I want to go with them. Want to fight my way to Jericho.
The bond pulses. Pain. His pain. He’s injured. Badly.
My wolf howls inside me. The urge to go to him is overwhelming. But the victims around me need help too.
“Stay with the victims. We need someone with skills here in case they turn their attention back,” Viktor says without looking at me. He knows what I’m feeling. “That’s an order.”
Then he’s gone. Leading his team into the facility. I’m left with a dozen injured hybrids and Aurora’s medics. Left feelingJericho through the bond. Feeling his pain. His determination. His fear.
The battle intensifies. Dragon roars. Wolf howls. Weapons fire. Explosions.
Then silence. Terrible. Complete. Silence.
The bond is still there. Still present. But faint. So faint I have to focus to feel it.
He’s alive. Barely conscious. But alive.
Oh, dear God!
People start emerging. Aurora operatives first. Carrying victims. Some walking. Some unconscious. Efficient evacuation.
Then my pack. Merric first, in human form. Blood-streaked but moving. He nods at me. Okay.
Rook and Sienna shift back to human, both injured but functional. Dane and Briar emerge together. Supporting each other.
Still no Jericho.
The bond is fading. Not gone. Just distant. Like he’s using everything he has to stay conscious.
Viktor emerges. Scanning. Coordinating. Making sure everyone’s accounted for.
Where the hell is Jericho?
Then I see him.
Stumbling out of the facility entrance. Blood covering most of his body. Clothes torn. Moving on pure will.
Carrying someone.
A young woman. Wolf. Fragile. Near death. Kaylin.
He staggers toward the Aurora medics. Every step looks like it costs him everything. His face is gray. Eyes unfocused. But he keeps moving.
He reaches the medics. Hands over Kaylin with infinite gentleness.
“Critical condition,” he says, voice rough. “Multiple surgeries. Needs immediate—”
He collapses.
I’m across the clearing before thought catches up to action. Past victims and medics and tactical teams. I reach him and drop to my knees, rolling him carefully. I check for a pulse.
There. Weak but present.
He’s bloodsoaked. Some his. Some not. Claw wounds across his back. Dragon wounds. Deep. Burns on his arms. Bullet wounds in his side.
But alive.
“Medic!” I shout. “I need a medic here!”
