For a split second, I see it. Rowan on the floor. The blue light reflecting off blood, and everything in my being rebels.
Not him. Not my Alpha.
My body moves without conscious command. Not a decision. An inevitability.
One step. Pivot. Close distance.
The knife slides from my sleeve into my palm, its familiar weight settling into my hand, muscle memory arching it through the air.
The guard spots me too late, his gun barrel shifting toward me, but not fast enough.
My blade finds the soft spot between wrist bones, and the gun clatters to the floor as nerves and tendons sever under steel. Before his scream can form, my other hand clamps over his mouth, fingers digging into pressure points beneath his jaw.
His body goes rigid, then slack. Not dead, but unconscious.
The guard hits the ground with a dull thud that echoes in the silence. Blood pools beneath his wrist, black in the blue server light.
I turn back to Rowan, and what I find catches me off guard. His focus isn’t on the unconscious security man crumpled at our feet or the blood spreading across the floor. It’s fixed on me, a raw, almost startled look breaking through his control.
His hand closes around the back of my neck, and he pulls me in, our masks caught in the middle as hismouth presses hard over mine through the fabric. It shouldn’t feel intimate through layers of synthetic cloth, but it does, fierce and possessive. The bloody knife stays pressed against us, the guard sprawled at our feet, and still he kisses me like he needs my breath to survive.
When he pulls back, his fingers slip beneath my nape guard to caress bare skin. “You protected me.”
My pulse kicks for only a second before calm sweeps over me again. Later will be time enough to process all this.
“We need to move.” I wipe the blade on my sleeve, leaving a dark smear across the black fabric, and return it to its sheath. “This changes our exit strategy.”
Rowan’s hand grips the back of my neck, fingers warm on my skin. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes.” I meet his stare without flinching. “I did.”
His thumb brushes over my pulse point, finding it steady. No fear. No regret. The violence sits in me like an old friend, comfortable and familiar. It’s not the first time Rowan and I have stood together over blood, and it won’t be the last. Not in this line of work.
“Status update. We ran into trouble, but it’s been handled,” Rowan’s voice carries through the comm tothe rest of the team. “Switching to extraction route two.”
Saint’s acknowledgment crackles through our earpieces. We have minutes before the guard’s absence triggers a security protocol.
I kneel beside the unconscious man, checking his pulse and breathing. “He’ll live. Confusion and blood loss will buy us time, but not much.”
Rowan secures the data core with economical movements. “Orien, bring the van to extraction point Charlie. Lucas, trigger the distraction in the east wing.”
As we move through the maintenance corridor, blood cools on my skin, while behind us, the alarms remain silent, our intrusion still undetected, the unconscious guard undiscovered.
The rest of the crew waits at the junction point, faces tight with focus. Saint steps forward first, his nostrils flaring as he scents the blood on my sleeve.
His hand hovers near his weapon. “Complications?”
“Handled.”
Orien materializes from the shadows. “Data secure?”
Rowan pats the case hidden beneath his jacket. “Package acquired. New extraction route. Single file, standard interval.”
They fall into formation without question, Orien takes point, and Lucas drops back to cover our six. The efficiency of their response speaks to years of working together and trust built through crisis after crisis.
Saint’s attention shifts from Rowan to me, sensing the change between us but asking nothing. The crew moves ahead, giving us a moment’s privacy in the narrow corridor.
Rowan’s hand wraps around my wrist, his thumb stroking my pulse point to find the rhythm steady and strong. Blood streaks across our skin, tying us together in red.
