Page 233

A clearing stretched out in a remote patch of land, its dirt surface ringed by thick, towering trees.

The afternoon sun was hot but the trees around made the heat bearable for the figures who stood waiting.

This place had been chosen on purpose, isolated and perfect for things that needed to be kept secret.

Patrick stood in the center of it all, his hands clasped behind his back, his face an unreadable mask of control. High overhead, the thunderous roar of an approaching helicopter shattered the quiet.

The wind whipped violently, sending loose dirt and dried leaves into a swirling frenzy as the chopper descended. The trees shuddered under the force, with its branches bending as though bowing in submission.

Patrick’s men held their ground, their long coats flaring from the downdraft as they signaled the pilot for a smooth landing. The sound was deafening, the rhythmic beating of the rotor blades drowning out everything else.

Then the doors swung open, and Umal stumbled out. His appearance was a mess; his clothes were disheveled, face slick with sweat, and his breath came in short, panicked bursts. He was terrified out of his mind as if he had escaped the devil’s clutches. And perhaps, he did.

But even as he hurried toward Patrick, Umal knew his life was on the line. And so, before he even reached him, Umal dropped to his knees, his head bowing low. "I’m so sorry."

Patrick didn’t move, nor blink. Instead, with a simple flick of his fingers, he gestured to one of his armed men.

The guard stepped forward, reaching down to pluck the briefcase from Umal’s trembling hands and snapped the case open before Patrick.

An icy chill settled in the air as Patrick’s face went from neutral to grim when he saw the remaining bottles nestled within.

Only five vials? In silence, Patrick breathed through his nose, controlling the rage that threatened to break free.

"Just five?" he asked with a calm voice, but there was no mistaking the rage buried beneath those words. This was supposed to be the precious first batch of an expensive, highly secretive and experimental drug. And he just wasted it.

"A-as I told you earlier... T-There was chaos—" Umal stammered, his voice pitched with desperation. "This was all I could escape with before Asher could use his powers on me!"

Patrick’s eyes narrowed. "The few you could escape with? What happened to the rest?"

Umal’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, knowing that his next words could very well seal his fate.

"One was used for the demonstration," he said carefully.

Patrick didn’t react so Umal forced himself to continue.

"Two broke and.... "

Patrick lifted his chin slightly, waiting with dangerous silence for him to finish.

Umal’s breath hitched as he uttered the last part. "Two... went missing."

At once, Patrick shut his eyes as if he’d just been dealt a final blow. His fingers curled slowly into a fist before relaxing again, regaining control. His mind was made up.

When he opened his eyes, Umal wished he hadn’t because in them, he saw death.

"So you left my drugs in Asher’s hands." It was a statement, not a question, nor an accusation. Just a fact. Plain as day.

Umal shook his head, his entire body trembling as fear took hold. "N-No! That’s not it!" he rushed out, "There’s a chance Asher wouldn’t even see them! After all, I couldn’t find them either!" He was grasping for straws, an attempt to save himself.

But it was too late, Patrick had already heard enough. A curt nod to one of his guards sealed Umal’s fate.

"Get rid of the fool."

The words were spoken with such chilling indifference, as though he had just ordered the removal of garbage.

Umal’s eyes widened in horror. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have come here. But then, he couldn’t run with the drugs either. Patrick would have hunted him till he ended his life.

So he lunged forward, his hands clasping together in a final, pathetic plea.

"No, Patrick, please! I can find another gang to agree to the deal! Just give me a second chance! I can—" His plea died under the thunder of gunshots

The first bullet struck his chest while the second and third drove through him, tearing through his flesh mercilessly.

His body jerked back and he collapsed, his blood pooling beneath him, sinking into the earth. Umal’s glassy, unseeing eyes stared up at the sky, forever frozen in terror.

Two more guards stepped forward, grabbing his lifeless body by the legs. Without a word, they dragged him away, his blood smearing the dirt behind them.

Patrick watched dispassionately. What a failure this was. Then he turned away.

His assistant, Cynthia, fell into step beside him. She was young, beautiful, sharp-minded, and ruthless when she needed to be. Just the way he liked.

And now, she was the only one brave enough to speak. "What do we do now?"

Patrick’s stride didn’t falter as he spoke.

"We go under. For now."

Cynthia’s brow furrowed slightly. "You’re certain?"

"I know how Asher’s mind works and he’s trouble. He won’t rest until he gets to the bottom of this. We can’t draw his attention now. Not when we’ve only just begun."

Patrick approached the dark-tinted car that waited for him. The driver stepped out, opening the door with a silent bow. Patrick slipped inside, Cynthia following right behind him.

The moment the door thudded shut, she straddled him, her hands reaching for his jawline before tilting his face up toward her. She pressed soft, and urgent kisses to his lips.

It was coaxing like a balm to a wounded ego and Patrick let her.

He leaned into her touch, his rigid shoulders easing slightly as her fingertips ghosted across his cheekbones, tracing the place where Asher Nightshade had nearly taken his eye.

The skin had long since healed but not perfectly. Her nails dragged lightly over it, her touch both reverent and possessive as she murmured, "Don’t be discouraged, my love."

Her voice was a purr, the sound weaving into his senses, his mind, his very bones.

"You’ve made a groundbreaking discovery, not even your ancestor, Gerard, could have dreamed of such power."

Her smoky gaze devoured his every reaction. "This is not the end. We will come back stronger."

Her breath was warm against his skin, her words threading into his soul like a hypnotic spell.

"Those wolves won’t know what hit them. Especially that pathetic excuse of an Alpha King."

Cynthia’s voice changed, mimicking the proud lilt of a mother speaking to her favored son. "You’ve done well, Patrick. Mummy is so proud of you."

At those words, Patrick’s breath hitched, something feral, volatile, and dark unfurling within him. His eyes brightened, electrified, the rage, the hunger, the triumph all converging at once.

He kissed her.

His lips were bruising, desperate, and consuming. This was no longer about comfort, but possession. His hands were everywhere, roaming her body with a frantic edge, tugging, gripping, demanding.

Cynthia gasped, but she welcomed it, arching her back just enough for her fingers to make quick work of the belt buckle of his trousers.

In mere seconds, both of them were joined together, panting softly in the backseat and losing themselves in that feverish union.

Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. Because at that moment, they weren’t just lovers, but co-conspirators, and architects of a truly monstrous plan.