Chapter 2
RIDGE
My collar is hot and itchy, and I head out of the ballroom with my index finger stuck down inside it, scratching at my neck as I debate whether or not Brylee gives a fuck about this stupid tux. I want to lose this tight jacket as soon as possible…unless she likes it.
Where is she?
My dress shoes slide annoyingly against the marble floor of the random hallway I’ve entered, and I hate the sound. Hate the feel. There’s no grip on the sole, just smooth leather. How can anyone stand to wear this crap regularly?
I turn a corner, and the golden glow of crystal chandeliers dangling overhead fades to a deep gray abyss. I realize that the next hall has a few burnt-out bulbs. That, or there’s another switch at the end of the hall and someone accidentally flicked it off.
Starting in that direction, I decide to check, since it seems like a better use of my time than another round of fake-smiling as I walk through the ballroom and wait for my mate to arrive.
I didn’t used to care about fake-smiling at women. Hell, most of my smiles were designed like fishhooks to reel them in.
That was before I knew how good a real, raw smile could feel. Like sunshine but on the inside.
My only real smiles are reserved for her now.
My mind wanders back to the motorcycle ride we shared, and the urge to find Brylee, revel in her scent, and get her to grin shyly up at me becomes more insistent. Some tiny little piece of me is unnerved by the fact that she went to get ready for the dance with Teddie and he’s already arrived.
I saw him in the distance and immediately scanned the crowd for her. But there were only dozens of omegas in sparkling dresses who held absolutely zero appeal to me. As far as I can tell, Brylee hasn’t shown yet. That seems...off. Wouldn’t she have come with Teddie?
She’s not the type to make a grand entrance, not unless her parents are forcing her to.
Oh. Maybe that’s what’s happening.
The king and queen are back there in the ballroom, after all, eager to help Teddie get his award and show off their son.
Maybe they’ll use the opportunity to showcase Brylee too…
Her reticence to talk to us earlier this afternoon takes on new depth as I wonder what other plans her parents might have for her.
We’re her scent matches.
But what if they don’t think we’re good enough?
Ferocity, the kind I’ve only known in battle previously, boils beneath my skin. I’m fully aware that my musk heats and drifts from my pores, filling the air, as the need to fight, the need to prove myself, comes over me.
Alpha pheromones swarm through me, and it’s a damn good thing this hallway is dark and empty.
Some unwitting alpha might find himself on the wrong end of my fist otherwise.
Because no matter what her parents think, we are claiming Brylee.
We want her, and she wants us.
That picnic and everything since have proven it.
I don’t care if it’s a slow road to win her over, only that those parents of hers don’t provide a roadblock.
Her soft blonde hair, those cheekbones, and that expression she gets when her shyness wears off fill my vision.
She. Is. Ours.
My breath is harsh, coming in short spurts, as I imagine squaring off against them. That’s why I slam my hand a little too hard into the light switch on the corner when I reach it.
But it doesn’t seem to matter. The switch doesn’t do a thing.
So the bulbs are burnt out—
I peer around the corner and notice the lights down the next hall are also dark, only the ancient arrow slits in the walls breaking up the gloom that seems endless.
The back of my neck prickles with suspicion as I see some vague silhouettes opening a door at the far end.
I glide sideways, into the deeper shadows near the wall as I start to follow them with quiet deliberation.
My gut says something is off.
Of course, it could be stupid students sneaking off for some illicit fun—but I don’t think it is.
There’s something too bulky about those figures—those men don’t look like they’re wearing tuxes. Unless my mind is playing tricks, some look like they’re in bulletproof vests.
My heartbeat picks up, and goose bumps rise on my skin.
It could just be guards doing a sweep for the queen.
But why would they be in total darkness?
Why not carry a flashlight?
Something’s not right.
If they are just doing a sweep, there wouldn’t be a cluster of them. Which means something is wrong.
A million possibilities start to stack up, but all my wondering tumbles to rubble as I near a bathroom door and step into a cloud of scent.
HER SCENT.
Rage bursts through my lungs, wild and clawing, roaring with every pull of air because the most beautiful scent in the world is corrupted, mottled by fear and despair, tasting burnt.
If someone hurt her—
I cut off my brain to inhale deeply. The scent is fresh. And it leads farther into the dark.
To those damned figures.
An icy realization hardens within me because those alphas are definitely not the queen’s guard. They’d never put a hand on the royals.
Whoever they are, they’re breathing their last breaths.
Without hesitation, I start to run, thighs straining against these stupid dress pants. Shoes sliding on the marble floor. I don’t let my mind finish a single thought because every single one flashes a nightmarish conclusion—Brylee’s lifeless face, lashes wide and eyes flat—one I can’t bear.
Won’t.
I will get to Brylee.
I will save her.
And then I will unleash hell upon those who took her.
They’ll wish for the devil by the time I’m done.
That singular purpose drives me as I hurtle forward, not even using my useless eyes in the pitch-black hall, only following that tragic, unmistakable scent.
I reach a curved tower at the end of the hall and realize they went down a set of spiral stairs that plunge beneath the ground into a parking garage used by faculty and delivery personnel.
My fists curl as I fly down the steps, hardly touching them.
I smash through the steel door at the bottom, uncaring that it slams into the wall, that the sound echoes through the lot.
All that matters is that I get to her.
My legs pump as I sprint forward between two sleek cars, and the sound of peeling tires screeches through the lot from somewhere ahead.
Bolting up the exit ramp, the smell of burnt rubber flaring up my nose, I see a dark van smashing through the barricade, careening out onto the street, and turning right.
The passenger window is rolled down, and a man’s arm is braced on it, gripping the roof. On his arm band is the damning dragon insignia of Nóthos.
Fucking hell.
The reality of the situation smashes through me until I feel as shattered as that barrier.
Our enemies have Brylee.
I run harder. Faster. Push myself to the limit as I race up to street level and hurtle over the broken arm of the barricade.
But by the time I reach the sidewalk, the van is gone.
Inside it is my entire future.
My mate.
The mother of my unborn children.
I stop running, lungs burning as I take breath after breath, trying to force my brutish system to calm. Trying to cool the red-hot fire burning through me that tells me to keep chasing. To hunt.
But I need to be smart right now if I’m going to save her.
I need a vehicle. My team. And a whole lot of weapons.
A sharp breeze whips between the buildings and helps clear my head as I gaze up at the sliver of a moon, which looks appropriately like a reaper’s sickle tonight.
Those fuckers chose a pretty night to die. And if I go with them, so be it.
But Brylee won’t.
I spin on my heel and head back into the castle because I’m going to gather my brothers, and then we’re going to do what we do best.
Transform from men into monsters.