Page 41

Chapter thirty-two

Felix

T he main command center was pure mayhem.

Rippers tore through everything with desperate fury, overturning workstations and ripping open supply cabinets in their frantic search for anything valuable.

Electronic equipment sparked and smoked where it had been smashed, cables torn loose and scattered across the floor like digital entrails.

One ripper had cornered Zeke, who was protecting a medicine cabinet with his body.

Duke roared and launched himself at Zeke’s attackers.

At the center of it all was Annabella, surrounded by three rippers, moving between them with deadly grace.

Her dark hair flew around her face as she spun and dodged, never staying still enough to become a target.

A ripper with a jet-black goatee lunged for her throat with clawed fingers.

Annabella sidestepped and caught his wrist, pivoting to slam her forearm across his throat in a clothesline that sent him crashing backward into another attacker.

As they went down in a tangle of limbs, she stomped down hard on the goateed one’s chest, driving the air from his lungs.

A third attacker—wearing a grimy yellow baseball cap—tried to grab her from behind. Annabella whirled around and hammered her fist down onto his collarbone with a crack like breaking kindling. When he doubled over, she brought her knee up to meet his face, the impact dropping him instantly.

Even in combat, she was fucking magnificent; all controlled fury and efficient violence, no wasted movements.

I snatched a metal tray from a nearby counter and launched myself into the fight, slamming it into the head of the guy with the baseball cap. The impact bent the tray nearly in half, and the addict crumpled face-first to the floor without ever seeing what hit him.

Annabella saw me, a wolfish grin spreading across her face.

“Felix!”

“You started the party without me?” I shouted, grabbing a broken chair leg and spinning it like a combat staff. “And here I thought we were partners, Moonbeam.”

“If you’d been on time,” she called back, dropping low to avoid a punch, “maybe I’d have saved you some.” She surged upward and drove her palm into her attacker’s chin with bone-shattering force.

I caught the last of her original attackers with a brutal roundhouse kick as he tried to blindside her. His head snapped sideways, and he dropped like a stone.

Without missing a beat, Annabella and I fell into position back-to-back as more rippers swarmed toward us from all sides. They weren’t enemies we’d chosen, just broken people who’d become weapons aimed at whoever stood between them and ripple.

“Where the fuck is it, bitch?” one screamed, tearing through a cabinet. “I know you’ve got some stashed here!”

Three more charged at us from different directions.

Without a word, Annabella and I moved in smooth coordination.

She dropped to one knee as I pivoted over her, taking down the first attacker while she swept the legs of the second.

Fighting alongside her felt natural, like we’d trained together for years.

She’d duck, I’d strike. I’d block, she’d counter.

I caught glimpses of her using witch abilities woven into combat—subtle flicks of her fingers sending objects into attackers’ paths, whispered words making the floor suddenly slick underfoot.

Across the room, Vivienne and Lydia both cowered behind a shimmering magical barrier instead of helping. Typical fucking witches—all talk until shit got real.

“Take cover in here!” Lydia called out, her voice high. “We can shield everyone until they retreat!”

Fuck that! They were invading our territory. I wasn’t going to hide while they ransacked the place. And if even one of them reached Talia, she was strapped down, completely fucking helpless against them.

I turned, spotting Mira cornered at her desk, desperately trying to protect her equipment as two rippers tore at the monitors and wiring.

Duke fought his way toward her, but his right arm hung lifeless at his side, fresh blood soaking through his shirt from the gash across his chest. He wasn’t going to reach her in time.

Then everything changed.

One massive ripper—still carrying enough muscle that he couldn’t have been on ripple long—froze mid-assault.

Wearing a cheap black suit, scuffed and torn in places, he looked like he might have been a bouncer.

He gasped for breath, once, then twice, deep heaves of his lungs that didn’t seem to be getting air in.

Then his muscles locked, tremors racing through his body.

Ice flooded my veins. I knew those signs.

“Bloodlust!” I roared. “Retreat! Everyone back, NOW!”

The transformation was horrifying to witness.

His eyes bled from normal brown to absolute black—empty voids where human consciousness had once existed.

Veins bulged and darkened beneath his skin, spreading like infection across his face and neck until they stood out like purple cables.

The sound that erupted from his throat had nothing human left in it—a guttural, primal roar that made every instinct in me stand at attention.

The other rippers scattered, abandoning their search for drugs. Even they knew to fear bloodlust when they saw it.

I was suddenly back in time, watching the same darkness in Derek, his eyes midnight black as he stalked toward me, muscles rippling with lethal purpose, no recognition at all in his eyes, just the cold calculation of a predator who’d wanted me dead.

His bloodlust hadn’t been triggered by ripple but by something far more fundamental.

Wolves could slip into that killing frenzy in battle or if their mate died or was injured, when protective instincts overrode rational thought.

The psychological break was always the same, though—a complete surrender to the most primitive part of their nature, turning them into hunters with no distinction between friend and foe.

I’d tried to kill him, had only been stopped when Sofia had managed to pull Derek back from the bloodlust, the one Shifter known to have come back.

The media called them mad dogs, those rippers who got bloodlust, and there was a reason for that. There was no coming back from it, no rational thought left. There’d certainly be no reprieve, like Derek got, for the guy in front of me.

“It’s okay, we can help you.” Annabella moved toward the mad dog, hands raised in a calming gesture.

“Annabella!” Terror made my voice crack like a whip. “Get back! You can’t reason with it—there’s nothing left!”

She didn’t listen, stepping closer to Bouncer, who had gone still. He was studying her with the cold focus of a wolf selecting prey from a herd.

Then he moved.

There was no warning, no tell—just explosive speed as he launched himself at Annabella.

“Annabella!” Zeke screamed.

I was twenty feet away. Too far. Too fucking far.

He slammed into Annabella, the impact lifting her off her feet and hurling her into the wall with a sickening crack.

Shift!

I ignored my wolf; Shifting would take too long. I sprinted for Bouncer. He bent his knees, and I knew he was going to jump high and then land on Annabella for a killing blow.

NOW!

For the first time in my life, my wolf wrestled control.

He surged with a ferocity that stunned, leaving me filled with horror at the knowledge I wouldn’t make it in time.

Then the Shift tore through me like wildfire.

Clothes ripped, bones snapped and reformed, muscles tore and rebuilt.

White-hot agony seared every cell as my body reshaped itself in seconds rather than minutes.

I didn’t have time to breathe or to think; I just had to endure as my wolf punched free.

Through wolf eyes, I saw Annabella’s shock, her lips parting, eyes widening. Then I launched myself at Bouncer.

He was already leaping toward Annabella. His muscles coiled as he soared through the air, hands outstretched for the kill.

My wolf rammed into him mid-air. The impact sent us both crashing to the floor. I rolled, pinning him under me, teeth seeking flesh. He thrashed, hammering his fist into my ribs. Pain. Copper taste of blood. I didn’t care; we had to put him down, now, before he got anywhere near Annabella.

My teeth ripped, my claws tore into him. Blood sprayed over us both.

Bouncer bucked beneath me, throwing me off. No pain in those black eyes, just killing rage. He came at me again. I darted left, snapped at his arm. Missed. His leg connected with my ribs. Something else cracked inside me.

For a split second, I was back on that airfield, facing Derek in his bloodlust rage. My twin, with no recognition in his eyes, just that same empty blackness, that same killing intent. The memory hit me with such force that I almost faltered.

Then I saw Bouncer was trying to get around me to reach Annabella.

Not gonna happen.

In one bound, I slammed into his side with my full weight.

His hands found my throat, fingers digging into my windpipe.

No air. Vision darkening. I couldn’t think about it.

I twisted my head and sank my fangs into the soft flesh between his neck and collarbone, biting down.

Blood flooded my mouth as I clamped down, driving my fangs deeper.

His hands clawed at my face, my eyes, trying to dislodge me.

I held on. No letting go. Not until the threat was eliminated.

I bit deeper, the blood gushing into my mouth almost choking me, and yanked up, tearing his throat out. Gurgling noises came from his body, but his eyes were already vacant and glassy.

Blood dripped from my muzzle as I stood over the fallen body, chest heaving. Annabella stared at me, her expression unreadable.

The remaining rippers had fled, sensing the battle was lost.

I took a step toward Annabella, wanting to go to her, wanting to bury my nose in her scent and make sure she was okay. But she flinched, her eyes going wide and wary.

I paused, one foot in the air. I knew she’d been bullied, knew the Ashridge Pack had never accepted her; it had been in her file. But had they made her scared of all wolves? Had they taught her to mistrust her own kind? Just how long had it been since she’d Shifted?

Rage filled me, and I had to push down the urge to hunt the whole fucking Ashridge Pack and make them pay.