Chapter 12
brYLEE
The weight of the pistol in my hand is the only thing that feels real. It’s cold, solid, and heavy—a grounding force against the chaos screaming through my veins.
The chain is gone, but its ghost lingers, a phantom pressure around my ankle.
Every muscle in my body screams in protest, a symphony of aches and sharp, stabbing pains from the beating I endured, but I push it all down.
Pain is a luxury. Fear is a liability. I am a weapon, and a weapon does not feel.
I move through the corridor, a whisper of death in the gloom.
My bare feet are silent on the gritty concrete, a skill honed in the dance courses I took last year at Darling Academy.
The bodies of the alphas I manipulated are slumped against the walls, dead, their faces frozen in masks of fury and surprise. I don’t look at them. They were obstacles, and I removed them. Now they are just scenery.
The air grows colder as I ascend a flight of metal stairs, each step echoing with a faint clang that I muffle by keeping to the edges.
The scent of blood fades, replaced by the sterile, metallic smell of old machinery and diesel fuel.
I’m in the belly of the beast now, the operational heart of this warehouse prison.
Up ahead, a pair of double doors stands ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness.
Voices drift out, low and conversational. Two of them.
I press myself against the cold brick wall, flattening my body into the shadows. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat, but my hand is steady on the grip of the pistol. I breathe in, slow and deep, centering myself.
I count to three, then explode through the doorway.
Noth betas, dressed in tactical gear, have their backs to me. They turn, their expressions shifting from boredom to shock. It’s all the time I need.
The pistol bucks twice in my hand. The reports are deafening in the confined space, a sharp crack that’s followed by the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor. I don’t stop to look at their faces. I’m already moving, scanning the next hallway, the scent of lead coiling through the air.
Another guard appears at the far end, an alpha this time, his head snapping up at the sound.
His nostrils flare as he catches my scent, and a snarl rips from his throat.
His eyes glaze over with the same primal lust I used to my advantage before, but this time there’s no clever trick, no panties in a vent.
There is only the cold, hard finality of the gun in my hand.
He charges, a mindless beast.
I raise the pistol, aligning the sight with his center mass. My training takes over, my body moving with an economy of motion that bypasses thought. The shot is clean.
He stumbles, a look of profound confusion on his face, before collapsing in a heap ten feet from me.
I step over his body without breaking stride. I am not the princess in the tower anymore. I am the monster they created, and I am coming for them all.
The main floor of the warehouse is a cavernous space, filled with looming shelves of crates and the hulking shapes of dormant vehicles. The air is thick with the smell of oil and metal. I move from cover to cover, a shadow flitting between the steel monoliths.
I can hear more voices, more movement. They know I’m here. The hunt is on.
I see a group of three huddled around a map spread across a crate. I don’t give them the chance to react. Three more shots. Three more bodies. The efficiency of it is chilling, a testament to the brutal effectiveness of my education.
They taught me to seduce, to persuade, to manipulate from the shadows. They never told me what to do when the shadows were all I had left.
A movement to my left.
I swing around, hair whirling, my finger already tightening on the trigger, but I stop myself.
It’s a beta, but he’s not armed. He’s older, his face lined with weariness and a look of grim resignation.
He doesn’t snarl or charge. He simply stands there, watching me, his hands raised slowly in a gesture of surrender.
He’s the first one who hasn’t been driven wild by my scent. The first one who seems to see me, not just the omega. Curiosity wars with the instinct to eliminate the threat. I lower the pistol slightly, keeping the aim centered on his chest.
“Why?” I demand, my voice a raw, harsh sound. “Why am I here?”
He shakes his head, his jaw set. “I can't tell you anything.”
I don't have time for games. I shift my aim down and fire.
The shot echoes through the vast space, followed by his sharp cry of pain as he crumples to the ground, clutching his leg. Blood blooms dark and fast on his fatigues.
“I can make this last a very long time,” I say, my voice dangerously calm as I walk toward him. “I can shoot your other knee. Your elbows. I can keep you alive while you bleed out, piece by piece. Talk.”
Tears of pain and terror stream down his face, mixing with the dust on the floor.
“Okay! Okay!” he sobs, his voice breaking, and the first smidgen of guilt creeps in, entirely unbidden.
I force it aside.
“Pedro called us all in. Every man here has suffered from Hypso’s unforgivable evil.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Unforgivable evil? What does he think war is? A picnic? Fuck him.
“What is the end goal?” I press, my voice sharp. “Why me?”
“A message.” He gasps, writhing on the floor. “A declaration. Your country needs to know the atrocities your government committed. Your country needs to pay. And what better way to get revenge than with their perfect princess?”
Atrocities?
Both sides have done awful things in the name of this war. I’m not saying it’s right—it’s most definitely not—but the Noths don’t deserve to have the moral high ground. They have bombed entire cities, attacked trading outposts, sunk our ships…
I look down at the beta, at the pathetic, broken man on the floor. He’s given me what I need.
I raise the pistol, aiming for his head. He flinches and squeezes his eyes shut.
A part of me—the princess part—recoils.
But the survivor in me holds the weapon steady. I can’t leave any loose ends.
But then I hesitate. Killing him is easy. Leaving him here to suffer is a message, too. Let his people find him. Let them see what happens when they come for the princess of Hypso. I lower the gun.
“Tell your masters,” I say, my voice cold as the grave, dripping with derision, “that I'm coming for them next.”
I turn my back on him and walk away, my steps sure and purposeful.
The pain isn’t gone, but the worst of it has been replaced by a cold, burning fury.
I’m no longer just trying to escape. I’m on a mission.
I need to get home, to get to my parents—the king and queen.
I need to tell them that the Noths just raised the stakes in this war.
But they made a sad miscalculation.
They thought they’d kidnapped an omega, but I’m so much more than that.
And I’m going to enjoy proving it to them.