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Chapter thirty-one

Felix

F elix

Mira barely looked up from her bank of monitors as I approached her workstation. The blue glow of multiple screens cast shadows under her eyes, making her look younger and more fragile than usual.

“They gone?” I asked, keeping my voice casual.

She nodded without lifting her gaze from her tablet.

Thank fuck for that. This was my window to contact Gid. Maybe the only one I’d get.

“I’ll do a perimeter sweep.”

Mira reached under her desk and tossed me an earpiece. “Take this. Duke’s insisting everyone stay connected.”

I tucked the comm unit into my ear.

“Be careful, Felix. The boss’s magical interference fried half our sensors. Motion detection on the west perimeter has been glitching, and facial recognition keeps going offline.”

My eyebrows rose. Webster must have known Vivienne’s warding spell would cause damage to the security systems here. I had the feeling that he simply didn’t give a fuck.

“How long to get them back up?”

Mira shrugged. “Couple of hours.”

I gave her a lazy two-finger salute and headed out.

The night air carried the fresh scents of spring across the university campus: new grass, blooming trees, the electric tang of ozone that lingered after Webster’s magical lockdown. Most buildings stood dark except for the amber glow of security lighting.

I stuck to the shadows, mapping the fastest route to the nearest stashed burner phone. Three blocks north, disused electrical junction box, ten minutes round trip if I pushed it.

My wolf rumbled with discontent as I crossed the empty street, his unease bleeding into my consciousness. He didn’t like leaving Annabella behind.

Talia’s the priority, I reminded him firmly. The Council comes first.

He whined once, a sound of reluctant submission, then fell silent.

Still, something felt wrong about slipping away like this.

I was half a block from the theater when the call came through.

“Breach!” Mira’s voice, high and tight with panic. “Ripper Pack! North-west entrance!”

I froze mid-stride, registering the chaos erupting through my earpiece—alarms, shouting, the unmistakable sounds of fighting.

“How many?” Annabella’s voice was calm.

“At least fifty of them! They’re raiding the neighborhood. I count sixteen inside.”

Duke cut in, breathing hard. “They’re coming from all sides!”

Damn it. Mira had said Webster’s lockdown spell had fucked the security systems. If I really had been patrolling the perimeter, I could have given them warning.

I stood paralyzed between two worlds—burner phone ahead, Annabella’s crew getting overrun behind. Contact Gideon, finish the mission, do my duty to Talia and the Council. The choice should have been obvious.

Something crashed through the comms. Someone screamed—high, desperate, terrified.

“Retreat to the containment room!” Annabella’s voice, sharp with command.

Fuck.

My wolf didn’t hesitate, spinning me around before my human side could argue. I tore back toward the warehouse.

I hit the side entrance at full sprint, my shoulder slamming into the reinforced door hard enough to rattle the frame.

The smell hit me first—sweat, blood, and the rancid stink of rippers.

The command center was a war zone. Furniture lay overturned and shattered, equipment scattered across the floor in pieces, papers and cables strewn everywhere like the aftermath of a tornado.

Emergency lighting cast everything in hellish red shadows, the main power apparently cut during the assault.

Two rippers spotted me immediately—skeletal figures who’d been on ripple long enough to lose most of their body mass, their sunken eyes burning with desperate hunger and that distinctive tremor in their hands that marked long-term users.

The first rushed me, cracked lips peeling back from yellowed, broken teeth in a feral snarl.

I sidestepped his clumsy charge and drove him face-first into the concrete wall.

Too easy. The second ripper jumped me from behind, bony arms snaking around my neck in a chokehold while he tried to sink his teeth into my shoulder.

I dropped, flipping him over my shoulder.

His skull cracked against the floor with a wet sound, and he lay still.

The first ripper staggered back to his feet.

His eyes found mine, pupils blown so wide that only a thin ring of iris remained.

He circled me, more cautious now, hands flexing.

My training kicked in—assess, adapt, neutralize.

This wasn’t just some strung-out human; ripple gave addicts unpredictable strength and zero pain response.

Underestimating him would be a mistake. He feinted right, then lunged left with startling speed.

I blocked his first wild swing but missed the follow-up—a haymaker that connected solidly with my shoulder.

Pain exploded through the joint, sharp and immediate.

“We just want the ripple, man.” He smacked his lips together, making a wet slapping sound. “Just the ripple. Give it. Give it. Give it.”

“There’s no ripple here.”

“Bullshit! There’s ripple everywhere, man. Everywhere. You just need to know where to look. Where they hid it. And if they won’t give it to you, you hurt them till they do.”

He came at me again. I ducked under his swing, stepped inside his guard, and drove three quick jabs to his throat. Should’ve dropped him, but he just grunted and grabbed my shirt, yanking me closer.

His teeth snapped inches from my face, breath reeking of chemicals and decay. The stench was overwhelming—like something had died and rotted in his mouth. I slammed my forehead into the bridge of his nose. Cartilage crunched. Blood sprayed, and he went down.

Deeper inside, glass shattered. Duke howled in pain.

I rounded a corner to find Duke pinned against a wall, blood streaming from a jagged gash across his chest. Four rippers—three male, one female—clawed at him, trying to get past toward the inner rooms where Talia lay helpless.

“About fucking time,” he snarled when he spotted me.

“Aww, I’m touched, Duke. You missed me.”

I grabbed the closest ripper—a lanky guy whose arms were a roadmap of tattoos—and yanked him backward by his collar.

He spun, slashing at me with a jagged piece of metal pipe that gleamed with blood.

I kicked off the wall with one foot, twisted, and drove my knee into his face.

His head snapped back, but he just shook it off like the impact was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Fucking ripple. It kept them all going like broken toy soldiers with fresh batteries.

I didn’t have time for this.

Before he could bring that makeshift blade around again, I caught his wrist and twisted hard until joints separated with a wet pop.

The ripper barely flinched, but his fingers spasmed involuntarily, sending the weapon clattering across the floor.

I kicked it into the shadows and slammed my elbow into his throat, crushing his windpipe.

As he dropped to his knees, gasping for air, the female ripper abandoned Duke and rushed me, her movements fast. Unlike the others, she still had meat on her bones.

Newer to the drug, which made her more dangerous.

She feinted high toward my throat, then dropped into a combat roll that swept my legs.

Smart. I jumped but caught her elbow in my side as I landed.

“They’re hiding it!” she screamed, spittle flying from her lips. “All of you, fucking hoarders! Not fair! It’s not fair!”

To my left, a mountain of muscle with bulging veins grabbed Duke by the throat, lifting him clear off the floor.

I sent a hook punch into the female ripper’s kidney, followed by an elbow strike to her temple that sent her stumbling. No time to finish her. Duke’s face was turning an alarming shade of purple.

Snatching up the discarded pipe fragment, I drove it straight through Mountain Man’s calf muscle.

He roared like a wounded bear, dropping Duke.

Mountain Man yanked the metal from his leg and swung it at my head.

I ducked, the blade whistling over me, then surged up inside his guard.

Two strikes to his ribs. A palm heel to his chin. He staggered but didn’t fall.

“Joints,” Duke wheezed, clutching his throat. “Go for the fucking joints.”

Right.

Mountain Man swung again, but his injured leg threw off his timing.

I grabbed his extended arm and wrenched it backward past the breaking point.

His elbow joint separated with a sound like snapping wood.

I pivoted and drove my boot into the side of his knee.

The joint collapsed inward with a wet crunch, and he finally crashed to the concrete.

A quick stomp to his jaw ensured he’d stay down.

“Thanks,” Duke muttered, the word clearly costing him.

I raised an eyebrow. “Careful, I might think you’re warming up to me.”

“Fuck you,” he shot back, but there was less venom in it than usual. “Annabella needs help.”