Papa’s chin dips once, Dad’s mouth hardens into a thin line, and Father’s gaze locks on mine until I can’t look away.
“Let’s get justice, Briar patch,” he says, his voice rough in a way I know is reserved for those he trusts to see how much he’s struggling within. “Let’s bring Mom home.”
The old nickname twists in my chest, catching me off guard. My throat burns with surging emotions, but I hold his stare and nod, clutching the hilts at my sides.
This is it.
We’re going in, and this time, Terrance doesn’t get to win.
CHAPTER 34
BRIAR
Adeep boom shakes through the forest, rolling across the ground beneath our boots. Birds scatter from the trees in a frantic rush, their cries swallowed by the echo of the blast.
“Move out!” Father’s shout cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding. “That should be the tanks of mist destroyed. Both the sedative and the flesh-eating.”
My chest seizes for a beat. Callum. That was his team. I picture their tanks shattering and the mist hissing out like venom, and my stomach knots at the thought of him being caught too close. Flesh peeling, lungs burning–No. I shove the images away and force my legs into motion as we surge forward through the trees. I can’t cling to fear now. I have to trust him. Trust all of them. Elias with the weapons chamber. Dante with surveillance. Callum with the tanks. They know what’s at stake and they’ll hold their own with their units backing them up.
I clear my mind with every pounding step, focusing on the path ahead and the dark, looming outline of the compound.
Terrance waits within.
The thought of his name is enough to harden everything inside me. I grip Lyra and Kael tighter, the weight of thema steady pulse against my palms, and lock my focus where it belongs.
Branches whip past as we break the treeline, boots slamming against the gravel service road that leads straight to the compound. My lungs burn with the way we have to hold ourselves back to keep pace with the ten humans in our unit. Every stride carrying me closer to the imposing structure that carved scars into me I’ll never forget, and all I want is to unleash my full abilities.
The front doors are already shattered and lying in pieces along the floor both inside and out. The debris crunches beneath our boots as we flood into the lobby in a rush of steel and breath. The air inside is laced with smoke and dust as fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering against the marble floor.
Two humans in tactical gear rush forward from the stairwell, rifles strapped tight to their chests. “The main floor is clear!” the man shouts, voice sharp with the kind of focus only adrenaline can hone. “Elevators under our control–no hostiles, no traps. The weapons room hasn’t been breached yet, though, so we can’t give insight to that level yet.”
His female partner presses a finger to the comm in her ear, head tilted as she listens. Her face goes pale before smoothing into grim satisfaction. “Confirmation just came through. The tanks are empty. Both toxic and sedative mist are venting outside. An entire wall was blown open to keep it out of the compound’s interior.”
A cold breath slips out of me before I can stop it, relief tangling with the hammer of my pulse.
Dad’s voice cuts through the lobby as he faces our team. “You heard her. The elevators are ours and this is where we will split up for your safety. The vampires go down first, since the weapons room hasn’t been secured.”
Papa steps forward, hands loose at his sides, eyes scanning the human faces. “We’ll move fast,” he says. “We will use our speed and strength to clear a path to the holding cells. You follow in the next elevator and provide backup. Top priority is to keep the stairwells open if anything goes wrong and we need our people to escape.”
Father’s nod cements the plan. He levels a look at me that says more than any plan could–trust your training and don’t do anything stupid. I feel the heat of it under my skin and let it settle like armor. I give him a sharp nod of understanding.
The humans around us rise up as their voices run through the protocol, splitting themselves into two groups of five that will follow behind in the elevators. After descending to the floor, they will head to both stairwells at opposite ends of the floor. Men and women adjust their bulletproof vests, check their gun clips, and pull clear helmet visors down.
The elevators open with the breath of a mechanized hiss that sounds absurdly calm against the pounding beat of my heart. My fathers and I step inside and my pulse hammers in my throat but I quell it, focusing on the familiar feeling of Lyra and Kael and their quiet, confident energy radiating through our bond.
The doors close with a small, decisive thunk and we begin our descent. For one slow second, the world narrows to the hum of the cables dropping us into the belly of enemy territory. The elevator doors slide open and I don’t wait for anyone to give the order, launching forward with every nerve in my body lit.
It’s one thing to look at maps and structural layouts, but I’ve been here. I’m taking the lead and getting us to the floor Mom will be on. No one speaks up to disagree with my silent assertion of our grouping and we rush forward together, ignoring the roar of guns blazing on this level to our left.
I stop the train of thought that wants me to think about Elias fighting here.
Not now.
The closest stairwell yawns open to the right as we close the distance, the metal grating of the stairs within echoing with the pounding of boots and the sharp stutter of gunfire ricocheting against concrete. I fling the door open and we descend quickly on the infestation of Terrance’s guards. Shouts rise up, the kind of frantic cries humans make when they realize death’s bearing down on them.
I don’t slow. I throw myself into the narrow space, blades flashing. Lyra bites deep into the first guard’s chest, and Kael drives through the second before the human can even attempt to pull the trigger of his glock. Bullets crack through the air, but I’m already moving and gone before they can land me in their sights, their aim useless against speed they can’t track.
Behind me, the thunder of my fathers’ footsteps follows as we work through the stairwell like a well-practiced unit. Papa’s blade cuts a clean arc, steel through flesh, as Father’s gun fires once, twice, three times, each shot landing true to the humans coming up from beneath us. Dad barrels past me as he jumps to the landing below, landing a sickening kick that sends a guard crashing down a flight of stairs before his throat is torn open.
