Chapter 43
brYLEE
The wind whips past my face, cold and sharp as shards of glass, but I barely feel it.
I'm tucked between Ridge and Kylian in the back of the jeep, windows down, Colter driving with a grim set to his shoulders that mirrors the tension coiling in my stomach. Luka barely lifts his head from where he’s tapping away on a tablet, a perpetual furrow deepening the skin between his brows.
Behind us, Mole Man—errr, George—drives with the doctor, who we found huddled in the back seat of the jeep.
In a few hours, she’ll return here with a contingent of soldiers to retrieve the cure from the alpha princes.
She’ll analyze the sample the best she can to ensure its authenticity before returning to me.
A cure.
A fucking cure for Ted after all this time.
But…
It’s not enough.
There’s still one more cure we need to set the world to right, and I have no idea how to even go about getting it.
I suggested to my alphas that we bring the doctor on board, have her confirm or deny the princes’ claims, but Luka made a good point—the fewer people who know, the better.
Until we can confront my mother, we need to remain quiet.
The last thing we need are our forces rebelling against us or the public starting to panic, especially if everything proves to be untrue.
But it’s not untrue.
You know it’s not untrue.
I shush my internal voice.
Outside, the landscape blurs into a wash of muted grays and browns, the colors leached away by the weight of what we've just learned. It's as if the world itself has been drained of vibrancy, reflecting the hollowness that's taken root inside me.
“We need to verify the princes' claim,” Ridge says, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine. He leans forward, one hand braced against the back of Colter's seat, his words clipped and precise, and a muscle in his jaw twitches erratically. “And we need to regroup. This changes everything.”
I nod mechanically, but my mind is a thousand miles away, back at the makeshift camp where the princes had laid out their accusation with cold, clinical precision.
My mother had deliberately released a virus. A weapon of mass destruction.
The thought sits in my gut like a stone, heavy and indigestible.
What if it had spread to our own people? What if it's contagious, a silent predator that could slip through our borders like smoke? God, how many innocent people were affected? How many died? How could she do something as horrendous as this?
The questions spin in my head, dizzying and relentless, until I feel like I might be sick. My hands clench so tightly in my lap that my nails dig into my palms, but I don't even register the pain. All I can feel is the cold, hard certainty that my world has been irrevocably shattered.
I should be ecstatic I finally—fucking finally—have a cure for Teddie. But even that emotion fails to register, incapable of penetrating the numb barrier erected around my heart.
“You're quiet,” Kylian murmurs beside me, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my bones.
He reaches for my hand, his fingers warm against my cold skin, but I pull away before he can make contact.
I can't bear to be touched right now, can't bear the comfort he's trying to offer when all I feel is contaminated.
Like I'm carrying some kind of moral plague, a sickness of the soul that I might pass on to them.
Colter takes a sharp turn, and I'm thrown against Ridge's side. His arm comes around me automatically, a steadying presence that usually makes me feel safe, but now it feels like a cage.
I'm trapped between them, between their strength and my own weakness, and I can't breathe. The scent of them—all alpha, all protective—is usually a source of comfort, but now it's suffocating, a reminder of everything I'm about to lose.
What’s going to happen when I confront my mother?
Oh god.
“Here,” Colter announces gruffly as the transport lurches to a stop.
We file out. The main base spreads out before us, a patchwork of tents and makeshift structures that suddenly feels like a fortress against an enemy I can't see. An enemy that might already be lurking among us.
Who here knows about the virus?
Who here condoned it? Supported it?
Ridge is already moving, his long legs eating up the ground as he strides toward the tent we claimed as our own.
The interior looks the same as it did when we left.
So why does everything seem so different?
I don’t think I was in shock when we met with the princes. But now? Now I’m not sure about anything anymore.
“Kylian, I want you to coordinate with the general. We need to figure out what he knows about this, but be discrete. I know that’s not your specialty, but try, okay? Colter, get a secure line to the castle. Tell them the crown prince is on his way home. Arrange transport.”
They're a well-oiled machine, each of them falling into their roles with an efficiency that would normally impress me. But today it just feels like they're moving in slow motion, their words muffled as if I'm underwater.
I follow them numbly, my feet dragging through the dirt like anchors. Each step is an effort, a monumental task that requires more energy than I possess.
As Ridge barks out orders, I move behind the partition and strip out of the bodysuit. I know we’re going to be on the road in an hour, but I just need…to feel like me. To feel like Brylee.
Once I’m dressed in my normal clothes, I return to the others, unnerved by the sudden silence that seems to saturate the tent, oozing over everyone present.
It's only then that I notice it—the way Ridge, Kylian, and Colter exchange glances, their eyes flicking toward Luka with an intensity that sets my teeth on edge.
Luka nods, a subtle movement that I would have missed if I weren't watching so closely, but I can't decipher the meaning behind it.
It's like they're speaking a language I don't understand, and the thought sends a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over me.
Are they keeping something from me?
Is there more to this than what the princes told us?
“We'll be back,” Ridge says, his hand briefly squeezing Luka's shoulder before he turns to leave. “Keep an eye on her.”
And then they're gone, disappearing through the flap in the tent and leaving me alone with Luka.
The silence that descends is thick and suffocating, broken only by the distant sounds of voices and the rustle of canvas in the wind.
I feel adrift, untethered, and the fear that I've been pushing down rises up, threatening to drown me.
“You're spiraling,” Luka says softly, his voice cutting through the fog in my mind.
He stands in front of me now, his dark eyes searching mine with an intelligence that always leaves me feeling exposed. He's the analytical one, the one who sees patterns where I see chaos, who finds logic in the midst of emotion.
And right now, that’s what I need. I’m feeling too much, too keenly, and I just…
Fuck, I want someone to untangle the web of my thoughts, to create coherence out of the mayhem.
To keep me sane when I feel as if I’m going crazy.
“I don't understand,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat. “How could she do that? How could she risk so many lives? Those people… They weren’t all our enemies. We don’t go after innocents.
That’s what we’ve always been told. So how could she?
Why would she? What was she thinking? Is she a monster? ”
The questions spill out of me, a torrent of fear and confusion.
Luka reaches out, and his fingers brush against my cheek with a gentleness that makes my eyes burn.
“We don't know all the facts yet,” he says, his voice calm and steady. “The princes could be lying, or they could be mistaken. We're making arrangements to return to the castle, Brylee. You'll be able to confront her yourself, to hear the truth straight from her lips.”
The knot in my chest loosens, just a little, at his words.
The thought of facing my mother, of demanding answers, is terrifying, but it's also a lifeline. Something to hold on to in the midst of all this uncertainty.
And he’s right. We don’t know for sure if the princes were telling the truth. For all I know, their sole purpose is to create discord between my mother and me.
But…
Fear skitters down my spine, and my heart gallops into my throat.
“Breathe,” Luka murmurs, his thumb stroking the skin beneath my eye. “Just breathe with me.”
I try. I really do, but the air gets stuck in my lungs, sharp and painful, like trying to suck honey through a straw.
Luka doesn't push, doesn't rush me. He just waits, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of my thoughts.
Slowly, agonizingly, the tightness in my chest begins to ease, and I draw in a ragged breath, then another.
“Good,” he says, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Everything will be okay, Brylee. I promise.”
And then he's leaning in, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that's soft and searching.
The world outside our tent ceases to exist the moment Luka's lips meet mine. His kiss is a balm, a slow, deliberate press that speaks of comfort and understanding, not the frantic urgency I've come to expect from my other mates.
His scent, a complex blend of old parchment and cool rain, wraps around me, a soothing counterpoint to the chaos still raging in my mind. It's the scent of knowledge and quiet strength, and my omega instincts respond with a deep, yearning hum.
I lean into him, my body seeking the solace only he can provide. His hands frame my face, and his thumbs stroke my cheeks with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathless, but not from panic. This is different. This is life, and safety, and home.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispers, and the promise in those words is a low murmur that strangles the breath from my lungs. “Let me help you forget, just for a little while.”
I nod, unable to form words, my throat tight with emotion.