The deafening roar of the twelve-gauge filled the sitting room. The lead combat slugs tore into the armored chest of the first mercenary stepping across our threshold. He went down hard, the kinetic force throwing his bulk backward into the two wolves rushing the narrow stairwell behind him.
"One down," I barked, racking the pump action, ejecting the hot shell casing. "They're wearing tier-three combat suppression tactical gear. Official Northern military surplus — not standard underworld contractors."
"Marcus warned me half an hour ago on the encrypted line," I continued, firing a second round blindly into the smoke choking the front entrance. "The target didn't hire local muscle.He flew a specialized extraction unit from his father's personal council guard."
"An armed council unit operating covertly on neutral academy territory is an act of continental war," Hayes stated, stepping out from the hallway leading to the back bedrooms.
He had holstered his firearm. He was relying on his own physical dominance in close-quarters combat. The feral gold in his eyes burned brighter than I'd ever seen — ready to slaughter every man who came through that door.
"Trent isn't playing by legacy rules anymore," I shouted over the noise, firing a third time as two armored mercenaries slammed bodily into Chris's amber shield. "He knows what she is. If he gets the Pack-Heart onto a council transport tonight, there's no continental war. He wins everything. We lose her permanently."
I dropped the empty shotgun. It clattered against the stone floor.
And I let the electric ozone aura off the leash I kept it on at the academy.
My frat-boy persona was a strategic mask designed to keep the legacy elites constantly underestimating my house. In reality, I'd been trained by the most ruthless underground pit fighters in the neutral zone before I was twelve years old. I didn't fight with the formal honor of a Northern Heir. I fought in the dark to kill what was in front of me.
I vaulted the overturned mahogany table in a single explosive motion.
I hit the first armored mercenary attacking Chris's shield before his tactical brain registered my movement. My fist connected with the exposed side of his jaw, the raw kinetic energy of my unsuppressed aura channeling into the strike. Crushing facial bone. The massive mercenary dropped instantly,his expensive suppression tactical gear failing against the output of a territorial legacy alpha defending his designated mate.
"Left flank!" Chris shouted, hands twisting frantically as he tried to expand the amber shield to cover the shattered window shutters.
I spun just in time to see it.
A third mercenary crashed through the ruined iron shutters and hurled a small, faintly glowing metallic sphere into the center of the sitting room.
Not a concussive round. Not a flashbang.
A restricted, illegal magical disruption grenade.
"Get down!" Hayes roared, diving forward, his body shielding the hallway entrance to Wren's bedroom.
I didn't have a fraction of a second to move. The sphere detonated silently the moment it hit the stone floor between us.
No fire. No noise. No heat.
Just a blinding flash of pure white light followed by a massive, concentrated wave of anti-magic energy ripping through the room.
It hit me like a speeding cargo truck.
My body wasn't visibly injured, but the blast severed my connection to my own magical core in an instant. The thick ozone scent vanished. I was cut off from my legacy strength, preternatural speed, and physical durability.
I slammed into the hard stone floor, air driven from my lungs, vision swimming with black spots.
The nullification wave washed across the entire room.
Chris's amber shield sputtered and died instantly, the old-world magic unraveling into nothing. He collapsed against the ruined console, clutching his chest, the violent detachment from his ancient core sending him into physical shock.
Only Hayes remained standing.
His magical connection to his bloodline was too dense to fully sever — the disruption grenade couldn't cut it completely — but it dampened his aura. He stood in front of the dark hallway, a wall of solid flesh and bone, ready to fight an entire armed tactical team with his bare and bloodied hands.
"Move out of the way, Heir Aldridge," a statically modulated voice commanded from the shattered entrance.
Three fresh, armed mercenaries flooded efficiently into the sitting room, stepping over the bodies of the men I'd dropped. They didn't target Chris struggling on the floor or me. They knew the nullification blast had temporarily incapacitated us both. They aimed their suppressed automatic rifles at Hayes's chest.
"Stand down. We aren't contracted to assassinate Southern heirs tonight. We exclusively want the unbonded asset in the back. Step aside."
