Chapter 6 Gideon
GIDEON
Idon't waste breath on threats or posturing with Thaddeus bleeding against the wall. The warlock's eyes track every movement, calculating recovery time against opportunity, and I recognize predatory patience when I see it.
"Move." The command cuts through Clara's stunned silence as I grab her arm and haul her toward the emergency stairwell. No elevators, no main corridors. Every obvious route becomes a kill zone the moment we step into it.
"Where are we—"
"Later." I kick open the stairwell door, checking the angles before pulling her through. Three flights down, emergency lighting casting everything in hellish red. My ears track footsteps above us. Too many, moving in coordination.
The parking garage reeks of motor oil and concrete dust, but underneath lurks something else. Magic residue, sharp and bitter. They've been here, laying groundwork.
"Stay behind the pillar." I scan the rows of vehicles, dismissing sedans and compacts. Need something with mass, something that can punch through barriers both physical and magical.
There! Black SUV, government plates, reinforced chassis. Council vehicle, which means basic ward protections and armor plating. The keys dangle from the ignition because council arrogance assumes their compound remains inviolate.
"Get in." I yank open the passenger door, but Clara plants her feet.
"I'm not going anywhere until you explain—"
"Explanations happen when we're not surrounded by people who want to dissect you for spare parts." I boost her into the seat with zero ceremony, ignoring her protests. "Buckle up. This won't be gentle."
The engine roars to life, and I reverse out of the space with enough force to crack the concrete pillar behind us. Clara grabs the dashboard as we fishtail toward the exit ramp.
"Jesus, do you have a license?"
"Several." I take the ramp at forty, tires screaming against asphalt. "None of them current."
The garage exit explodes outward as something massive impacts the overhead door from the inside. Metal shrieks, concrete rains down, and I floor the accelerator as debris bounces off our windshield.
"What the hell was that?" Clara twists in her seat, staring at the wreckage behind us.
"Cleanup crew." I take the corner onto Fifth Street hard enough to lift the inside wheels. "They don't want witnesses."
Traffic lights become suggestions as I weave through evening commuters who have no idea their mundane world just cracked open. The SUV's engine bellows as I push it past every reasonable limit, but reasonable died the moment Thaddeus walked through that door.
"You're going to kill us before they get the chance."
"Better odds." I check the mirrors, cataloging pursuit options. Three black sedans peel out from side streets, falling into formation behind us. Professional tail, which means professional hunters. "They want you alive. I just need you breathing."
"Comforting distinction."
The highway onramp looms ahead, but something about the traffic pattern makes my instincts scream warnings. Too organized, too convenient. Like sheep being guided toward slaughter.
"Hold on." I yank the wheel left, jumping the median into oncoming traffic. Horns blare, brakes shriek, but we punch through the gap between a delivery truck and a minivan with inches to spare.
Clara's knuckles go white against the door handle. "Are you completely insane?"
"Functionally." I take us down a service road that parallels the highway, gravel spraying as we hit seventy on a surface meant for twenty. "Insanity keeps you alive when sanity gets you killed."
The sedans follow, but the rough terrain costs them ground. Luxury suspension wasn't designed for off-road pursuit, and every pothole widens our lead.
"Where are we going?" Clara's voice stays level despite the punishment we're taking.
"North." I check the fuel gauge. Three-quarters full, enough for the first leg. "My territory. Home field advantage."
"And if we don't make it that far?"
"Then we improvise."
The silence lasts exactly twelve miles before Clara's patience snaps.
"Okay, enough." She turns in her seat, amber eyes blazing with the kind of fury that comes from being dragged through hell without explanation. "What the hell was that thing back there? And don't give me some cryptic bullshit about cleanup crews."
I keep my eyes on the road, watching for pursuit patterns. "Warlock. Hired muscle. Probably working for someone who wants your bloodline intact."
"My bloodline." Her voice drips skepticism. "Right. The magical fairy tale bloodline that apparently makes me supernatural catnip."
"Not fairy tale. Historical fact." I take us around a curve that puts us temporarily out of sight from the main road. "Your ancestors bound supernatural rulers for centuries. Made them pets, essentially. Lot of people still hold grudges."
"And you? Do you hold grudges?"
The question catches me off guard, but I don't let it show. "I hold territory. Everything else is politics."
She studies my profile like she's trying to decode something written in a foreign language. "The council said you're an Alpha. What does that actually mean?"
"It means I'm responsible for keeping my pack alive." I pull out my phone, thumb through contacts. "Speaking of which."
Cassian picks up on the first ring. No surprise, he's been expecting trouble since I left.
"Status report." His voice cuts through the speaker, all business.
"Compromised. Multiple hostiles, magical pursuit, heading north with the package."
A pause while he processes the implications. "ETA?"
"Six hours if we stay ahead. Could be longer if they force engagement."
"Understood. Initiating full protocol. Perimeter expansion, internal lockdown, patrol rotation to defensive positions."
"Good. And Cass?" I check the mirrors again, spotting movement in the distance. "Assume they know where we're going."
"Already assumed. We'll be ready."
The line goes dead, and Clara stares at me with something between admiration and alarm.
"You just ordered a military mobilization with about thirty words."
"Efficiency matters when people are trying to kill you." I pocket the phone and press harder on the accelerator. "Speaking of which, we've got company."
Three sets of headlights appear behind us, moving faster than traffic allows. They weave through other vehicles with predatory precision, closing distance despite our head start.
"How can you tell they're following us?"
"Because normal drivers don't coordinate lane changes like a hunting pack." I scan the upcoming terrain, spotting an exit that leads into industrial wasteland. Perfect. "Hold tight."
"Why? What are you—"
I yank the wheel right, taking the exit at speed that makes the SUV's suspension scream protests. Clara grabs the oh-shit handle as we bounce over uneven pavement toward a maze of abandoned warehouses.
"This is the opposite of escape!"
"No." I kill the headlights and navigate by moonlight, threading between concrete barriers and rusted machinery. "This is choosing the battlefield."
The sedans follow, but their formation breaks apart as the narrow passages force single-file pursuit. Exactly what I wanted.
"You're insane."
"Functionally tactical." I slam the brakes behind a shipping container, engine ticking as it cools. "They want a hunt? Let's give them one."
The first sedan rounds the container at speed, headlights cutting through the industrial graveyard. I gun the engine and ram them broadside before they can react, metal screaming against metal as their vehicle spins sideways into a concrete piling.
"Holy shit!" Clara braces against the dashboard as our SUV rocks from the impact.
The second car tries to flank us, but I reverse hard and catch their rear quarter panel, sending them into a controlled slide that ends when they kiss a stack of rusted pipes. Steam hisses from their radiator.
The third driver has sense. He backs off, trying to find an angle that doesn't involve eating concrete. Problem is, he's thinking like prey instead of predator.
I abandon the SUV and move toward him on foot. Clara's voice follows me, sharp with alarm.
"What are you doing? Get back here!"
But something deeper than strategy takes over. The scent of fear and adrenaline floods my nostrils, awakening instincts that civilization can't quite bury. My vision sharpens, peripheral awareness expanding until I track every shadow, every movement.
The driver floors it, trying to run me down in the narrow passage between containers. Amateur mistake. I plant my feet and wait.
At the last second, I leap. Not the careful, measured jump of human limitations, but something that defies physics and common sense. I clear the hood entirely, landing on the roof with force that buckles the metal underneath.
The car swerves wildly, but I maintain my grip. Claws punching through steel like paper. When did they extend? Through the windshield, the driver's eyes go wide with terror as he realizes what's crouched above him.
I tear the roof open like a sardine can and haul him out through the gap. He swings a knife, but my hand moves faster than human reflexes allow, catching his wrist and squeezing until bones crack.
"Who sent you?" My voice comes out wrong, deeper, with harmonics that make the man's face go pale.
"I don't… I can't!"
"Wrong answer!" I lift him off the ground one-handed, and somewhere in my peripheral vision, I catch Clara's reflection in broken glass. She's staring at me with the expression people get when reality tears open and shows them monsters.
The man gasps out a name. Some contact, some middleman. But the words blur together because my control is slipping. The wolf pushes closer to the surface, demanding blood, demanding answers written in pain.
I drop him. He scrambles away into the darkness between warehouses, and I let him run. Better to track the information than silence it permanently.
The sudden quiet feels heavier than the violence that preceded it. No engine noise, no shouting, just the distant sound of sirens that won't arrive in time to matter.
Clara stands beside the SUV, arms wrapped around herself like she's trying to hold something together. Her amber eyes track my every movement as I walk back, cataloging details she can't rationalize away.
"Your eyes," she says quietly. "They were silver. Actually silver."
I don't bother denying it. "Yeah."
"And you just, you moved like—" She stops, shakes her head. "People don't move like that."
"People don't." I lean against the SUV's damaged bumper, letting the weight of truth settle between us. "But I'm not people."
"Werewolf." The word comes out flat, clinical. Like she's testing how it sounds in her mouth.
"Alpha werewolf. There's a difference."
Clara stares at me for a long moment, processing implications that stretch far beyond folklore and fairy tales. When she speaks again, her voice carries a hollow tone.
"Everything they told me. It's all real."
"Every word."
"And there's no going back to not knowing."
"No." I meet her gaze directly, offering no comfort, no false reassurance. "Welcome to the world as it actually exists."