"We've faced Enclave before," she adds. "They're organized and dangerous, but not invincible."
"Any sign of the hellhounds?" she asks.
"Cormac sent a siren with a request to recall them. Hades wasn't happy about it, but he did it."
"Good," she says, and I hear the genuine relief in her voice. "One less nightmare to worry about. Also strange that you just casually got a Greek god to do you a favor like he's a poker pal."
I’m not quite sure what a poker pal is, but a sound that might be a laugh escapes me. It's strange, this feeling—being both terrified for her and proud of her ferocity and confidence.
"Listen to me," she continues, and I can almost see her eyes, focused and determined. "Calm the fuck down. Those people need you, right? I need you to get them out so I can focus on my part without worrying about you."
She needs me. She's worried about me. The admission, wrapped in profanity and orders though it is, settles something inside me.
"It will be done," I say, trying to match her calm tone.
"Was that a smile I heard?" she asks, and I can picture the slight upturn at the corner of her mouth. "Focus, Viking. We breach in three... two... one..."
The sound of the front door being blown open echoes through both the comm and the air around us. The double sensation—hearing it in my ear and feeling the vibration through the air—sends a jolt of adrenaline through my system. Shouts and the pounding of boots follow immediately.
"Now," I say to Cormac and Arik. We move as one, sprinting across the open space to the concealed entrance Tharin described. As we reach it, I hear gunshots from inside the warehouse. My muscles lock, every instinct screaming to rush to find her.
"She's fine," Cormac says, reading my hesitation perfectly. "Trust her."
I force myself to nod, focusing instead on the door in front of us. It's heavily warded, glowing faintly with a warm yellow aura visible only to those with magick. Cormac places his hands on the barrier, muttering something under his breath. The glow flickers, dims, then extinguishes.
Arik steps forward next, producing a set of lockpicks from his pocket. His fingers work deftly, and within moments, the physical lock gives way. The door swings open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
"Breach successful," Astrid's voice in my ear reports. "Moving to the main floor."
"We're entering the lower level now," I whisper.
I lead our team down the stairs, moving silently despite my size. The scent hits me first—fear, pain, and despair. My wolf snarls, claws pushing against my fingertips. I force them back. Now is not the time.
At the bottom of the stairs, voices drift from around the corner—two, maybe three guards. I hold up a closed fist, halting our progress. I gesture to Cormac, who nods in understanding.
We move forward slowly until the guards come into view. Three of them, dressed in the black tactical gear similar to what I've seen Astrid wear. They have guns holstered at their belt. Human soldiers with human weapons. Dangerous, but nothing we can't handle.
One turns, eyes widening as he spots us. "Intru?—"
My fist connects with his jaw before he can finish the word. The crunch of bone is satisfying, but the alarm's already been raised. The other two guards swing toward us, raising their weapons.
Arik moves with surprising speed for someone his size, closing the distance to the nearest guard. Water coalesces from the air around his hands, solidifying into ice daggers that he drives into the guard's chest. The man drops with a strangled cry.
The third guard gets a shot off, the bullet grazing my arm. Pain flashes, hot and sharp, but my wolf uses it to fuel the rage building inside. I lunge forward, covering the distance between us in a heartbeat.
He tries to bring his weapon to bear, but I'm faster. My hand closes around his throat, lifting him off his feet. His eyes bulge, fear replacing the cold calculation.
"How many more?" I growl, loosening my grip just enough to allow him to speak.
"F-fuck you," the guard spits at me.
Behind me, I sense Cormac's approach before he speaks, his subtle scent of cedar growing stronger. "We don't have time for this," he says.
He's right. I slam the guard's head against the wall. He slumps to the floor, unconscious or dead. Astrid’s team can deal with it later.
"Check for more," I order one of our team. "The rest with me."
We move through the dimly lit basement. The sight before us brings bile up my throat. Wire cages line the walls, each containing a person. They’re collared and chained to the floor like animals.
