Not the gentle chime of a motion sensor, a full-blown, blaring emergency alert that makes every supernatural instinct I have snap to attention.
Perimeter breach.
Scorch’s cigarette hits the ground before we both move, muscle memory taking over. I shift mid-stride, not fully, just enough to let my senses sharpen to lycan precision. My eyes flash luminous gold, and my nails extend into claws. The beast rises to the surface, eager, ready, hungry for a threat it canactuallyfight.
The clubhouse explodes with activity. Doors slam open, boots hit pavement, and within seconds, the whole family is mobilized. Hades, with his twin blades already drawn, Hex with his tablet glowing in one hand and a pistol in the other, Dread’s fear aura already leaking into the air like poison gas.
And Crave.
He appears at the top of the stairs, Sloane at his side, both of them moving with that eerie synchronization the Heart Bind creates. His silver eyes find mine across the distance, and I feel his command lock into place.
“Secure the perimeter. Find the threat. Neutralize if hostile.” The order flows through me like wildfire, bypassing conscious thought and hooking straight into the part of me that exists only to obey my alpha. My legs are moving before I register the decision, the lycan in me surging forward with purpose.
This…this is what I’m built for.
Not guilt, not isolation, not drowning in failure…
Action.
Protection.
Pack.
We fan out in practiced formation with Scorch taking point, his Dragonfire ready to ignite, me on his right flank with my claws extended, Dread phasing in and out of visibility as he scouts ahead.
The alarm is coming from the north gate. Hex’s security system is top-tier, laced with magic and technomancy that can detect everything from humans to demons to interdimensional rifts.
Whatever triggered itisn’tnormal.
And then I smell it.
Blood.
Fresh blood, human blood, so much of it, my lycan senses reel from the overwhelming scent.
But underneath that…vampire.
Newly turned.
The bloodlust radiates from her in waves so powerful that it makes my teeth ache.
We round the corner, and there she is. A woman, early twenties, maybe. Covered head to toe in blood that’s already drying to rust-colored stains on her clothes, her skin, her hair. She stumbles through the open gate like a drunk trying to remember how to walk, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.
A new scion.
Fresh from the turn, probably less than a day old, based on the feral hunger burning in her eyes.
She’s going to attack.
The bloodlust is too strong, too new, too completely overwhelming for someone who doesn’t even understand what they’ve become. I see it in her body language, the way her muscles coil, the way her fangs, barely formed, still sharp as fuck, descend when she catches our scent.
I shift my weight, preparing to intercept. Ready to put her down if necessary. It’s not personal. It’s just what happens when a scion loses control this close to the clubhouse.
But then her eyes lock onto mine.
And the worldstops.
Not like Thanatos’ magic, not that artificial, brutal freezing.
