Chapter 221
Then came the kicks. One to my ribs. Another to my back. Then my stomach.
“STAY DOWN, WHORE!”
I didn’t even scream. I laughed. Because he was angry. Because he hadn’t won. And that was the last thing I remembered before the
blackness took me.
Daxon POV
Stormclaw Keep
After Elowen was captured
The fox shifters didn’t cry. They didn’t beg. They stood there, bruised and bloodied, shoulders squared like survivors of war, and maybe
they were. Some looked no older than eighteen. Some were hardened warriors. Every one of them had that haunted look, the kind that
gets burned into your soul when you’ve been treated like nothing more than a fucking science experiment.
Lachlan walked among them, his eyes flashing, his voice low and steady. “Ye made it out. Yer breathin’. That means ye fight another day.
And we’ll make sure ye never have tae run again.”
They nodded solemnly. One of them, a tall female with matted red hair and a torn tactical shirt, met my gaze and lifted her chin. No fear.
Just fury. Good. We’d need that. The war room at Stormclaw Keep was buzzing like a live wire. Everyone who mattered was here.
Alpha Draven stood at the head of the table, barking low orders into a comm crystal. Garron towered at his side, his arms folded, jaw
tight. Luna Seraya and Luna Aelira flanked them, eyes sharp and focused.
King Halrik paced behind the table like a caged bear. “This ain’t a rescue. It’s an execution,” he growled.
“I vote we start with Lucien,” Bram muttered, cracking his knuckles.
“You’ll have to get in line,” I replied.
Isolde and Alaric entered quietly, both armored and armed, cloaked in magic and that thick Highland brogue that made everything sound
ten times more dangerous.
“Let’s see how smug the bastards are when the gods stop watchin’,” Alaric muttered.
“Or when I take their fuckin’ heads,” Isolde added, cold as steel.
Soria and Varek stepped up to the glowing map projected midair. “This is the full layout,” Soria said. “We memorized it. Varek walked half those halls in plain sight just to stall their timeline.”
The Crucible rose in three sharp levels, wrapped in magical barriers and pulsing with blood colored enchantments. It looked like a dungeon built by nightmares.
Lachlan growled low. “Ye ever seen a place scream magic like that? Fuckin’ blood runes soaked deep in the stone. I’ll tear the damn walls down with the trees if I have tae.”
“I’ll help,” Alaric added.
“And I’ll salt the ground so it never breathes again,” Isolde said.
Ashrian stepped forward, his arms crossed. “The Night Court hasn’t responded yet. But whispers are spreading. The Lock’s days are
numbered.”
“Dragons?” Alpha King Garron asked sharply.
Vaelrix, his voice a growl of wildfire, replied, “I’m going back tonight. The Dragonborn Courts will answer, whether they want to or not.
I’ll rip the skies open if I have to.”
Queen Nira’s eyes flared. “If you need backup…”
“I don’t,” he cut her off. “But thank you.”
Rylen leaned forward. “We’ve got reports of rogue lycan packs gathering in Canada. I’ll get them moving south.”
Taya squeezed his arm. “And the witches are rallying. Every coven I’ve ever helped is sending backup. They want blood.”
Jace and Amaris stood behind them, silent but radiating energy like a goddamn solar flare. Even without words, their eyes said it all: burn
it down.
Alpha Draven turned to me. “We strike soon. You and your brothers…”
“We’re ready,” I growled. “She’s in there.”
I could feel her still. Elowen. My mate. Our Alpha. Every second without her was a second closer to war.
And when we went in this time, it wouldn’t just be a rescue. It would be retribution.
