Chapter 8
LUKA
Hope pops like a blister and oozes from me as the fighting continues to surge all around.
The scent of charred flesh fills my nostrils, and screams flash then cut off unnaturally, strobe lights made of sound.
Normally, I storm through fights like this with a series of calculations running through my mind: ten rooms left to clear, likely two opponents per room, twenty total—that’s only five for each of us, so if I get more than five, I win…
But today, that steady stream of thought has halted.
Instead, there’s a tight, constrictive feeling in my chest.
Unfamiliar.
Uncomfortable.
Urgent.
Worst of all, in this chaos, my battle lust withers when Colter grunts through our comms, "Think it's a setup?"
His words make my head tilt and my trigger finger loosen. My lungs skip over my next breath.
Should I have done more research? Verified more about this location before allowing my team to come?
Guilt inflames my chest; insecurity taunts me.
If this is a setup, I’m the one who would have figured it out. I’m the one who should have figured it out.
Distracted, I miss the fucker army-crawling on the floor behind the metal desk off to my left.
I barely see the blur of motion as that piece of human excrement raises his rifle. My head spins toward the movement, just quick enough to realize that I'm a dead man—
Ridge leaps out of nowhere.
He throws himself bodily into the air just as the report of the rifle splits my ears in two.
As if the world is thrown into slow motion, Ridge flies sideways, blond hair slick with sweat and grime. In mute horror, I watch his chest contract as the bullet hits his vest.
I suck in a breath, the taste of copper heavy in the air as both Ridge and I return fire.
Bullets spray, peppering the metal desk. It pings and clangs as holes gouge through it.
There's a thump as Ridge hits the concrete, and I run and stand over his prone form, covering him.
That's when I get a clear view of the Noth bastard who tried to take me out. He's young, with curly black hair and a nose that looks like it's been through a pencil sharpener. A wound is already bleeding on one of his thighs, and by his frantic hand motions, his gun is jammed.
Karma.
His eyes widen and his mouth opens when he sees me train my weapon on him.
"No, please!"
I blast the plea from his face, the bullet cracking open his jaw.
Normally, that would be the end of it. Normally, in a battle, I’m cool and collected, and I don’t waste ammo in a situation that doesn’t warrant it.
But not today.
Today, an agonized torpedo detonates between my ribs, creating a sucking chest wound spurred by the following knowledge—my mate is in danger, I might not have done enough to protect my alpha group, and my idiotic distractedness might have killed Ridge.
Wrath guides my hands as I shoot a straight line into the Noth as if I'm trying to cut him in half.
Relishing in every twitch, every spurt of blood, I don't stop until my magazine is empty and my bullets bore through from skull to crotch.
But beneath the veneer of my delight is a furious howl waiting to unleash.
Because Ridge isn't getting up. His eyes are closed.
"Come on, sleeping beauty," I tease, though my words come out gruff and stiff.
The joke falls flat because his eyelashes don't even flicker. He doesn't moan.
It feels like I’ve swallowed a shadow, darkness invading my throat as my gaze darts around the rest of the room. My feet pivot around him, still protectively standing guard.
His chest might be moving slightly, but I can't be sure. I can't look for long enough, not with threats still lurking.
My throat burns as if I just drank a gallon of bleach, and I grind my molars as I load a fresh magazine.
That motherfucker better not die for me.
I raise my second gun, ensuring no one can sneak up on his six. Mentally, I scream at him as sweat trickles down the back of my neck. I clear one doorway only to jerk to another. Paranoia amps up my blood now that I'm alone. Now that one of us is vulnerable.
Memories from our last deployment threaten to emerge, scraping and abrading the inside of my eyelids.
Bombs throwing up sprays of dirt like someone just did a cannonball into a pool.
My ears ringing as I see one of my fellow soldiers get blasted, his arm flying back from his body. Detaching. The spray of his blood is warm, like it's shooting from a hose that's been sitting in the summer sunshine, as it blasts across my face.
No. I mentally shove back at those images that I can't afford to surrender to. I stack sandbags to dull their effect inside my head. But my heartbeat still races wildly, the mad drumming in my chest so loud that my ears ache.
"Man down. Backup requested." I mutter protocol words into our comms, words that are so rote and mechanical that there's no feeling behind them, which is utterly ironic considering the number of emotions serrating my innards right now.
A shadow moves off to my right, and I square up.
Two quick shots and the figure falls, but I can't be certain I took him out. I waver between going over to the Noth and staying with Ridge. Ultimately, I decide to stay put because he's too damn vulnerable.
I glance quickly down again, and pretty boy’s chiseled face is still expressionless. My jaw clicks as I force myself to look down at his chest to see if blood is puddling. It's not. I’m far from a medic, but I know enough to be aware that’s a good sign.
Relief gusts from my lungs.
"Incoming." Kylian's voice is full of savage glee as scuffling sounds come from the hallway just past the door to this room.
My shoulders tense, and I raise my gun, going through my weapon checks automatically, taking a ready stance. Even though my heartbeat is so thick that I can feel it compressing my throat, I stare down the barrel.
Kylian and a Noth soldier nosedive into view, their fight having devolved into a wrestling match with knives. The other man pins Kylian down.
I take a single step forward, on alert, but not high alert, since this is one of Kylian's favorite ways to fight. In fact, he lets out a manic chuckle when the other guy gets in a good swipe and slices a line across his shoulder.
"Oh. Point to you. My turn." My fellow alpha wraps his legs around the other man’s waist and clicks his heels together, and the custom knives in the toes spring out.
With a wild buck, he shifts their positions and rolls until he's on top. Then he kicks the other fucker in the nuts.
The wheezing shriek of agony is one I've heard many times before, never without a grim sense of satisfaction.
Kylian kicks the man again and again, swiping aside the soldier’s arms when he tries to reach down and cover himself.
The puddle of blood between the downed man's legs grows larger.
"I'm going to punch holes in you until I can fit this whole boot inside your belly," Kylian sing-songs.
The Noth has assumed a fetal position, a wailing whimper issuing from him.
Kylian unsheathes another knife.
I aim and then ring the Noth in the head.
Kylian whirls, brown eyes blazing with fire. "What the fuck?"
"Man. Down. It's not playtime, idiot." I gesture toward Ridge.
Sometimes, when the bloodlust takes over, Kylian forgets where he's at.
His anger morphs into concern, his features smoothing as he shoves his knife back into its spot and lifts his gun.
"I've got you covered." He starts to take over scanning exits as he moves close to shield us.
Nodding in thanks, I holster my weapons and bend to lift Ridge, who is heavy as fuck. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's been bulking up lately—probably trying to put on muscle to impress Brylee.
Thinking about our mate makes my stomach dip.
"You scented her?" I ask Kylian.
He shakes his head.
As I lurch forward with Ridge propped up on my side, I feel the wet spot on his chest. He's bleeding.
A litany of worries starts to build a list inside my ear, whispering every negative possibility. My cheeks grow hot as we move to the doorway.
"Where the fuck are you guys?" Kylian barks through the comms. "We need more cover."
"Almost. There." Colter huffs like he's in the middle of punching someone.
The rat-tat-tat of gunfire blasts off to my right, and I immediately get low, trying to shield Ridge's head the best I can. Kylian returns fire with a wild “whoop” that could slide right into the sound effects for a cowboy flick.
Normally that would make me grin. But the need to get Ridge out of here presses down like a weight.
I can't believe how sideways this mission has gone. Our need to find our mate completely overrode our caution. We should have done more extensive questioning of that Noth. We should have run drones over this location first. There are so many things we should have done…
But it's too late.
I check Ridge's pulse.
It's weak.
"Hurry. The. Fuck. Up," I grit out into my earpiece.
Two seconds later, thudding steps run toward us.
"Here," Colter says, his skull mask red with blood splatter.
"Let's move," Kylian states.
He takes the lead, and Colter covers our rear as we leave the office space and head out into the wider warehouse.
Fires burn around us from the remnants of old grenades, and the scent of blood is so strong I can taste it, which only ramps up the anxiety twisting me up about Ridge's injuries. With every step I take, I fear I'm jostling his wound and making it worse.
A pair of Noth soldiers steps out from behind some heavy equipment, and one pitches his arm forward—a motion I know well. One that makes me internally cringe even as I dive to the right for cover, dragging Ridge with me so we can huddle behind a warped piece of machinery that's been shot to hell.
BAM.
The grenade blasts off with a force that makes my skin ripple, with a heat that singes my eyebrows. My ears ring, and I have no sense of direction for a second. Not until I see Kylian and Colter bent low, moving and shooting in tandem.
I turn to check on Ridge, trusting them to take care of the threat.
He doesn't look good. He's pale to the point that he nearly looks blue.
We’re running out of time.
"All clear," Kylian calls through the comms. "Think that was the last of them."
"Think or know?" I snipe.
"Checking with thermals," Colter replies. A minute later, he confirms Kylian's assessment. "It's just us."
"Finally." I rip at Ridge's shirt and vest, needing to see the wound.
Needing to know what this mistake cost us.
When I have his torso exposed and can see the wound that rips through him just above his hipbone, right beneath the vest, I get my answer.
And it's not good.