Page 28 of Stripe for the Picking (Paranormal Dating Agency #92)
TWENTY-FOUR
RYLAN
R ylan weaved through the treacherous obstacles of the final round's simulation with fluid precision, his muscles coiling and releasing like a perfectly calibrated machine.
Every leap across the collapsing platforms, every dodge around the rogue programs—it felt almost meditative after years of competing solo.
His tiger instincts guided him through the maze of shifting walls and simulated debris, each movement calculated yet instinctive.
Almost there, he thought, anticipation thrumming through his veins.
Just a few more checkpoints and they'd claim victory.
The scoreboard would flash their names, and he'd finally get to announce to the entire planet that Wren was his mate.
The thought sent a surge of possessive pride through his chest.
He vaulted over a crumbling ledge, landed in a perfect crouch, and sprinted toward the next checkpoint. The moment his boots crossed the threshold, his comms crackled back to life.
"Wren, that leg went better than—" He paused, waiting for her voice to fill his earpiece with that quick wit and brilliant analysis he'd grown addicted to.
Silence.
"Wren?" His stride faltered. "Come in, beautiful."
Nothing.
Rylan's gaze snapped upward to the command center, scanning the partitioned stations until he found hers. Empty. The chair sat vacant, and her console was dark.
"What the hell?"
Suddenly, a crushing weight slammed into his chest—not physical pain, but something far worse. Panic, terror, and desperation flooded his system through their mate bond. His knees nearly buckled as Wren's emotions crashed over him like a tsunami.
I'm in trouble. Find me.
Her voice echoed through his consciousness, faint but desperate. His tiger roared beneath his skin as protective rage blazed through every nerve.
Before he could bolt from the arena, alarms shrieked through Defense Nexus—not the cyber attack warnings he'd grown familiar with, but the bone-chilling wail of physical breach protocols.
"Shit." Real civilians were in danger now. The irony wasn't lost on him—he'd spent the morning saving virtual lives while real ones now hung in the balance.
Rylan backtracked through the course, his enhanced speed carrying him past confused competitors. "Listen up!" he barked, his commander voice cutting through the chaos. "Defense Nexus is under attack. I need you to escort the Council and the esteemed guests to the secure floors. Can I count on you?"
The other eleven competitors—leaders from across Nova Aurora—nodded grimly. Prince Zarik might have been a backstabbing coward, but these shifters understood duty.
Rylan sprinted toward the command center, taking the stairs three at a time. General Kael was already coordinating evacuation protocols, his weathered face set in grim determination.
"Wren's missing," Rylan said without preamble. "I need to find her, but?—"
"Go." Kael's tone brooked no argument. "I've got Defense Nexus covered. Your mate needs you more than we do right now."
Gratitude and respect flooded through Rylan. "Thank you, General."
"Bring her home, son."
Rylan plunged into the maintenance tunnel, his enhanced senses immediately picking up Wren's delicate lavender scent mingled with fear and something else—leather and gunpowder. His tiger snarled, muscles tightening as fury ignited his bloodstream.
They took her when the comms were down. Smart bastards.
He followed her scent trail, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. The tunnel led to a stairwell that went up to the main level. As he ascended the stairs two at a time, he could hear the sounds of combat growing louder—shouts, gunfire, and the distinctive crack of energy weapons.
When he opened the door to the main level, he was met by three black-clad operatives, their assault rifles raised. Rylan didn't break stride.
The first attacker barely had time to register the blur of motion before Rylan's fist connected with his solar plexus.
The man crumpled, wheezing. The second operative swung his rifle like a club, but Rylan ducked under the arc and drove his elbow into the man's temple.
The third managed to squeeze off a shot that went wide before Rylan's palm strike to his nose sent him sprawling.
"Amateurs," Rylan muttered, stepping over the unconscious bodies.
Through the reinforced glass windows, he could see at least fifty more operatives flooding the building. Muzzle flashes lit up the corridors as Kael's forces engaged the invaders. Every instinct told him to stay and fight, to protect his territory and his people.
But Wren's terror pulsed through their bond like a beacon, and his tiger chose his mate over duty without hesitation.
He burst through the rear entrance into the small parking lot, then cursed as her scent vanished at the asphalt's edge. Vehicle exhaust and engine oil masked any trail.
They drove off with her. His hands clenched into fists, his breathing ragged. How much time do I have?
Her emotions flickered through their connection—fear, determination, and underneath it all, an unshakeable faith that he would come for her. That trust humbled and energized him simultaneously.
Hold on, beautiful. I'm coming.
Rylan shed his clothes in efficient movements, his skin already rippling as the shift began. His bones lengthened, his muscles expanded, and his senses sharpened to supernatural clarity. His tiger form emerged—five hundred pounds of black and gold fury, built for speed and violence.
He launched into a ground-eating lope, following the invisible thread of their mate bond across Nova Aurora's landscape. Purple forests blurred past as he pushed his enhanced form to its limits, his paws finding purchase on rocky outcroppings and alien terrain.
The bond pulled him north, toward the Ice Mountains where wolf shifters ruled. His tiger's lip curled in a snarl.
Of course Arvox would take her to his home territory—the coward needed every advantage he could get.
An hour passed before the bond's pull intensified, directing him to an abandoned building squatting like a malignant tumor among the blue snow and jagged peaks. A black SUV sat outside, its engine still ticking with residual heat.
Rylan shifted back to his human form behind a cluster of ice-covered boulders, his body steaming in the frigid air. He jogged to the SUV and popped the trunk, relief flooding through him when he found spare tactical clothing—probably left by Arvox's operatives.
He dressed quickly, his enhanced hearing picking up muffled voices from inside the building. One of them made his blood run cold.
"If Rylan doesn't cooperate with me, then I guess it'll be the end of the road for you, my dear."
Arvox . The slimy bastard actually thought he could threaten Wren and live to tell about it.
Rylan moved with predatory silence to the driver's side of the SUV, his enhanced senses cataloging every sound from the abandoned building.
The click of the door handle seemed thunderous in the mountain stillness, but his luck held—a sleek tactical pistol lay nestled beneath the driver's seat like a gift from the heavens.
Rookies, he thought, checking the clip. Fully loaded.
The weapon felt familiar and deadly in his grip as he approached the building's perimeter.
Shattered windows gaped like empty eye sockets, blue snow dusting the fractured glass.
He chose the largest opening, hoisting himself through with liquid grace, his boots finding silent purchase on the cement floor.
Muffled voices echoed from deeper in the structure, and Rylan's tiger stirred—muscles coiling and predatory instincts sharpening to razor focus. He stalked through the abandoned corridors, each step calculated to avoid the scattered rubble and twisted metal that littered his path.
Arvox's voice became louder and clearer as Rylan got closer to their position. The Prime Minister's fake politeness couldn't mask the venom underneath—the tone of a man who enjoyed wielding power over the helpless.
Rylan pressed himself against the corner wall, stealing a glance around the edge. His vision turned red with raw fury at the sight before him.
Wren sat bound in a metal chair in the center of what had once been a warehouse floor, her dark hair falling across her face as she struggled against the zip ties.
Two armed operatives flanked her like vultures, their weapons trained on her head with casual indifference.
Arvox paced in a lazy circle around her, his movements predatory and smug.
Three on one. Real fucking fair odds.
Protective rage blazed through Rylan's chest, his tiger clawing for release. The sight of his mate—his beautiful, fierce mate—reduced to a bargaining chip ignited something primal and savage in his core.
He raised the pistol, sighting down the barrel with the precision that had made him Nova Aurora's youngest Commander.
The first operative dropped with a wet thud, his weapon clattering across the concrete.
The second barely had time to register his partner's fall before Rylan's second shot punched through his chest.
But Arvox moved with wolf shifter speed, diving behind a concrete pillar before springing up with one of the discarded rifles. In a blur of motion, he pressed the barrel against Wren's temple, his finger hovering over the trigger.
"Ah ah ah." Arvox's voice dripped false cheerfulness. "One wrong move and it's lights out for your precious mate."
Wren's eyes found his across the warehouse floor, wide with alarm but burning with trust. The sight of the gun against her temple sent another surge of murderous fury through his veins, his tiger roaring for blood.
"How did you know she was my mate?" Rylan kept his voice steady and professional, even as his instincts screamed at him to tear Arvox's throat out.