Chapter 4 - Slade
1694 Words
The laser dot sits over my heart like it’s been waiting for me for years.
Outside, Alec Vargheist’s voice oozes through the speaker, too calm, too casual. “Your choice, Alpha. Drop the net and walk away. I might even let him keep the leg this time.”
Rhea’s jaw tightens. “You want him, you come take him.”
The soldiers shift, safety catches clicking. Rhea’s eyes flick to mine—wolf bright, calculating. She’s already plotting ten moves, and I can tell none of them end with surrender.
“Don’t,” I rasp. The wire bites deeper when I breathe. “You can’t win a stand-off like this.”
Her lip curls. “It's cute that you think I need your permission.”
God, she’s magnificent. Terrifying.
The red dot jumps to her chest. Alec chuckles, distorted by the loudhailer. “Touching. An Alpha shielding a broken omega. You’ve forgotten what wolves are for, Rhea Robur.”
The name stabs me harder than the silver wire. “He’s baiting you,” I whisper. “Let it go.”
She twists her wrist, testing the net. Smoke curls up between us where the silver sears our clothes together. My prosthetic frame is taking the brunt of the current—thank the mods—but her skin’s blistering. The air smells of metal and rain and something that shouldn’t be this distracting when we’re about to die.
I breathe once, hard, and make the call. “On three,” I murmur.
“What—”
“One.”
I twist the locking clamp on my prosthetic and disconnect. The limb drops, still tangled in the wire. Rhea’s eyes widen just as I yank us sideways. The net collapses on the ground, eating my detached leg instead of us. Pain shoots up the stump—raw nerves catching cold air—but the current’s gone.
I drag her down behind a toppled cabinet, both of us gasping.
“Are you insane?” she hisses.
“On balance, yes.”
Bullets spark off the metal above us. Holly shouts from outside the grate, firing back. The smell of gunpowder and wet earth fills the room.
“Cover fire!” Rhea yells.
Holly obliges; the sound of her crossbow pulses like a heartbeat. I claw through my pack one-handed and pull a smoke charge. “Can you give me five seconds of distraction?”
She studies me—one look, quick calculation. Then she’s up and moving.
Rhea Robur doesn’t flinch from gunfire; she commands it. Her voice cuts through the chaos, ordering Acker and Holly like she’s directing a symphony. For three precious seconds, the soldiers’ aim wavers.
I thumb the pin, toss the charge. Gray plumes burst, thick and fast.
“Move!” she barks.
We crawl toward the grate. I hook my forearm over the lip and haul myself through with one leg. My stump hits mud, burning. She slides out after me, fluid despite the blistered wrists. Holly and Acker are crouched behind a fallen trunk.
“Alpha!” Acker reaches for her.
“I’m fine,” she snaps. Then her gaze drops to my missing limb. “You’re not.”
“Portable problem.” I dig in the pack again, retrieve the spare: carbon-fiber frame, simple connector. “Cover me.”
While they lay down fire, I lock the stump into the socket, hiss as the seals bite. The servo whines alive. Pain flares, but motion returns. I rise, balanced again.
Through the smoke, red targeting beams jitter—Vargheist rifles sweeping. I hear Alec’s laughter like static.
“You can run, Robur,” he calls, “but you’ll leave a trail of smoke and blood. Same as your father did.”
She freezes. Even in the dark, I feel it—the way her wolf stiffens, fury coiling under her skin. “He doesn’t get to say my father’s name,” she mutters furiously.
I grab her shoulder. “Then make him swallow it later. Right now we move.”
She nods once, reluctant but sharp, and signals. We run.
The forest devours sound except for the drum of our boots and the faint mechanical clatter of crawlers behind us. Rain has started—cold, relentless. It slicks the leaves, masks our scent.
“East ridge!” Holly shouts. “There’s a ravine!”
“Too open,” I answer. “Seekers fly over ridges.”
“Got a better idea?” Rhea demands.
“Yeah.” I point toward the hollow where the ground dips into fog. “Old storm drain. I used it to smuggle data drives out last year. Narrow but dry.”
She doesn’t question how I know; she just runs faster.
By the time we reach the drain mouth, the rain’s turned silver from the seekers’ light. I shove Acker in first, then Holly. Rhea follows, crouched low. I slide in last, tugging the grate shut behind us.
The tunnel is barely high enough to crawl, reeking of mold and rust. Water drips from the ceiling, cold as knives.
“You sure this leads anywhere?” she asks.
“I’m sure it used to.”
“How comforting.”
We push forward in silence, only the rasp of breath and scrape of metal on stone. Behind us, the distant echo of engines fades. For the first time since the warehouse, we’re not being shot at.
Rhea stops suddenly. “Slade.”
I almost bump into her. “What?”
She holds up a hand. Ahead, faint blue light flickers against the tunnel walls. Not daylight—too steady.
I draw my pistol. “Stay back.”
“Not a chance.” She shoulders past me.
We emerge into a chamber that shouldn’t exist: wide, circular, lined with ancient concrete. In the center, a generator hums faintly, cables snaking into the walls. Someone’s been here recently.
“Human tech,” Holly murmurs, eyes scanning. “But the signature—”
“Not human,” I finish. “Hybrid mods. Vargheist R&D.”
Rhea turns on me. “You knew this was here.”
“I suspected. They built relay nodes all over this ridge. Most were dormant.” I crouch by the generator, tracing a wire. “This one’s active.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’re listening.”
She glances around the chamber. “Then we shut it down.”
“Careful.” I tap a thin metal plate on the floor, half-buried in grime. “Pressure sensor. Whole thing’s rigged.”
“How do we kill it without killing us?”
“We don’t.” I pull my hand back. “We use it.”
Her brows knit. “Explain.”
“If we reroute the power, the relay will fry the data lines between nodes. Blind the entire sector for maybe two hours.”
“And how much power does that need?”
I smile grimly. “More than it can safely carry.”
“Translation?”
“Boom.”
She huffs out a laugh—part disbelief, part relief. “You’re insane.”
“I’m consistent.”
We work fast. Holly disarms the trigger under my direction while Rhea guards the entrance. The air hums with tension and ozone. My prosthetic whines each time I shift; I ignore it.
Finally, Holly gives a nod. “Ready.”
“Everyone out except me,” I say.
Rhea’s head snaps around. “You’re not staying.”
“Someone’s got to trigger it manually.”
“Not happening.” She steps closer, voice low and dangerous. “You already lost a leg tonight. You’re not losing the rest of you.”
Her scent—smoke and wild pine—fills the space between us. My wolf lunges toward it, desperate and stupid. I swallow it back. “If I die, you get two hours to move your pack. That’s the only trade that matters.”
“I don’t trade lives,” she says.
“Then you’ll lose everyone.”
Her hand clamps around my shirt. “Don’t order me, omega.”
“Then stop treating me like I need saving.”
For a second, neither of us moves. Her eyes flash gold; mine answer silver. The pull between us crackles hotter than the relay cables. I could kiss her and die happy—if the place didn’t explode first. Her lips are so close...
Acker’s voice echoes from the tunnel: “Uh—guys? We’ve got company.”
Footsteps. Dozens.
Rhea releases me, every line of her body snapping back to war. “Seal it!” she shouts.
Holly grabs Acker and bolts deeper into the drain. I turn to the console, fingers flying over the interface. “Thirty seconds,” I mutter.
Rhea’s beside me, blade drawn. “We can hold thirty.”
“No,” I say. “You can run thirty.”
She snarls. “Not. Without. You.”
Then the first bullet punches through the tunnel wall, whining off metal. Sparks rain down. The generator’s hum climbs a note.
I twist the final wire. The console flares red. “Done! Go!”
Rhea hesitates—one heartbeat, two. Then she catches my collar and yanks me with her.
We dive into the drain just as the chamber goes white. The explosion punches the air out of my lungs. Heat chases us like a wave, hurling us down the tunnel.
We tumble out of the exit grate into open air, coughing, half-blind. Behind us, fire blooms from the hillside.
Rhea rolls to her knees, shoving hair out of her face. “Tell me that bought us time.”
I nod, breath ragged. “Two hours. Maybe less.”
She opens her mouth to answer—then freezes.
From the ridge above, shapes emerge through the rain—wolves in matte armor, moving in perfect sync. Not Vargheist soldiers.
Robur markings.
Her pack.
Only they’re not looking at her with relief.
Their weapons are drawn.
“Alpha Rhea Robur,” one of them says, voice shaking but formal. “By order of the Council… you’re under arrest for treason.”
To be continued…
- Writer
