“Protect Juniper!” Ian roars.
Marcus immediately casts the shielding spell Cassian created around me, but it’ll take all of his focus to maintain it, taking him out of the fight.
From my side, Simon hexes an approaching Soldier, downing him with a single hex.
Saints, we’ve gotthis. My powerful pack.
I soak in my affinity, catching and deflecting spell after spell as they hurtle toward my pack.
Another dozen Soldiers stream around the corner, Ever Ember hexes jolting into Marcus’ shield around me. Enough to down me, not enough to kill me right away. The hexes sizzle against the shielding magic, sparks crashing before falling to my feet.
“Luca!” Marcus shouts. “Get Juniper out of here! Get her back to Bravo Team and the omegas freeing the test subjects.”
“No!” I shriek. “I won’t be parted from you again!”
Marcus shoots me a pleading look just as an Ever Ember hex lands on his shoulder, forcing him to stumble back. “Go, sweet-tart! Please.”
I turn tail and run, a coward, unsure if I’ll ever see my pack alive again. Tears stream down my face, blurring the world around me as I run. Luca sprints to catch up to me, taking my hand and pulling me forward. I scrub my tears away with my free hand, still clutching my scribe with all my might, an agonia hex on my lips.
Luca lets out a roar as we encounter three Soldiers. I force them to their knees by driving my magic into their heads. They scream at the invasion and crumble. Luca takes quick care of them, launching agonia hexes at each of them. Strong ones. They thud into the Soldiers, sizzling when they make impact, burning through their black garb. Saints, my bad boy alpha has improved in his combat magic so much from his training with Cassian. I’ve never seen him so focused, so instinctual as he fires off spells. We leap over the Soldiers’ fallen bodies and continue our mad dash through the halls.
I look behind me to see my pack, sensing when I cannot see them. Chaos reigns in our bonds, and I can’t pick apart the sources in the mayhem.
Luca lets out a howl of pain as he crumbles before me, downed by an agonia spell. He fires off a hex, but it goes wild. I race toward him, ready to cast the healing magic Doc taught me. His torment crashes through our bond, and I cry out for him, my scribe raised, a spell already on my lips.
Just as I crash into my father’s arms.
I feel a prick in my neck, and the whole world goes black.
I wakeon a metal operating table, and my panic burns through the fog of the sedative in a flash. I’m not strapped down, but I’m immobilized, and my shirt is slashed. The cool air of the operating theater on my bare back sharpens my thoughts.
This won’t be one of my father’s leisurely operations. He can’t afford to take his time with me, not as the fighting draws closer.
Saints, I’m out of time, and my magic is out of reach.
No, I know this feeling. My magic islocked.
Saints, not again. I swore I’d never be in this position again, but my magic is locked, and by the same person who locked it last time.
My fear spikes, but the sedative keeps me from thrashing.
“Subject’s affinity is a form of mind reading,” my father dictates. “She may also possess an ability to do harm with her affinity. Previous opponents of subject report a searing pain in their heads.”
So, he doesn’t know the full extent of my affinity. That won’t matter when it’s in the Prince’s hands. Baphomet’s Prince will have the full power of my affinity at his fingertips, and he’ll discover what my father has not.
“Subject’s magic is locked in preparation for the operation. No one is coming to undo the lock for her,” he sneers.
Terror flashes through me. If I have no magic, I don’t have my affinity either. Is that why he locked my magic? So I wouldn’t be able to fight back? Or does it have to do with the operation’s success rate? Does locking my magic contain it to my maginalus, making extraction easier? My father never mentioned it in any of his previous dictations, and I haven’t seen it in any of my visions.
“I have her sedated and restrained. She cannot put up a fight.”
I recognize the feeling. He’s holding me down with his affinity. I’m not restrained by the sedative, which has all but faded from my system or by physical restraints. No, my father’s affinity is enough to keep me down.
There’s nothing left to do. This is where I die. Tears leak down my cheeks and drip onto the metal table beneath me. I shut my eyes against them, but it’s no use. I never wanted my father to see me like this, but what does it matter now? In mere moments, I’ll be dead on this table. Baphomet’s Prince will have my affinity, and all will be lost. The war will end, fast and brutal, and that will spell the end for my kind. Theomegas who have survived this far will be forced into internment camps and turned into docile breeders. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Not anymore.
I’ve lost. All the training, all the fighting, and all the visions, and I’ve lost. I won’t live to see if the future can be changed, because mine is set in stone now.
I reach out with my bonds, trying to find my pack, but they’re distant, still mired in chaos. Fighting still? I’ll never know. I send my mates all the love I can, hoping they receive it. Hoping they can feel my goodbye.
