Damon's POV
I kicked down the door to the roof.
The metal groaned and buckled, flying off its hinges. The storm rushed in to meet me, a wall of freezing rain and howling wind. But I didn't feel the cold.
I felt fire.
It burned in my veins, white-hot and corrosive. It wasn't just anger. It was something older. Something primal that clawed at the inside of my ribcage, demanding blood.
MATE.
The bond screamed it. A frantic, jagged pulse that had been tearing me apart since I'd felt her pain three floors down.
I scanned the roof.
Empty.
No drone. No enemies.
Just rain slicking the concrete. And silence.
"Lyra!" I roared. The wind snatched the name from my mouth.
Then I saw her.
A small, broken shape huddled near the edge of the parapet.
My heart stopped. Actually stopped. For a second, the world tilted on its axis.
I was beside her in a heartbeat. I didn't remember moving. One second I was by the door, the next I was on my knees in a puddle of water and blood.
Her blood.
It was everywhere. Soaking the thin silk of her robe. Pooling on the concrete. The metallic scent hit me like a physical blow, heavy and sweet and terrifying.
"Lyra." My voice was a broken rasp.
I reached for her, my hands shaking. I, who could dismantle a bomb with steady fingers, who could sign billion-dollar contracts without blinking—I was shaking.
I touched her throat. Her skin was ice cold.
Please. I didn't pray. I never prayed. But I prayed now. Don't be dead. Don't you dare be dead.
A faint flutter against my fingertips.
Weak. Thread-like. But there.
Relief crashed into me, so intense it nearly brought me to my knees. She was alive.
"Damon?"
Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the rain. She didn't open her eyes. Her face was pale, bruised, streaks of mud and blood marring her skin.
"I'm here," I said, gathering her into my arms. She was so light. Too light. Like a bird with broken wings. "I've got you."
She shivered, her hand fumbling blindly at her chest. She was clutching something. A wet, muddy lump of fur.
A stuffed rabbit.
My blood ran cold. I knew that rabbit. The little girl—Cyra—had been holding it.
"The kids," Lyra choked out. Her eyes fluttered open. They were glassy, unfocused, swimming with pain. "They took them."
The fire in my veins turned into ice.
"Who?" I demanded. "Who took them?"
"Jax... Vane."
The name was a curse. Vane. The rogue trash I should have exterminated years ago. The man who had dared to touch what was mine.
"He... he said the Vane family collects its debts," she whispered. A tear tracked through the blood on her cheek. "Damon... I couldn't stop them. I tried. I tried so hard."
"Shh." I pulled her closer, tucking her head under my chin to shield her from the rain. "Don't speak."
"He put them in a box," she sobbed, her body racking with tremors. "Like cargo. My babies..."
Something inside me snapped. A tether that had held the beast in check for twenty-eight years.
I stood up, lifting her with me. She weighed nothing.
I walked to the edge of the roof. The city of Obsidian lay below me, a sprawling grid of lights and shadows. My city. My territory.
And somewhere out there, a dead man was holding three children.
The wolf rose. It didn't ask for permission. It didn't negotiate. It flooded my system, sharpening my vision, turning the rain into a symphony of scents. I smelled Lyra's blood. I smelled the lingering chemical stench of the rogues. I smelled the exhaust of the drone that had taken them.
And I smelled Fear. Not Lyra's. The city's.
They didn't know it yet. But they would.
I keyed my comms.
"This is Alpha Prime."
My voice was low. Calm. The kind of calm that comes before a massacre.
"Status report," a trembling voice answered. My head of security.
"Initiate Protocol Zero."
Silence on the other end. Protocol Zero. The nuclear option. Total lockdown. No one in. No one out. Martial law.
"Sir," the voice wavered. "Protocol Zero requires Council authorization. It effectively shuts down the entire—"
"Do it," I snarled. "Or I will come down there and rip your throat out myself."
"Yes, Alpha! Initiating now!"
Sirens began to wail across the city. A mournful, rising sound that echoed off the skyscrapers. The bridges leading out of Obsidian began to rise. The tunnels sealed. The airspace grid turned red.
I looked down at Lyra. She had passed out again, her head limp against my shoulder. She looked so fragile. So breakable.
I brushed a wet strand of hair from her face.
"Rest now, little wolf," I whispered. "I'll handle the rest."
Lyra's POV
Pain.
It came in waves, heavy and throbbing. My shoulder burned. My ribs felt like they were wrapped in barbed wire.
I opened my eyes.
White. Everything was white.
ceiling. Sheets. The sterile smell of antiseptic.
Hospital? No. The lighting was too soft. The sheets were too high of a thread count.
Storm Manor.
I tried to sit up. A bad idea. The room spun. A groan escaped my lips.
"Stay down."
The command came from the corner. I turned my head.
Damon.
He was sitting in an armchair, still wearing the ruined clothes from the roof. Dried blood—mine or his?—stained his white shirt. He looked like he hadn't moved in hours. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped, staring at the floor.
He looked wrecked.
"The kids," I rasped. My throat felt like sandpaper.
"We haven't found them yet." He didn't look up. "But they haven't left the city. I locked it down. Every rat hole, every sewer, every warehouse. We're tearing it apart brick by brick."
"Jax has a safe house," I said, forcing myself to push through the pain. "In the industrial district. An old chemical plant. Sub-level 4."
Damon's head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with red. "How do you know?"
"Because I sold him the security system three years ago."
Damon stared at me. "You sold security systems to a rogue Alpha?"
"I sell weapons to everyone, Damon. That's what I do." I threw the covers off. I was wearing one of his t-shirts. My shoulder was bandaged. My ribs were taped. "Get me a laptop. I can bypass the perimeter sensors."
"You're not going anywhere." He stood up, crossing the room in two strides. He put a hand on my uninjured shoulder, pushing me back against the pillows. "You have three broken ribs and a claw mark that missed your jugular by an inch. You're staying in this bed."
"Those are my children!" I swatted his hand away. Weakly. "I am not sitting here while that psycho has them!"
"And I am not letting you get killed!" he roared.
The sheer volume of it silenced me. He wasn't just angry. He was terrified.
He took a breath, running a hand through his hair. His hand was shaking.
"I saw you on that roof," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I thought... when I saw the blood..." He couldn't finish the sentence. He looked away, his jaw working. "I can't lose you, Lyra. Not again."
"You never had me," I said softy.
"I do now." He looked back at me. The gold in his eyes was swirling, molten. "You're in my house. In my bed. You're mine to protect. That's the deal."
"There was no deal."
"There is now." He leaned down, his face inches from mine. "I will bring them back. I swear it on my blood. But you stay here. You heal. Can you do that? Or do I have to chain you to the bed?"
He meant it.
I looked into his eyes. I saw the fear there. The desperation. And something else.
Guilt.
He blamed himself. For not being there. For letting them take the "cubs".
If he knew they were his... that guilt would crush him.
I took a deep breath. It hurt.
"I need a gun," I said.
Damon blinked. "What?"
"If I stay," I said. "I need a weapon. I don't feel safe without one. Not anymore."
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he reached behind his back and pulled out a sleek, black Sig Sauer. He checked the chamber, engaged the safety, and placed it on the nightstand.
"It's loaded," he said.
"Thank you."
He straightened up, buttoning his jacket. The Alpha mask slid back into place. Cold. Ruthless. Ready for war.
"The chemical plant," he asked. "Sector 4?"
"Sector 4. Look for the ventilation shafts. They're the weak point."
"Good." He walked to the door.
"Damon?"
He paused, hand on the handle.
"Jax is enhanced," I warned. "He's not just a rogue anymore. He's... something else. Be careful."
He didn't look back.
"He touched my family," Damon said. "He could be God himself. I'd still kill him."
He walked out. The door clicked shut.
I waited five seconds.
Then I grabbed the gun.
I checked the mag. Full.
"Sorry, Damon," I whispered, swinging my legs out of bed. The room spun, but I gritted my teeth until it steadied.
I wasn't staying in bed.
I had a date with an ex.
And I had an apocalypse to deliver.