Then a scream. Then silence.
Good.
Let them come.
Let them all come.
Because tonight, I will carve my way through this pretty prison and take back my family.
Let Earth remember the nameKallus.
CHAPTER 22
AYLA
The first explosion shakes the floor beneath my feet.
I jolt upright from the velvet armchair near the nursery, heart hammering. Dust rains from the ceiling. A low boom echoes across the estate like a thunderclap wrapped in menace.
Then another. And another.
I stumble to the window and rip the curtains aside.
The sky is on fire.
A sleek black starfighter streaks across the estate, trailing smoke and fire in its wake. The western turret collapses in a heap of molten steel and stone. Pulse blasts slice through the air, slicing hedgerows and solar panels like butter.
And in my chest—something roars.
It’s not panic.
It’s recognition.
“Kallus,” I whisper. My voice breaks on his name.
I don’t think. I run.
Down the corridor, past stunned staff and screaming guards, past Frederick’s office where he shouts into comms that no one’s answering. Good.
The marble stairs blur. My breath hitches. My pulse races.
I fling open the grand double doors.
Smoke pours in. Heat singes my lashes. The front lawn is scorched, cratered, covered in broken weapons and blood. The scent hits me—iron and fire and the sharp ozone tang of a Reaper battle call.
And there—cutting through the smoke like a myth made flesh—is Kallus.
My mate.
His armor glows with the heat of impact. His shoulders rise and fall with the rhythm of a predator mid-hunt. A blade longer than my arm drips with human blood. His fangs gleam. His eyes burn.
“Kallus!” I scream.
He hears me instantly.
His head whips toward me. The rage melts from his face, replaced with something far more dangerous—pure, unfiltered longing.
“Ayla,” he growls.
