“That was impressive,” she murmurs as we head deeper into the complex. “Not many wolves can hold a half-shift.”
“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.”
Someone pulls an alarm, the siren deafening in the narrow corridors, as red emergency lights cast everything in bloody shadows.
“Movement ahead,” one of the witches calls out, her magic allowing her to sense life forces through the walls. “Twelve hostiles, armed and moving to intercept.”
“Let them come,” Lithia draws her primary weapon—a shadow silver blade. “We go through them.”
The ambush comes at a corridor junction where three passages meet. Silver-jacketed rounds spark off concrete as enhanced guards pour fire into the intersection.
“Suppression!” I shout, diving behind a structural pillar as bullets chew chunks from the concrete. “Witches, can you blind them?”
“Working on it!” The lead coven member begins a rapid incantation, her voice rising above the gunfire as magic builds around her hands.
The spell releases in a burst of searing white light that floods the corridor. Enhanced wolf eyes, adapted for night vision, are momentarily useless. The gunfire stops as our enemies cry out in pain and confusion.
“Now!” Lithia commands.
We surge forward catching the guards while they’re still blinded and disoriented. My blade finds the gap between one guard’s armor plates, punching through to pierce his heart. Lithia moves like deadly poetry beside me, her weaponsinging through the air to open throats and find vital organs with surgical precision.
The fight is brutal but brief. Enhanced guards are tough, but they’re not expecting Elias’ weapons or our coordinated assault. Within minutes, bodies litter the junction, their blood pooling in the harsh emergency lighting.
“Casualties?” Lithia calls out, checking each of our team members.
“Minor wounds only,” the bear clan leader reports. “Nothing that won’t heal.”
We continue deeper, following our noses toward the primary cell block. The facility’s layout becomes increasingly familiar—concrete and steel designed for suffering, silver threading through every surface to weaken prisoners.
“Contact,” I warn, hearing voices ahead. But these aren’t guards.
We round a corner to find a cluster of cells, their doors standing open, confused prisoners emerging into the corridor. Various weres, witches, and a few humans who might be seers—maybe twenty people total, all bearing the telltale marks of prolonged captivity.
“Who’s in charge here?” demands a tall woman with the scent-markers of lynx shifting. Her clothes hang loose on a frame that speaks of months of inadequate feeding, but her eyes burn with undiminished fury.
“Shadowmist Pack,” Lithia identifies herself, stepping forward. “We’re here to get you out.”
“Shadowmist?” A younger man pushes forward—he’s in his mid-twenties with the distinctive aura that marks him as a warlock. His dark hair is matted, his face gaunt, but there’s something compelling about his features even though they’re marked by torture. “Thank the gods. We heard the alarms and thought they were moving us again.”
Dane appears at my shoulder.
“Lithia, we’ve secured—” His pale blue eyes lock on the young warlock.
“Are you injured?” he asks, his voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it. The warlock looks up at him with wide, exhausted eyes that hold flecks of green and gold.
“I’ll live,” the warlock says, but he sways slightly on his feet. “Been worse.”
Dane’s hand reaches out to steady him, and I catch the way both men freeze at the contact—electric awareness crackling between them despite the chaos around us.
Interesting.
“What’s your name?” Dane asks quietly.
“Rohan,” the young man replies, not pulling away from Dane’s supporting touch.
“Well, Rohan,” Dane says with a small smile, “let’s get you somewhere safe.”
“Where are the seers?” I ask the lynx woman. “I’m looking for a fear-seer named Prudence?”
