Chapter 15
When talks end, it's time to 'tour' Lativa. More like, have it rubbed in our faces the destruction we're responsible for, and how far from grace a former powerhouse has fallen.
Ezra leads the group with Jessica at his side. Alpha Isaiah coolly strolls beside his daughter. Jessica is beaming between the two men, probably ecstatic that her father seems to be warming up to her mate.
I wouldn't say so, but Alpha Isaiah is trying his best for his daughter's sake. He knows it as much as anyone can see that she loves Ezra as much he loves her.
The rest of Ezra's in-commands tag along. Caleb Wright, the head of his military unit, occupies the back of the group with his father, Grant Wright, beside him. The father and son make idle conversation when Grant voices the same thought that's on my mind.
Jessop stayed behind.
It's out of character for someone who was a tyrannical dictator during his reign. One would expect him to join us if only to gather intel for his next power grab.
"Thank the gods that bastard stayed behind," Dad grits next to me. The group makes a right, turning down the pavement leading to the homes of the Lativa Weres.
"Don't you think it's strange?"
My father raises an eyebrow. "Not if Ezra requested it before the meeting. He must've known we would be more agreeable this way."
My inability to accept that explanation must show on my face because he tilts his head in that typical Steven Daniels fashion whenever I have a lot to say about something and he's giving me the floor.
"Then why is Grant Wright here?" I ask. He was once head of Lativa's military unit under Jessop's command but was instrumental in Jessop's dethronement and apprehension, surviving Jessop's return thanks to Ezra's protection.
Dad shrugs. "He's never been a problem. He's got his head screwed on right." I'm hesitant to believe it and it doesn't go unnoticed. "You don't think it was Ezra's request," he poses. Not as a question, but an observation.
"I don't trust Jessop."
Dad chuckles. "Likewise, buddy."
"I don't want any surprises tonight."
Ezra and Jessica lead us around the pack, Weres gathered on their porches waiting to meet with us, the occasion turning out to be a bittersweet one.
Most express their gratitude that we're reaching out to help them.
Others show their distaste, fans of the old days when the alliance between both packs was considered unbreakable.
The distaste is brought on by the severance of that alliance and with it, the friendships and families that were destroyed because of the betrayal. The gradual hardships they endured because of the decisions of Marcana's current leaders – influential figures who command the Council's cooperation.
One pack member is vocal about those struggles and his anger, approaching us with aggression.
I might say he's justified. We were not fair to them, so many livelihoods destroyed when they personally had nothing to do with the feud.
"You've got some nerve coming here!" the man spits, leaving the steps of his home to invade the personal spaces of Marcana's heads. He shoves right past Ezra, ignoring his wife's pleas for him to behave.
"Will! Come back inside!" his wife calls after him, careful to keep her tone gentle. She has three children with her, the youngest no older than four who's on the brink of tears from the tension she senses. I forget that young Weres are extremely sensitive to the emotions of the adults around them.
"No!" Will's eyes glint darkly. He moves closer, showing no fear of potential consequences. Two of our warriors step forward and push him back, creating room between the rowdy Were and their superiors. They form a protective barrier, their postures tense with the promise of force if Will persists.
Will stumbles, shoving the warriors' hands away. "You fucking pretentious pricks." His words are slurred and judging by his unkempt state, disheveled clothing, and ruffled hair, Will is inebriated.
It takes a lot of alcohol to get a Were to this point due to our fast metabolism. But it's possible, and quicker if minor doses of non-lethal aconite is taken with it. It slows our metabolism, allowing us to enjoy the thrill of an alcohol-induce haze for a few hours.
"Stand down." The command comes from Ezra, his attempt to quietly diffuse the situation futile because Will snarls, baring elongated canines at his alpha. It's a threat and a challenge, one that doesn't sit well with Ezra, but has disappointment written all over his face.
Will doesn't budge facing off against Alpha Isaiah and Beta Chad. The warriors accompanying us don't break their focus, watching the fuming Were closely.
"You welcome these bastards into our home," Will continues, directing his anger at Ezra while remaining fixated on Marcana's alpha and beta, "as if you've forgotten what they did.
They abandoned us, humiliated us. They threw us out of Aegean Industries, sabotaged every business relationship.
Because of them, an entire generation of our children lost the chance at a proper scholarship.
They've lost internships, struggle to hold jobs because of those assholes. Have you forgotten all of that, Ezra?"
He pauses and turns to Jessica who stands at her mate's side without flinching. She doesn't move a muscle as Will turns his anger onto her. "What? You found out you're fated to Isaiah's daughter and suddenly forgot all the hardships we endured because of their selfishness?"
"Will," Ezra warns, voice tough like stone, a bit of that alpha's authority slipping through.
Enough to send the message that his patience is quickly wearing thin.
A warning to not stay another word against his luna.
"I won't repeat myself a second time. You've made a fool of yourself by disrespecting me, your luna, and our guests –"
The wind picks up blowing in our direction. The leaves of nearby trees rustle, cool night breeze ruffling our clothes, hair, and stinging our faces. Ezra's rebuttal dies on his tongue, his head turning upward, chest rising and falling in a familiar motion.
Alpha Isaiah catches it too. One by one, we're all put on alert as Ezra pushes Will back toward the house, muttering off an order for him to barricade his wife and pups inside.
Something else has come with the wind.
We're not here alone.
A menacing rumble reverberates from Marcana's alpha, and our collective attention is dragged to the surrounding trees, to the darkness beyond that seems to devour the smallest sources of light, hiding something within its grasp.
The swift change in demeanor has everyone on alert. Lativa Weres perched on their porches make mad dashes for their doors. Windows are shut, curtains pulled closed, locking mechanisms clicking into place, lights switching off, blanketing homes in complete darkness.
The scent is faint, and it doesn't belong here. It smells like dirt layered in grime and sweat. It's putrid but that's not what unsettles us. Not even that it's not supposed to be here.
It wasn't present when we arrived.
Ezra is already disseminating orders to his in-commands. They all nod, informed of their duties, splitting off in different directions.
Franklyn Doyle, the beta, heads back to the conference building.
Gavin O'Malley, the gamma, goes in an opposite direction taking a few patrolling Weres with him to do perimeter checks and search for the unidentified scents. Some look spooked, unable to understand how they didn't detect it. The rest are ready for a fight.
There are multiple and yet somehow, they got in. By the reactions of the patrolling Weres, Lativa's security is compromised and this is an ambush.
"Please, come with me," Ezra requests, maintaining a calm demeanor. A sliver of irritation shoots through me. The guts on this guy.
My hands ball to fists as Ezra signals to his Commander. Caleb Wright steps forward and whatever silent communication passes between them increases the tension.
We're hyperalert, prepared for an attack just in case this is a double cross.
"Why should we trust you?" Alpha Isaiah's tone is brusque.
He reaches out, snatches his daughter to his side.
He does the same with Luna Nicole. Seeing them side-by-side as they are, I'm reminded that regardless of her alpha bloodline, Jessica's a small woman in front of her father who dwarfs her with his massive shoulder width.
He dwarfs both women and his protective stance sends a clear message.
He's ready to fight for them. Kill if that's what it takes to get them to safety.
Jessica protests, astounded by her father's silent implication, the accusation burning on his face.
"Dad, you can't be serious! You really think Ezra would do this?
" She pulls away from her father's grasp but it's useless as he drags her back to the safety of his side with minimum effort.
She doesn't fight him knowing she's no match for her father when it comes to raw strength.
Still, she looks at him with horror and heartbreak at his accusation.
"Then how did they trespass into Lativa?" Alpha Isaiah snaps a fiery gaze at Ezra. "Surely, your patrol isn't that incompetent."
An annoyed scoff draws all attention to Commander Rick.
He's got his back turned to his alpha, peering out at the surrounding tree line, watching the hurried commotion of Lativa Weres as they run about executing the orders of their superiors.
His weapon is drawn, clutched with both hands while he continues his survey, searching for the slightest of movement for something that doesn't belong.
"Argue over this another time. What matters most is that somehow, a bunch of rogues got past the borders.
A wise move would be to leave but since we can't pinpoint their exact locations within the territory, we're stuck.
If we leave, we open ourselves to attacks.
And it will give us a bad rep." He points to the warrior Weres of Lativa ushering people back into their homes.
He's right. Leaving would put us in a vulnerable position. They could intercept us before we make it out of Lativa's territory. Plus, this pack is depending on us to follow through on those peace agreements. Bowing out now would tell them we don't give a shit about whether they live or die.
Our leaders might not care but I do. And so does Jessica.
These people have nothing to do with what happened between our packs years ago and even if they bowed to a tyrannical alpha at the time, it wasn't a decision they made easily.
It was done out of coercion, out of fear for their lives and their families. Because no one was coming to save them.
"It's best to find them first," Commander Rick continues. "We can interrogate Ezra afterward but right now, getting Jessica and Nicole somewhere safe is our first priority."
"He's right, Isaiah," Beta Chad agrees. He's also assumed a similar stance to Commander Rick. So has Dad. It's a familiar formation that's been drilled into me as a pup, as it's been drilled into my friends, meant to safeguard the alpha and his family.
"Fine." Alpha Isaiah releases his grip on the two women. "Take my wife and daughter. Take Sky as well to safety. The rest of us will assist in finding these rogues." His tone is biting, the double meaning behind the words clear as day when he slides an accusatory glance at Ezra.
None of us trust Lativa. With Jessop still breathing, I'll never trust them to leave my father alone.
"I'm staying right here."
In his eyes, my safety is also top priority. I'm one-quarter of the next generation of leaders for Marcana, my father's only successor. My demise jeopardizes the stability of Marcana's future.
Dad's hand on my shoulder is a silent warning not to anger my alpha. Call me stubborn but I'm not about to run away while the one parent I have left faces a pack of rogues. He mightn't be alone, but anything could happen.
"With all due respect, Alpha, I didn't come here to be treated like a child. I trust them as much as you do so, wherever Dad goes, I go."
He finally gets it that there's no backing down on my end. "Very well. Rick, go with them," he says, motioning to his mate and daughter. "The rest of you are with me."
We spilt up with different destinations in mind. Jessica hesitates to leave her mate behind, but he sends her away reminding her that if anything happens to him, Lativa will naturally turn to her.
Commander Rick, the three warriors who came with us, Caleb and his dad head in another direction to a safety bunker. They take Jessica and Luna Nicole with them while the remaining five of us follow Ezra.
He leads us at a jog, crossing through lawns and open yards. We cross two streets on the way. Weres on patrol are shouting orders, commanding their packmates get inside their homes and lock the doors.
They're joined by warriors carrying firearms and blades, many of them circling back and forth, scattered between green lawns and homes, searching each dark corner.
A few of them clamber up ladders leading to guard point booths stationed at various points, rifles gripped firmly, eyes assessing the commotion below, searching for any odd movement.
"Where are you taking us?" Beta Chad queries.
Ezra breaks into a sprint, dashing across a small plot of green lawn surrounded by a two-foot hedge and at a corner partially shaded by the shadows of surrounding trees and homes is a lone structure.
A rectangular shed painted in dark grey with a single locked door.
It looks more like a utility shed built from brick and concrete with a heavy steel door painted black.
"Trust me. You'll like this," Ezra comments, unlocking the door with a key I only now notice, dangling from a bunch attached to the loop of his belt. He steps inside, flips a switch to his right revealing a sparse-looking room. He ushers us inside, shutting the door behind him.
In one corner is a table and chair. Next to that is a steel cabinet kept shut under lock and key, and on the wall to our left are multiple pieces of paper pinned and taped up.
Patrol rosters, maps of Lativa territory, and a map of Jasper Falls.
There's another of Schrattner's County and the county's old tunnel system.
The map of Schrattner's County is littered in sticky notes with writing scribbled onto it, pinned at various locations with colored thumbtacks, and three different colors of thread crisscrossing and zigzagging over the entire map.
What the...?
What kind of operation is Ezra running here?
"What's all of this?" my father questions, the first to break the silence. The display has us all intrigued and by the looks of it, Ezra's searching for something on the downlow because all of this is contained within a unit that only he has access to.
Seems as though the new alpha of Lativa doesn't trust many people.
I do not fault him. Not when his own father is an abusive, tyrannical piece of shit, and there may still be those loyal to Jessop milling around.
"Nothing I'm sure of, yet." He steps around a dark brown rug placed at the center of the floor, crouches and moves it aside, revealing a trap door that leads underground.
"The hell." I whisper. There's another level?
Ezra grins pridefully. His mouth moves like he's about to say something when gunshots ricochet into the night. Shouts echo. Vicious snarls and growls get lost in the chaos of agonized screams and gunfire.
"Fuck," Ezra curses, using a different key from the set to unlock the trap door. "Turn the lock and get in."
Though I'm skeptical, I'm guessing what lies inside the secret underground room is something he doesn't want many people to know of. Yet he's willing to share it with us and now I'm doubly worried taking mental stock of the people present with him, taking into account the sudden rogue invasion.
If Ezra wants to, he could wipe us out. He's got three heads of Marcana and one-quarter of the next generation of leaders.
Still, I turn the lock on the doorknob, Ezra replying with a curt thanks before heading down the black-painted iron staircase. We follow one by one, Alpha Isaiah falling to the back of the group.
We're all on the same page regarding our vague trust in Ezra. A rogue attack on the same night, within the same hours of our visit is all too convenient.
Alpha Isaiah pushes me ahead of him, taking up the rear so that nothing escapes his notice.
At the bottom of the steps, Ezra flips another light switch, and we find ourselves in a sparse-looking room, but this one has brighter lighting. It's cleaner than the one above, airy, has white panel lights, and light gray walls.
To the left of the room are three long tables with video surveillance monitors, computer screens and keyboards, and a set of controls for the surveillance feeds.
To the right side are two doors – a lounge and kitchen in one and a bathroom in the other.
Along the wall are glass cases carrying bulletproof vests and face masks on mannequin busts.
Upon closer inspection of the black mask that covers the nose, mouth, and chin, there's an odd engraving on the lower left corner.
A lotus flower.
There are four of these vests and masks.
"Are you some kind of vigilante? What is this?"
"Welcome to the Vault," he says all mysteriously, walking to the other end of the room where a large painting of a fallen angel lords over us. He sets aside the painting to expose an electronic touchpad.
Ezra glances over his shoulder, ensuring that none of us could see his code and punches in a four-digit code. Four beeps, four characters. The wall – another door – slides open, revealing a smaller room.
My eyes widen, catching a glimpse of the rows of guns and assault rifles clipped to two walls on the inside, and to the right is an assortment of various blades – some the length of a fingertip-to-wrist ratio, and others the length of my arm.
"You are a vigilante," I whisper in awe.
"Not quite," he laughs, inviting us to check out his own personal armory.
Beta Chad speaks up, asking the single question that plagues us. "How are you able to afford this set up if Lativa hasn't been doing so well financially?"
"A generous sponsor," Ezra replies confidently.
He crosses his arms over his chest. "Let's just say, my sponsor wants dear old dad deader than dead.
" He gestures to the ammunition collection consisting of various semi-automatic rifles, blades, and more bulletproof vests.
"Take what you need. We have to get out there before those rogues rip my pack apart. "
My iota of respect for this guy increases tenfold.
We take a few minutes to inspect the armory, hoping that the others are safe. Alpha Isaiah wouldn't hesitate to completely annihilate what's left of Lativa if anything happens to his family.
Scanning over the weaponry layout, a grin tugs at my lips, and I gravitate toward an AK-47.
"See something you like?" Ezra asks. I point to the AK-47, grinning like a child in the snack aisle of a supermarket. He shakes his head and claps me on the shoulder. "Mags and bullets are in the case below," he informs, grabbing his own weapon preference.
Dad settles for a shotgun, slinging the strap over his shoulder. He reaches for the Velcro sheath straps, slipping two blades into the loops, and brass knuckles into his pocket. He's old-school like that. Always has been for as long as I remember, preferring a good fist fight over guns.
According to him, guns take the fun out of everything. Being able to knock a guy out with one punch sends a clear message. Then again, so does pulling the trigger when they least expect.
While we armor up, Ezra pitches a plan, waking the surveillance set up from its sleep mode.
The display shows multiple camera angles of the entirety of Lativa's pack territory.
A number of cameras are pointed to the tree line and the penitentiary-like fence running the perimeter of the pack's territory.
Others face the interior of the pack's grounds, to the streets and homes.
From our current location, through these screens we can see the chaos unfolding outside. There are far too many rogues, the number unsuitable for a contingent that simply slipped through without notice.
"I don't understand," Ezra mutters, hitting the mouse and a bunch of key controls, checking various camera angles. His face looks as troubled as he sounds, more than likely wondering what the rest of us are.
How did so many rogues manage to slip through and evade detection?
"Go back an hour on all the tapes," my father suggests. I stand next to him, finished strapping myself into a bulletproof vest, resting the AK-47 against my shoulder, cradling the butt with one hand.
Dad moves closer, nudging me to observe the screens.
Ezra heeds the suggestion and rewinds the tapes back an hour.
"You think they trespassed that far back?" Alpha Isaiah questions.
"This is most likely a premediated attack," Dad begins his explanation, all Gamma business now.
"They knew about this meeting and only allowed us to catch their scents when they wanted.
They were probably here before we were." His eyes never leave the monitors, scrutinizing each square box that shows a different section of the territory.
An hour before, the streets are quiet. Residential sections captured in the footage show Weres on the front porches of their homes, others on the pavement chatting amongst themselves. The tree lines remain undisturbed as Weres on patrol, in the hour before, make their rounds without any problems.
"Go back another hour. I'm not seeing anything odd," I say, and Ezra follows.
Minutes pass by as the tapes rewind and move forward again at a faster speed after Ezra makes the adjustments.
Half an hour, and then forty-six minutes into the first hour passes in the tapes' timestamps when two separate camera angles and a hardly noticeable distortion on one of them catches my attention.
"All your camera angles capture a relatively wide area, except for these two." I point them out, hearing Ezra curse quietly. "They both cover a section of the border fence." I tap the screen on the square labelled 'CAM 8." "Does this one have a blind spot?"
Ezra leans closer, carefully watching the footage for said camera.
"Somewhere close to that camera," I start to explain, "there's a light.
If you look closely, there's a lengthy disturbance, barely noticeable, but a disturbance, nonetheless.
It's too many light disturbances to be made by a single person and I doubt you have multiple Weres patrolling a single spot.
Watch the tape again. Rewind by three minutes. "
Before he could, his phone vibrates and he fishes it out, putting the call on loudspeaker.
"Gavin. Talk to me."
The commotion happening in the background comes through loud and clear. A cacophony of gunshots, shouts and screams, orders thrown about, a pack wolf foully cursing condemning a rogue to hell seconds before she opens fire like a madwoman.
"They cut a fucking hole in the fence at CAM 8. That's how they got in."
"It is a premediated attack," my father mutters.
Ezra resets the footage to the current time and at CAM 8, a group of warriors armed with rifles have created a barrier outside of the fence within better view of the camera. Some of them keep glancing to something off camera.
"Shit!" Ezra curses. "Gavin, hold that barrier.
Anymore rogues in or out, cut them down.
" As soon he gives those orders, he ends the call.
"We need to get out there, now. We'll fall in with the rest of the warriors.
These rogues are coordinated so they must have a leader.
If he's here, we find him. If he isn't, we take hostages, keep them alive long enough for some answers.
Focus your efforts on thinning their numbers. "
"Okay," I start, "but there's quite a few and they're putting up one hell of a fight." That puts a pause to Ezra's hurried power march to the iron steps.
"Perhaps," Alpha Isaiah muses. "While they may possess an elite skillset, it's safe to assume this is an inside job considering their numbers."
"Then," my father pipes up. "Watch your six and fight smart."
"Let's go," comes Beta Chad's command.
Ezra and Alpha Isaiah are already halfway up the iron staircase when the persistent banging against the door upstairs travels down to meet us. Ezra takes the steps three at a time, gestures for us to remain put as he draws his Glock.
No sooner than when he disappears upstairs, a stampede of rushed footfalls come bolting back down, iron clanking under the heavy weight of several bodies. Caleb is saying something to Ezra as they round the bend of the stairwell into the open space.
They come running inside. Caleb dashes in, does a quick survey of the space and peels off his jacket, bundling it to create a makeshift pillow as he puts it on the floor near the far wall.
Commander Rick comes into view. In his arms, he carries an injured Luna Nicole.
Alpha Isaiah is quick on his feet though his face blanches as he takes his mate from his in-command.
Commander Rick is sporting bruises. His shirt is ripped along the sleeves and across his torso.
Caleb doesn't look any better, scratches and cuts here and there show signs of a scuffle.
Both men have blood on them but by the familiarity of the scent tanging the enclosed space, most of it is from Luna Nicole.
Her side is injured. She bites down on her bottom lip to suppress her agony as her mate adjusts his hold around her.
"Set her over here," Caleb instructs. "It'll be easier to tend her wound."
Alpha Isaiah sets her down on the ground, Caleb supporting her head on the makeshift pillow. Ezra disappears through one of the adjoining doors on the right side of the room and returns seconds later carrying a medical kit.
He turns it over to Caleb who rips open the kit and starts pulling items out of it. Gauze and wound-cleaning disinfectants. He checks her wound, clearing away the blood to assess the damage.
"They took her," Luna Nicole whispers. Her voice is weak from blood loss and fatigue, droplets of perspiration coating her forehead in a cold sweat.
She's pale in complexion, both from blood loss and pain, yet the only thing on her mind is her daughter.
Luna Nicole pulls her mouth into a thin line as Caleb administers the wound disinfectant.
"And our warriors?" Beta Chad questions.
"They went after her with Grant," Commander Rick informs, seated on the floor with his back to the wall. His knees are drawn up, and he wipes away dirt and sweat from his face. He's got this look of defeat on his face, the kind that says he messed up, that he failed.
"Shit!" he curses. "I'm sorry, Isaiah. I tried to get to her –"
"Enough," comes Alpha Isaiah's command. A lot of that alpha's authority slips through. His voice is low but sharp, and his shoulders tense letting everyone know that he is pissed. It casts a gloomy cloud pushing everyone else into submission.
Ezra is angry too. His mate's been kidnapped but dares not speak a word given Alpha Isaiah's silent volatility. Maybe, he's blaming himself too. He has that look of guilt, unable to cast a glance in Alpha Isaiah or Luna Nicole's direction.
"You were thinking quick," Alpha Isaiah continues, proving why people respect him. For the safety of his daughter, he could let loose and go absolutely feral. He could tear this entire pack apart in a night and no one would be able to stop him. Yet he won't do that.
Because he respects Jesscia's decision to step up as Lativa's luna. Because he won't risk an all-out battle with his warriors and in-commands at the heart of enemy territory. Because Jessica's life depends on him staying logical.
"But –" This time, it's Ezra who speaks, disapproving of the other man's calm disposition. He doesn't get the chance to continue when Alpha Isaiah holds up a hand to silence the protests.
Ezra bites his tongue, his eyebrows scrunching in controlled anger. He knows better than to provoke Marcana's alpha.
"Jessi's smart. She'll buy us enough time to get to her if we leave now." And just like that, he flips the chain of command on its head. He takes charge and begins throwing orders about.
"Ezra, she's your mate and this is your territory. You'll lead the way. Caleb and Rick will stay here and safeguard Nicole. Chad, you'll stay here as well. The rest of you, with me."
Our orders accepted with no objections, we set off to find Jessica and the band of rogues that kidnapped her. Beta Chad follows, pulling the door shut behind us, acting as the primary defense line to the other three down in the Vault.
Outside is absolute chaos!
Gunshots ring through the night air woven with the vicious sounds of a fight – shouts, blood-curdling screams, wolfish snarls and growls.
"Form a barricade! Cut them down!" a warrior wolf of Lativa shouts.
Six men carrying military grade assault rifles stand in a line at the center of the street.
Snarls and growls emanate from their left, and in the blink of an eye at least a dozen rogues come barreling through the tree line, springing out of darkness.
Some are in their wolf forms and others are equipped with armored jackets and rifles.
Ezra opens fire, joining the warriors' defense, securing the line's hold.
The rest of us spread out, reinforcing the barrier with more arms. One after the next, the rogues go down as they charge forward, a few of their shooters falling in the hail of bullets we return.
The ones in Were form have an easier time maneuvering around our line of fire, dodging left and right, ducking low, the use of two legs rather than four allowing them full advantage of agile movements.
Two charge forward, taking two of Lativa's warriors with them.
Fuck! They've broken the line.
I aim at the rogue dragging one of the warriors around like a ragdoll and he goes down in a hail of four bullets.
Pain erupts in my side, hot and blinding. I can't make a sound from the suddenness of the attack. The bulletproof vest rips, part of it getting pulled away completely.
The rifle slips from my grip and I'm knocked down by a heavy weight.
A sharp, blaring pain sears my side, stunning the oxygen out of my lungs.
Sharp teeth sink into my arm, the rogue thrashing its head side-to-side intent on ripping my arm off.
Panic seizes me as the metallic tang on blood permeates the air and warm crimson soaks my clothes.
The rogue refuses to relent, his teeth digging deep and his jaw strength too damn powerful to break. He starts running, dragging me along. The bulletproof vest and my jeans are get shredded in the process.
"Sky!" I barely recognize Dad's voice in the chaos of the moment and the wild survival instincts that kick in.
I reach for the blade in the sheath strap on my thigh, taking a wild, desperate swing.
The tip of blade scratches the rogue's face and he jumps away. He growls menacingly, frustrated that I gained the upper hand but it's enough to make him hop away and reassess his opponent. This rogue is older. Probably lived his entire life as one. He sure fights like that.
Scrambling to my feet against the breath-thieving pain in my arm and side, the blood and damaged skin an ugly sight, I stagger, measuring the rogue's every move. He shakes his head as if to toss away the pain from where I nicked him, looking more irritated than agonized.
I'm shaking. Trembling from the hot burns on my arm, the pain of ripped skin and bite wounds.
He lunges with a vicious snarl, saliva flying everywhere, snout scrunched uglily.
I dodge, realizing the mistake too late because he anticipated that. He lunges again, barreling his side into me from behind, sending me sprawling again. The rogue expertly moves away when I make another swing, falling onto my injured side.
My brain hasn't fully caught up with the attack and the wounds. My coordination is messed up and clumsy.
Fuck it all! I didn't come here to fucking die at a rogue's hands.
I expel a puff of air, righting my bearings to refocus on the problem at hand. My chest burns from pressure and ragged breathing, muscles screaming in protest torn between defense and trying to stay alert when all I want to do is pass out from the pain.
I turn on my back just as the rogue pounces, bringing my hand up. The blade slices through fur and skin and muscle, crimson gushing out of the gaping neck wound in time with a gunshot ricochet echoing above me.
The light fades from the rogue's eyes and he goes limp, his blood soaking my clothes. I shove him off to find Dad some feet away, shotgun aimed at the rogue with a look of pure disgust etched onto his face.
"Next time, keep your grimy paws off my kid."
With us in the clear for now, and the dozen rogues taken out, Dad hustles forward, slinging the shotgun back onto his shoulder.
"Let me see your injuries." He helps me sit up, discarding the sorry remains of the bulletproof vest. He allows me to use him as a crutch.
Between the misery the wounds bring and Dad's stiff expression, I know better than to protest.
There's a visible tremble in his hands when he lifts the tattered remains of my shirt to inspect the extent of my injuries. It makes me look at him because he's not the kind to get rattled easily. Dad's jaw is clenched tight, nostrils flared and his eyes focused on what he's doing.
I know the wounds are bad. The burning hasn't ebbed and I can feel the blood pouring out of the bite wound on my side.
"Steven," Alpha Isaiah says.
"I'm fine," Dad snaps with more edge than expected. The alpha doesn't react, taking Dad's biting tone into stride. "I got this."
It's then I realize why Dad hasn't actually looked at me. Why he's snappier than usual.
When that rogue grabbed hold of me and started dragging me away, it must've really frightened him. I don't want to think about what went through his head in that moment.
"Take him back. We'll follow the trail for Jessi, and you'll join us once he's secure." Alpha Isaiah's instruction is final as he and Ezra take the Lativa warriors to start tracking Jessica's scent.
I won't be stupid to try and negotiate, to convince Dad that I'm better use out here than locked up in Ezra's Vault. Injured like this, I'm a liability. Both to myself and my father.
He doesn't need to be distracted, worrying about me sustaining further injury when he could've easily lost me tonight.
Dad hauls me off the ground, supporting most of my weight. The pain had disoriented me but most of it is from my arm and side. The damage to my leg isn't bad, minor scrapes – a few deep enough to break the skin but nothing too serious.
Back in the Vault, Luna Nicole's wounds have been stitched and dressed.
She's still lying on the floor, using Caleb's jacket as a pillow, her eyes closed and her breathing quieter.
A fine coat of sweat covers her brow, a pallor to her skin.
She rouses, lashes flickering heavily at our arrival.
Dad hands me off to Beta Chad who hands me off to Commander Rick like I weigh nothing.
I'm guided to lie down on the floor. Something not exactly pillow-soft is shoved beneath my head. Caleb grabs the medical kit and kneels at my side, grabbing a scissors.
"Where are Isaiah and Ezra?" Beta Chad asks.
Caleb works quietly, using the scissors to cut away my jersey that's basically gone to shit. He starts his inspection, using water to clear away the excess blood on my side and arm.
"This will sting," he tells me, giving me ample warning to brace for the wound disinfectant.
"They went after Jessica with some of Ezra's warriors," Dad informs. He looks at me, a troubled expression on his face, the kind that says he no longer wants to be here.
Like he's contemplating abandoning mission and getting us out of Lativa.
"I have to get back so do me a favor and take care of him. "
"Dad –"
"I'll be fine, buddy. Worry about yourself for now," he returns, cutting off my protests.
I hadn't shown it before but with this sudden attack and the injuries, the reality of him getting hurt like Mom did all those years ago has become a very real fear and it's one I can't handle.
We're all we have.
Of course, there's Mom's brother, but Uncle Rhett has his own life and responsibilities. After Mom passed away, it's been me and Dad.
Forcing my fear into restraint as Dad clambers back up the iron staircase, the door up top slamming with his departure, I tell myself that he'll be okay.
He's the Gamma of Marcana.
One of the big four of Jasper Falls.
He's been in countless fights his entire life. Rarely lost from all the stories he used to tell me when I was little. Hell, he'd gone one-to-one against Jessop's eldest son – who was an alpha – and won hands down. He's a tough Were.
"He'll be alright, Sky," Beta Chad assures me.
He settles down on the ground next to me, his back pressed to the wall, giving my shoulder a light pat.
He's seated in a position where he can see who's coming down those steps and where he'll be the line of defense between a possible foe and the rest of us.
"Your Dad's meaner than he looks," Commander Rick tacks on from where he stands, watching the chaos unfolding outside through the surveillance cameras.
They've known him longer, grown up together, all four of them. They have seen him at his highest and lowest points. Been in fights together, had each other's backs out on the frontlines.
I have to trust them even if my gut refuses to settle, speaking to something far more sinister.
This attack doesn't sit well with me. It's what Dad said about it being an orchestrated event that really rubs me the wrong way.
Maybe Jessica is their target but who's to say they wouldn't take a swing at the higher ups in charge too?
It's what I would do if I wanted to cripple a pack.