Bound By The Alphas

The Shadow Play

Elena pressed her back against the freezing metal underside of the iron table, her knees pulled tight to her chest. The darkness in the warehouse was total, save for the weak shafts of moonlight cutting through the grime-covered skylights. Her breath came in shallow, silent gasps that blossomed into faint plumes of mist in the drop of the temperature.

A sudden, deafening crack shattered the silence.

The heavy wood of the warehouse side-door didn't just give way; it splinters inward under a heavy kick. Silas didn’t wait. The muzzle flash of his automatic rifle illuminated the room in jagged, strobe-like bursts of brilliant white light. The thunderous roar of the gunfire shook dust and rust from the rafters high above.

Elena squeezed her eyes shut, covering her ears as two distinct groans echoed from the entryway, followed by the heavy, dull thuds of bodies hitting the concrete floor.

"Flank the back!" a rough voice shouted from outside the breach. "Don't let the girl get to the vehicles!"

Silas scrambled to adjust his position, his boots crunching on broken glass, but a suppressed burst of return fire pinged sharply off the iron legs of the table right above Elena’s head. Sparks flew, showering her sleeve in a momentary cascade of heat. Silas let out a low, guttural grunt, stumbling back into the shadows behind a stack of wooden shipping crates.

He’s pinned down, Elena realized, her mind racing through the dark. If they get past him, I’m cornered.

She looked around the pitch-black space under the table. Her hand brushed against something heavy and cold on the floorboards—the forgotten crystal coffee mug from earlier.

Just outside her small iron shelter, the heavy, deliberate footsteps of a mercenary crept closer. The pale moonlight caught the glint of a polished barrel slanting downward, searching the shadows under the furniture. He was five feet away. Then four.

Elena didn't think. She gripped the handle of the mug and sent it sliding hard across the concrete floor toward the far corner of the warehouse, where it shattered loudly against an old iron generator panel.

The mercenary’s barrel instantly whipped toward the noise, his focus breaking for a fraction of a second.

That split second was all Silas needed. He lunged from behind the crates, tackling the intruder into the dirt. A brutal, breathless struggle ensued in the dark—the dull thuds of fists against flesh, a choked gasp, and then the final, definitive click of a pair of heavy boots going completely still.

Silas panted heavily in the dark, his silhouette rising slowly as he kicked the fallen weapon away. "Smart move, counselor," he breathed out, his voice raw. "But we have to move. Now. More of them are tracking the perimeter."

Before Elena could crawl out from beneath the table, the distant, unmistakable screech of tires tore through the fog outside the shipyard. Headlights cut through the warehouse doors, bathing the entire room in a blinding, golden glare as a black SUV tore through the opening, fish-tailing aggressively before slamming to a halt right in front of the iron table.

The passenger door flew open.

"Get in!" Jace yelled, his voice cutting through the smoke and chaos, his leather jacket torn at the shoulder but his eyes blazing with reckless adrenaline.

Marcus stepped out from the driver’s side, a smoking firearm in his hand and his face completely set in stone. He didn't say a word. He reached down into the shadows of the table, his massive, unyielding hand locking around Elena’s wrist and hauling her to her feet in one effortless motion, pulling her straight against his chest.

"I told you to stay put," Marcus murmured against her hair, his grip possessive, territorial, and fiercely protective as he shielded her body with his own. "The city is taken care of. Now we finish the rest."