Page 31 of Rebel for Claws
The single word cut through the chaos like a blade. He raised one hand, and the sound of footsteps echoed from every entrance to the pavilion as dozens of armed figures in tactical gear poured into the sacred space.
Human operatives. More than we planned for.
Alaric's blood turned to ice as he counted at least thirty heavily armed humans taking strategic positions throughout the pavilion. Their weapons were trained not just on Vivian, but on several of the pack leaders who had been voicing dissent.
This is going sideways fast.
Alaric felt Vivian's surprise but not fear through their mate bond. She'd expected resistance, but not this overwhelming show of force in the heart of sacred neutral ground.
Thorne smiled then, and it was the most terrifying expression Alaric had ever seen on the ancient wolf shifter's face. "Did you really think you could waltz into my domain and threaten everything I've built over four centuries?"
His voice carried easily across the now-silent pavilion. "Kill her. Kill anyone who stands with her. And make sure the survivors understand what happens to those who challenge the natural order in our territory."
The human operatives raised their weapons as one, the distinctive sound of safeties clicking off echoing like a death knell through the sacred space.
Alaric's control finally snapped.
His mate—his brave, brilliant, deadly mate—was about to face down an army, and he'd be damned if he sat there playing politics while she fought for her life.
Time to stop pretending for good.
The Alpha power that had been building inside him since the mate bond formed surged forward like a dam bursting. His eyes blazed gold as he rose from his seat, thirty years of deception and careful control finally shattered.
"Thorne, if anyone harms a single hair on her head," Alaric growled, "I'll tear you apart limb by limb while everyone here watches."
THIRTEEN
VIVIAN
Vivian pressed her comms, her voice steady despite the deadly tableau surrounding her. "Things have taken a turn for the worst," she transmitted to the team positioned outside. "Thirty heavily armed human operatives taking strategic positions throughout the pavilion."
The human operatives moved with military precision, their weapons trained not just on her but on several pack leaders who had voiced dissent after her explosive revelations about Thorne. Alpha Garrett of the Granite Ridge pack had gone pale, his hands raised slightly as a rifle barrel pointed at his chest.
Thorne planned this. He was ready for exposure after Alaric's return.
"Their weapons are trained on the dissenting pack leaders too," she continued through her comms, her eyes scanning the tactical nightmare unfolding around her.
Logan's deep voice crackled through her earpiece. "We're on it."
The words had barely finished when Alaric's control finally shattered. His formal suit couldn't contain the raw Alpha power radiating from his frame as he charged toward Thorne's elevated position behind the semicircular elder's table.
My mate. My fierce, protective mate finally dropping his mask publicly.
Their mate bond pulsed with Alaric's barely contained fury, and Vivian felt her own power responding to his Alpha energy. Her violet eyes began to glow as ancient magic stirred within her blood.
Just as Alaric charged toward Thorne, the pavilion's entrances exploded with activity. Logan, Damon, Malcolm, Kieran, Elena, Zoe, and Maya burst through multiple entry points simultaneously, their synchronized assault catching the human operatives completely off guard.
"Now!" Vivian dropped to her knees, rolling behind one of the stone pillars as rifle fire erupted throughout the sacred space.
The ancient pavilion transformed into a war zone. Logan moved like liquid death, his auburn hair catching sunlight as he disarmed two operatives with brutal efficiency. Zoe's dark brown wolf form with shimmering honey patches on her belly materialized in a flash as she took down another gunman.
Perfect timing. Our prophecy group fighting for our protection.
Vivian reached behind her back and drew one of her twin handcrafted swords, the weight familiar and comforting in her palm. With liquid grace, she launched the blade through the air toward Alaric.
"Behind you!" she called out as an operative tried to flank him.
The sword sang through the air, and Alaric's hand closed around the hilt with predatory satisfaction. His formal jacket tore as he spun, the blade slicing through his attacker's rifle strap with surgical precision.
