Page 23

DEACON

T he scent of smoke slams into my lungs, searing its way down my throat and making my vision swim.

My knees threaten to buckle under the sudden lack of oxygen, heat searing my throat raw.

A single cough rips from me, violent and sharp, followed by another as the acrid burn spreads deeper.

For a heartbeat, everything blurs—my balance falters, and a dull roar fills my ears as if the world has tilted sideways.

My eyes sting, vision warping as a fresh wave of heat scorches my skin.

For a heartbeat, I stagger—balance teetering on the edge as the blast wave ripples through the air.

It scorches like a brand, a brutal reminder that this isn’t a drill—this is war, and Sutton is somewhere in the chaos.

Another explosion detonates nearby, rattling the compound’s bones.

My ears ring, vision doubling for a blink as sound and sensation crash together.

The coppery tang of blood chases the acrid bite of burning diesel.

The atmosphere is suffocating—thick, charged, alive with violence.

Gunfire cracks like a thunderstorm rolling too close, the ground trembling beneath my boots.

I pivot on raw instinct, claws beginning to form, the wolf beneath my skin snarling to be let loose.

My blood is wildfire. My purpose, singular.

They’ve broken through—not with hesitation or warning, but with ruthless precision.

This is no feint or scare tactic. It’s a full-blown assault, planned with military expertise and executed with deadly force.

The sound of synchronized gunfire, the blast patterns—everything screams professional.

These aren't just thugs; they’re trained killers, and they came knowing exactly how to cripple us.

They struck with brutal precision, hitting us in the narrow window when the guard was lowest, when routines blurred and shadows lengthened—timed to perfection, every beat a calculated blow.

My comm crackles with half-shouted orders and frantic movement. Gage’s voice cuts through, "South side’s exposed. Pushing them back. Get the girls to cover. Now."

The girls. Kari. Maggie. Cassidy. And Sutton—my mate, my priority, my goddamn heartbeat in this war zone.

My heart slams against my ribs, vision flashing with the raw image of Sutton cornered and bleeding, her back pressed to a wall, crimson soaking her shirt as she fights to stay upright.

The image slices through me, sharp and suffocating, dragging with it the memory of every moment I almost lost her—the night we met, the first time she smiled at me, the way she kisses like it might be the last time.

It guts me with a vicious kind of clarity—if I don’t get to her now, I might never get the chance again.

For a moment, it’s like a wrecking ball swinging through my chest—unstoppable, merciless, and aimed straight at the fear clawing at my gut.

The impact sharp enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

Although I can't see her, my fear is that Sutton is hurt, hunted, and the world tilts with the fear of losing her. I take off, dodging debris and sprinting toward the eastern corridor. I don’t need to shift to feel the wolf clawing beneath my skin—muscles twitching, heat rising under my collar, the sharp edge of fury blurring the line between man and beast, snarling for blood.

I smell them—intruders, not shifters. Human. Armed. Moving with deadly purpose.

I round the corner of the compound just in time to see Gideon launch himself at an intruder, his massive form colliding with the man like a wrecking ball.

The impact is bone-shattering—audible even over the gunfire.

Gideon's snarl rips through the air, animal and furious. They go down hard, bodies slamming against the gravel. Blood fans out in a violent arc, spraying across the wall. The bastard doesn’t rise—doesn’t even twitch.

Gideon is already up, eyes scanning for the next target, lips curled back in a snarl that promises death.

"North fence is holding," he barks, eyes wild. "Where’s Sutton?"

"Don't know for sure. She stepped out for some air. We lost visual on her just before the breach. She was alone, and the attack kicked off right after she left—too damn coincidental to ignore. That’s the last anyone’s heard—perimeter’s been breached."

His eyes darken. "We have to move. Now."

We split, each of us peeling off into the compound.

Gage and Dalton are already herding Maggie and Kari toward the lodge, both of them shifted—massive wolves with fur bristling and fangs bared, their snarls a living promise of violence.

Cassidy’s trailing them, covering with a weapon nearly as long as her arm.

Her snarl is pure fury—sharp, human, and brimming with adrenaline—but her stance is rock solid, eyes scanning for the next threat.

But Sutton isn’t with them—she’s still out there, somewhere in the smoke and gunfire, alone and vulnerable while the battlefield swallows the compound whole.

My pulse pounds harder at the thought, every beat another second too long she’s out of reach, too far from where she should be—by my side, protected.

The image of her, hunted, flares behind my eyes like a brand. I can’t let it stand. I won’t.

I leap the shredded fencing and race into the open, gravel biting into my palms as I vault a fallen beam.

My lungs burn with smoke, heart pounding with a furious, relentless rhythm in my chest. Every nerve screams with the need to find her—my focus razor-sharp, animalistic.

There’s no room for pain, no room for thought beyond her.

Just blood, smoke, and the drive to get to Sutton before someone else does.

Every sense is narrowed, tuned for her. The others can shift, defend, bite, and claw their way through this. But Sutton? She’s pure human.

And if they touch her—if they've laid so much as a finger on her, if they've so much as looked at her like prey—I’ll rip them apart and use their entrails to mark every inch of this goddamn ground. Blood for blood. Her safety or their screams.

A fresh burst of gunfire spits from behind the storage barn.

I veer right, dodging bullets that punch through the air too close to my ear.

My boots slam into the dirt as I crash shoulder-first into one of the bastards trying to flank the lodge.

We tumble hard, but I recover first, landing a knee in his throat before he can so much as blink. He doesn’t get up.

There’s movement behind me—a whisper of boots on gravel, smoke stirring in the air. I pivot hard, instincts snapping into place. Another one. Big. Confident. He steps through the haze with the swagger of a man who’s never lost a fight. But he’s about to.

He fires. I drop low, feel the hiss of the round buzz past my ear. I lunge forward, tackling him into the side of a scorched truck. My elbow drives into his nose with a crunch that echoes. He screams. I punch again. And again. His skull meets steel, and this time he’s quiet.

“Sutton,” I bark into the comm, “respond.”

Nothing. Fuck.

My throat tightens around the silence, bile rising with the fear that I’ve already failed her.

The image of Sutton bleeding out, just out of reach, sears behind my eyelids.

I can’t breathe, can’t think—only feel the fire racing through my veins and the savage promise in my bones that I will tear through whatever stands between us.

If I lose her, there won’t be enough blood in this world to balance the scales.

A shadow stumbles through the haze—a limp, a bloody trail in his wake. One of theirs. Not ours. I don’t hesitate. I’m on him in seconds, my forearm crushing his windpipe as he claws for his sidearm. Too late. His eyes go glassy.

Another blast detonates, closer this time—close enough to shake the ground beneath me and slam a wave of heat into my side. My ears ring again, sharp and punishing, and my knees nearly buckle as I drop low, instinct forcing me to shield my head from falling debris.

I hit the ground, ears ringing. Something tears past overhead—roofing tile, maybe—and shatters against the dirt. I scramble up. Somewhere beyond the east paddock, I hear it—a scream.

Feminine. Familiar. Her scream slices through the air like a blade, cutting straight into the marrow of my bones.

My breath lodges in my chest, heart slamming once before adrenaline propels me forward.

I bolt—lungs burning, eyes straining through smoke and chaos.

The sharp tang of scorched earth and gunmetal fills my nose as I charge into the thick of it.

My boots pound the gravel, each step fueled by fear and fury.

The scream still echoes in my ears, a visceral hook that jerks my focus like a leash.

It’s her. It has to be. Her scent punches through the haze, laced with copper and sweat, faint but unmistakable. My pulse kicks up, heart hammering as I surge forward, blood roaring in my ears.

The smoke thickens near the mechanic’s garage, choking the air with the scorched stench of metal and diesel.

It curls into my nose, burning down my throat and watering my eyes.

My lungs seize for a second before I push through, blinking against the haze that cloaks the path like a shroud.

Every breath is a fight, the heat radiating off the nearby flames slicking my skin with sweat as the compound turns into a war zone around me.

And then I see her... Sutton.

She's covered in soot, streaked with blood, her eyes wild with adrenaline and something more—pure survival.

Backed against the scorched frame of the truck, her arms are locked, gun raised and unwavering.

A body lies sprawled at her feet, neck twisted at an unnatural angle, blood darkening the dirt.

Her chest jerks in sharp, shallow bursts, every breath a fight.

And when her eyes find mine, the chaos disappears.

Just for a second, the world holds its breath—and so do I.

I’m moving again, crossing the space in a blink.

She doesn’t collapse, doesn’t cry. But the look in her eyes—steely, defiant, raw—punches straight into my chest. There’s no quit in her, no give.

It guts me in a way I don’t expect, her resilience sparking a fierce pride and something deeper, more primal.

I don’t deserve her strength, but I’ll kill to protect it.

She just grips her gun tighter and nods like she’s been waiting for me.

"I’m fine," she says. Voice raw. Shaking. "Not dead. Yet."

I pull her in, just for a second—my arms banding around her like a shield. Her breath shudders against my neck, and her body trembles, taut with adrenaline. She doesn’t resist. For that heartbeat, I feel her pulse pounding against mine, fierce and fast. It grounds me—and wrecks me all at once.

Then I shove her behind me, the heat of her body pressing against my back for a split second—enough to remind me exactly what’s at stake.

The urge to keep her there, locked behind me and out of danger, is a roar in my blood, primal and absolute.

My muscles tighten with it, the need to shield her hardwired into every nerve ending.

"Move," I growl, snapping my gaze back to the creeping shadows. "We’re not clear."

Before I can say another word, Sutton grabs the front of my shirt, yanks me toward her, and kisses me—hard.

Her lips crash into mine with a fury born of fear and relief, her fingers curling into my jacket like she’s anchoring herself to the only solid thing left in the chaos.

The taste of smoke clings to her mouth, but underneath it is Sutton—alive, defiant, and mine.

I clutch her just as tightly, the heat of her body searing through the grime and sweat coating us both. For that heartbeat, I let myself feel her—strong, alive, here—and everything I’ve been holding back slams into me like a fist to the chest.

She pulls back just as fast, her breath ragged. "Now I’m good. Let’s finish this."

More movement. West gate—shadows slinking through smoke, the glint of a rifle catching dying light.

We're not done. This battle’s far from over. It’s just catching its second wind, and I’m already primed to drag it down into the dirt with me. Let them come—I'll meet them with fire in my fists and death on my heels.

I raise my rifle, adjusting my grip as the tremble in the ground beneath my boots deepens, a low, rumbling vibration that travels up my legs like a warning shot to my spine.

The scent of scorched earth and ozone sharpens, and I brace myself for the next hit, pulse thundering in my ears as the firestorm bears down.

The next wave’s coming—closer, heavier, like a freight train of death barreling through smoke and fire—and I’m ready to meet it head-on.

My team is stretched, wounded. My mate is bleeding.

And there’s no fucking way I’m letting them take another step into our home.

Let them try to claw their way in.

They’ll find nothing but teeth and ruin waiting.