Page 13 of Reckless Consequences

Mona gathers her things, but before she steps toward the approaching lights, she turns back to me. For a moment, the clinical mask drops completely, and I see something raw and genuine in her eyes—a flash of the person she might have been without Roman’s genetic manipulations and psychological conditioning.

“Sister,” she says, the word careful and precise on her tongue, like she’s testing its weight and flavor. “When this concludes, perhaps we could... compare notes on chess strategies. I find your chaotic approach intriguing. Unconventional. Effective despite theoretical suboptimality.”

It’s as close to “I’ll miss you” as Mona Sterling can probably manage. I smile despite everything, despite the danger, despite the revelation that I might not be what I thought I was.

“I’d like that,” I tell her, and I’m surprised to find I genuinely mean it. “And Mona? Don’t blow up Aria’s lab. She’s sensitive about fire safety.”

A genuine smile crosses her face, transforming her features into something almost mischievous. “No promises. Much scientific discovery. Possible thermal events.”

As she walks toward the waiting vehicle, she pauses, turning back one last time. “Don’t get killed,” she calls out, the words almost casual except for the intensity in her eyes. “You’re my only successful family experiment.”

The unexpected sentiment lands somewhere deep in my chest, taking root like a virus of a different kind. Something warm blooms beneath my sternum, a feeling too complex to name—a mixture of gratitude, sadness, and unexpected joy. For a brief moment, I understand what Theo means when he talks about family being a choice rather than an obligation. This strange, brilliant, damaged girl is my sister, not just by blood but by choice.

With the booster secure against my heart and Mona’s words echoing in my mind, I climb into the driver’s seat of our stolen Corolla. Twenty miles to the secondary extraction point where the pack should be waiting. Seven days to destroy everything Sterling built.

As I drive deeper into the forest, the pack bonds strengthen with each mile. Jinx’s connection comes first, his claiming mark pulsing on my neck. His cherry tobacco scent surrounds me as if he’s beside me. Through him, I sense the others—Theo’s warmth, Ryker’s strength, and Finn’s fading light, still fighting.

With each mile closer, my body responds—heart racing, senses sharpening, muscles tensing with the need to run the rest of the way. These reactions feel less foreign now, as if I’m growing into whatever I’m becoming. I press my hand against Jinx’s mark, feeling our connection not as a thread but as something unbreakable. Through him alone flows the certainty that I belong to someone who would tear apart the world to bring me home.

Somewhere out there, Ryker is fighting his way through the dawn to reach me. Somewhere beyond, Jinx watches over Theo and Finn, his wildness temporarily leashed by the need to protect. My pack, holding space for my return.

For once, I’m not running away from something.

I’m running toward home.

Chapter4

Cayenne

The red taillightsof Aria’s extraction team disappear into the darkness, taking my sister with them. Just like that, I’m alone again.

I press my hand against the injection site where Mona’s genetic blocker entered my bloodstream. The compound feels strange—like something fundamental is being muted inside me. Sterling’s genetic markers being suppressed, my mother’s DNA amplified.

A shiver runs through me as the blocker works deeper, my skin prickling with heightened sensitivity. Colors sharpen around me, the pre-dawn shadows taking on depths I couldn’t perceive before. The scent of pine and earth fills my nostrils with startling clarity, individual notes distinguishable where before I would have registered only “forest.”

Fifteen minutes until full efficacy, Mona said. I check my watch—nine minutes left.

The specialized case containing Finn’s booster weighs heavy in my jacket pocket, pressed against my ribs with each breath. His life, literally in my hands. I start walking as dawn bleeds across the horizon, turning the world from grayscale to HD. According to the road sign, there’s a gas station three miles ahead. Three miles to find transportation. Twenty more to reach the cabin.

With each step, the pack bond grows stronger. Jinx’s claiming mark throbs on my neck, sending warmth down my spine. My body yearns to return to territory that suddenly feels like mine.

By the time the gas station’s flickering lights come into view, my body has cataloged all the damage from the past twenty-four hours. Bruised ribs from Alexander’s attack. The bullet graze on my shoulder has reopened and stings with each movement.

I touch the spot where Alexander’s bullet grazed me, remembering his face in that split-second before he fired—the hesitation in his eyes, the momentary flicker of something almost human. Not enough to stop him from pulling the trigger, but enough to make me wonder what remains of the boy who once warned Mona which labs to avoid.

Beneath the pain, something else stirs—a warmth I’ve been trying to ignore. Through Jinx’s claiming mark, I can feel him—his cherry tobacco scent and wild energy pulsing against my awareness. The connection is stronger than before, more defined, as if Mona’s compound is clearing interference from the signal.

A sudden wave of arousal catches me off guard—my nipples tightening, moisture gathering between my legs. The intensity of the reaction is unsettling, more like an omega response than anything my beta body should be capable of.

I’ve been fighting it since I left, building walls to protect the pack. But as Sterling’s genetic markers are suppressed, the bond with Jinx flows more freely.

Through his connection, I can sense the others too, but faintly. Finn’s presence feels disturbingly weak, pulsing erratically, then fading to near-silence before flickering back. The intermittent nature of his presence sends fear spiraling through me. We’re running out of time.

The gas station looks like it hasn’t been updated since 1992—faded paint peeling from concrete walls, a single row of pumps that probably predate the internet. Inside, buzzing fluorescent tubes cast everything in sickly green-white.

Behind the counter, a teenager with noise-canceling headphones barely acknowledges my existence.

I grab supplies methodically. Water bottles. Protein bars. Antiseptic wipes and bandages for my shoulder. Caffeine pills because sleep is for people who don’t have a dying pack member.

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