surviving. Trying to figure out what comes next.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I know what he meant. What is this between us? What does it mean that I risked everything for him? What does it mean that being near him feels like coming home, even though it shouldn’t?
“I don’t know,” I repeat. Quieter. “But we need to focus on staying alive first.”
He nods. Releases me slowly. We both stand and create space between us that feels wrong but necessary.
“I need to ask you something,” he says, voice more controlled now. “The new evidence Viktor mentioned. What was it specifically?”
The question brings back the horror of that meeting. “Video footage. Security camera. It showed you walking through the corridor near where Samien was found. Timestamp matched the window for his death.”
He goes very still. “You saw this footage?”
“Yes. Viktor played it in his office while I was there.”
“And you still believed I didn’t kill him.” Not a question. Statement filled with something I can’t quite name.
“Yes.”
“Why?” The word comes out quietly. Genuinely confused. “The evidence was right there. Video proof. Why would you risk everything based on instinct that contradicted what you saw?”
I don’t know how to explain the certainty. “Because I know you.” I put my hand on my chest. “Here.”
He looks at me with astonishment. Vulnerability. Like my faith in him is more overwhelming than anything else that’s happened.
“The footage can’t be accurate,” he says finally. “I never left my quarters that night. Stayed in bed trying to sleep. Never went near that corridor.”
“You’re certain.”
“Completely.” He starts pacing. Dragon energy needing outlet. “Which means someone fabricated the footage. Someone with access to Aurora’s security systems created a false video showing me at the scene.”
The implications crash over both of us.
“Someone in Aurora is a traitor,” I say slowly. “Someone killed Samien. Framed you. Has the technical capability to fake security footage and plant physical evidence.”
“And they’re still there. Still with access. Still dangerous.”
My stomach drops. My people. Everyone I care about is at Aurora… with an infiltrator who’s willing to kill.
“I need to go back,” I say. The words come out firm despite the fear. “Get you somewhere safe first. Then I’ll go back and tell Viktor what we know. Warn them.”
“No.” Immediate. Resolute.
“Jericho—”
“I’m not letting you walk back into Aurora alone while a murderer with unknown motives is operating inside. Not to mention what the team will do if you go there.”
“They won’t hurt me—”
“You just broke a prisoner out of detention. You’re a traitor now.” His voice is hard. “They might kill you on sight. And—”
“They’d never do that,” I interrupt him. “That’s not how they operate.
He looks at me as if he doesn’t believe me, but goes on without arguing the point. “Even if they don’t, you’d be walking in blind. The traitor could be anyone. Someone you trust.”
He’s right, and I hate it. “Then what do you suggest?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then: “There’s something else we need to consider. The hybrids at Vex’s facility.”
I blink at the subject change. “What about them?”
“They’re still there. Still trapped. Still being experimented on.
” He turns to face me fully. “Everything that’s happened—my arrest, your helping me escape—it’s disrupted Aurora’s timeline.
They were supposed to raid the facility.
Rescue those people. Now they won’t. They’ll be too busy hunting us. ”
“So the raid is postponed. They’ll get to it eventually—”
“Some of those hybrids don’t have ‘eventually.’” His voice is strained. “Kaylin Foster. The twenty-two-year-old wolf. Her file said she might not survive another procedure. That was over a week ago.”
“She might already be dead,” I finish quietly, knowing it sounds callous.
“Or dying. Along with others whose conditions were critical.”
I see where this is going. “You want to raid the facility. Now. Just the two of us.”
“Yes.”
“That’s suicide.” The words come out flat.
“Probably.”
“Jericho—”
“I spent centuries following Syndicate orders. Prioritizing missions over casualties. Making decisions that sacrificed people for objectives.” He meets my eyes. “I’m done with that. I’m done walking away from people who need help because the odds aren’t favorable.”
The conviction in his voice is unshakeable.
“You’ll die,” I say. “You’ll go in there, and they’ll kill you.”
“Maybe.”
“And you’re going regardless.”
“Yes. After I get them out—if I survive—I’ll go to Viktor. Tell him about the traitor. Warn Aurora.” He pauses. “But you’re not coming with me. You’re going to take the truck and—”
“No.”
“Nadia—”
“No. If you’re doing this, I’m going with you.”
“I won’t let you—”
“You don’t get to make that choice.” I step closer. “I left Aurora for you. Gave up everything. I’m not leaving you now.”
We stare at each other. Neither backing down.
“The security will be significant,” he says finally. Trying logic. “Vex knows the facility’s value. This research is sanctioned by Ivory League leadership. There will be guards. Patrols. Biometric security. Defenses we can’t anticipate. Two of us against all of that—the odds are terrible.”
“I know.”
“We’ll probably both die.”
“Probably.”
“And you’re coming anyway.”
“Yes.”
Something shifts in his expression. Resignation mixed with respect. “We need help. Two of us alone won’t be enough.”
I think hard. Run through every contact I have. Every person who might possibly help us raid a Syndicate research facility while being hunted by Aurora.
The list is impossibly short. Of course it is. Who would willingly get involved in such madness?
Then an idea surfaces.
Dangerous. Complicated. But maybe possible.
“I think I know someone who can help us,” I say slowly.
He looks at me with cautious hope. “Who?”
I hesitate, not sure this will even work. Not sure they’ll agree. But it’s the only option I can see.
“I need to make a call,” I say instead of answering. I pull out my phone. Power it on. My hands are steadier than I feel.
The number I’m calling… I haven’t used it in years.
But maybe—maybe—they’ll help anyway.