Page 86 of Lycan’s Hunt

“Anything you need me to do?” he asks, his voice hardly a whisper over the deafening rotors.

“No, just get us there alive. Damian has everything organized.”

He nods, Kieren would have been the one flying the guard out to scout last night, so I know he must be getting tired but only a handful of my men know how to fly.

Once we arrive, we split up into two cars and drive out. The ride was the worst part. Knowing we were minutes away from what could be a deadly face-off made the tension in the cars palpable, the air thick with anticipation and nerves. As we skid onto a dirt track winding through the thick forest, my heart thumps faster. The sunshine filtering through the dense canopy of trees is distorted by the swirling dust, making it a bitch to see.

The salty scent of the ocean grows stronger as we approach, mingling with the cool morning air. The anticipation clearly thrums through my men—it’s like the calm before a storm, the air thick with the promise of violence.

As we near the scouts’ position, Damian opens the mindlink to everyone. “We’re in position and going the rest of the way on foot. Don’t want them hearing us coming.” As we near, Kieren pulls over and we all climb out.

• • •

Crouched low in the undergrowth, I spot the convoy up ahead. The trucks are parked in a makeshift clearing near the edge of the beach. Clyde stands near one of the trucks, barking orders to a group of men unloading crates. Rhett is there too, looking worse for wear. His once-proud posture is gone, replaced by a weary, frail body. It’s clear the severed bond with Aubrey has taken its toll on him.

Kieren nudges my shoulder, his eyes flicking toward a cluster of armed guards positioned near the trucks. “Ten men, maybe more hiding behind the trucks.”

I nod, formulating a plan in my head. “We hit fast and hard. Take out the guards first, then go for Rhett and Clyde. No one escapes.”

He grins. “Sounds like fun.”

I lift my hand, signaling the scouts to move into position. My heart pounds in my chest, not from fear but from the anticipation of finally ending this. As we get into position, Kieren sends a few men to clear the guards we can’t see.

“Go.” The word barely leaves my lips before chaos erupts. My men burst from the undergrowth, their movements swift and deadly. The guards barely have time to react before they’re taken down one by one. Cars swerve and crash, bodies tumble onto the dirt, and shouts rise above the gunfire. Clyde shouts orders, but it’s too late. Damian tackles one of the guards, his claws ripping through the man’s chest.

Clyde’s grimy face peeks through one of dust-choked windows as he tries to escape in one of the trucks which is quickly stopped by Damian before he is hauled back out, surprise etched on his features. It’s then hidden behind a mask of fury as he struggles against Damian who tosses him to the ground as if he weighs nothing. I focus on Rhett, who tries to make a run for it. With a growl, I chase after him.

Rhett’s boots crunch on the sandy ground as he sprints, desperation etched in every twitch of his muscles. My snarl rips through the air and with a swift leap, I tackle Rhett, our bodies colliding with bone-jarring force.

Rhett grunts, struggling beneath my weight. He lashes out with a wild swing, but I dodge it effortlessly, retaliating with a relentless onslaught of blows, each strike causing his head to bounce off the hard ground. My knuckles connect with his ribs, the next blow with my claws, the sharpness of them sliding against bone and tissue. His shriek of agony turns to gasping when I feel his lung collapse, and I quickly remove them not wanting to kill him yet.

Rolling him onto his back, I lock my fingers around his throat -- not to choke, but to keep him still. His eyes are wide and frightened, a wild animal caught in a trap. He flails, trying to pry my fingers off, but my grip is iron.

A sudden volley of gunfire rings out from behind me. I hardly flinch, knowing my men have it under control. My gaze doesn’t waver from Rhett’s face as he squirms beneath me.

Rhett gasps for breath, blood bubbling up and spilling over his lips. His eyes are glassy with pain and terror, and he lets out a pitiful wheeze instead of a response. But it’s enough. I can see recognition in his gaze -- the understanding of his predicament and the realization he’s been beaten. With agonizing slowness, Rhett raises his hands in a symbolic act of surrender. His breath comes out in erratic gasps as he fights the swelling tide of darkness threatening to swallow him whole.

Behind me, I hear Damian fighting off the last of the guards. Clyde snarls something about betrayal, but it’s drowned out by the sound of my men securing the area. Within minutes, it’s over. The trucks are seized, the guards either dead or subdued, and Clyde and Rhett are bound in silver chains.

I send a quick mindlink to the castle. “We’ve got them. Prepare the dungeons.”

“Understood, My King.”

I glance down at Rhett, who’s still glaring up at me with hatred in his eyes. He looks like a shadow of the man he once was—weak, bitter, and broken. The severed bond with Aubrey has taken its toll, draining him of whatever strength he had left.

“You’ve lost,” I tell him coldly. “It’s over.” Damian walks up beside me, wiping blood from his hands. “That was almost too easy.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” I warn him. “This is just the beginning.” I turn to see the backs of the trucks open. Men, women, and children all but fall over themselves trying to escape the back of trucks. My men fan out trying to block them as they panic and make a run for it, thinking we are their new captors.

“If you’re hoping for Alaric’s attention, Soren, you sure will have it now,” Clyde taunts and Damian snarls, taking a few steps where Clyde is restrained and kicking him straight in the face, knocking him out cold.

Staring out at the hundreds of faces jammed in the back of these trucks like sardines in a can, I am horrified. This is bigger than we thought; we knew it was bad, the majority of these people are children and women. Only one of the trucks holds men.

“We’re gonna need some buses, we aren’t putting them back in those trucks,” I tell Damian and I see Keiren glance at us. In his arms a little boy no older than two, thumb in his mouth.

“You wanna organize it fast, we spoke to one of the driver’s. That first truck has another pick up in thirty minutes; he doesn’t arrive in time, they’ll send someone looking he said.”

Kieren points to the driver and I wander over to him. Stopping near him, he is drenched in blood and riddled with bullets healing slowly so I know he is a Vampire by the simple fact he is still alive.