Page 51 of Rebel for Claws
Fifteen minutes later, the sound of approaching footsteps through the snow announced the arrival of their backup team. Logan emerged first, his auburn hair disheveled and his tactical gear splattered with evidence of the firefight they'd left behind.
"Status report," Alaric commanded without looking up from Vivian's bandaged wound.
"Thorne's gone." Logan's voice carried frustration and barely controlled anger. "Son of a bitch jumped into that black vehicle with the evidence bag the moment the shooting started. By the time we cleared the operatives, he was already disappearing over the ridge."
Damon appeared beside Logan, his dark clothing torn and his green eyes hard with battle-ready intensity. "We counted thirty-seven down, but at least a dozen escaped with vehicles. This was planned—he knew we were coming."
Of course he did. The bastard's been playing this game for four centuries.
Alaric's enhanced hearing caught the slight wheeze in Vivian's breathing, the subtle changes that indicated silver was beginning to affect her system. Without hesitation, he pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number.
"Cade? It's Alaric. I need an emergency extraction—two SUVs, nine passengers, coordinates I'm about to send you." His voice carried the authority of an Alpha issuing non-negotiable commands. "And Cade? We have silver poisoning to treat, so fast as you can."
While they waited, Kieran and Malcolm worked to apply more professional field dressings to Vivian's wound, their movements efficient despite the concern etched across their faces. Maya monitored Vivian's pulse and breathing, her medical training evident in the way she assessed symptoms.
She's getting paler. The silver's spreading through her system.
"One hour until Cade arrives," Alaric announced after ending the call, though his attention never wavered from Vivian's face. Every flutter of her eyelashes, and every slight change in herbreathing pattern registered in his consciousness with painful clarity.
An hour later, the journey back to his estate passed in a blur of controlled urgency. Cade's vehicles arrived precisely on schedule, and Alaric spent the entire ride with Vivian's head pillowed in his lap, monitoring her condition while his mind raced through contingency plans and worst-case scenarios.
If I lose her now, after everything we've been through...
The thought was too devastating to complete.
Back at his Silvercrest estate, Alaric carried Vivian directly to his private chambers, bypassing the guest suite entirely. This was no time for propriety or maintaining appearances—she needed the immediate access to his emergency medical supplies, and more importantly, she needed to be where he could watch over her every moment.
His hands moved with practiced efficiency as he removed the concealed panel behind his bookshelf, revealing a collection of rare herbal treatments he'd accumulated over decades of Alpha leadership. The silver poisoning antidote was a combination of ancient remedies and modern chemistry—expensive, difficult to obtain, and absolutely essential for treating injuries from specialized weapons.Thank God I kept this stash updated.
"Drink this," he commanded gently, supporting Vivian's head as he held the bitter-smelling concoction to her lips. "I know it tastes like hell, but it will neutralize the silver in your bloodstream."
She managed a weak smile despite her condition. "Worse than your cooking?"
Despite everything—the failed mission, the silver poisoning, the uncertainty of their future—Alaric found himself smiling back. "Significantly worse, but considerably more effective at keeping you alive."
As the herbal treatment began its work, Alaric settled into the chair beside his bed, his enhanced senses monitoring every subtle change in her condition. Her breathing was becoming steadier, and the unhealthy pallor was fading from her skin as the antidote counteracted the silver's effects.She's going to be fine. She's going to recover.
The relief that flooded through him was so intense it left him momentarily lightheaded.
Heavy footsteps in the hallway announced the arrival of his sons before they even knocked. Kieran and Malcolm burst through the chamber doors with the urgency of men carrying devastating news, their faces grim with barely controlled panic.
"Father, we just received word from Lena," Kieran began without preamble, his eyes dark with worry. "While we were hunting Thorne, coordinated strikes hit both pack leadership homes and rebel safehouses throughout the territory."
The words hit Alaric hard, stealing his breath and making his enhanced senses spike with predatory alertness. "How many casualties?"
Malcolm's diplomatic composure cracked as he delivered the rest of the news. "We don't have full reports yet, but initial intelligence suggests dozens of locations were hit simultaneously. Leadership families, rebellion commanders, anyone who's been vocal about reform..."
A systematic purge. While we were chasing shadows, Thorne was eliminating his opposition.
Alaric's hands clenched into fists as rage—pure, incandescent rage—flooded through his enhanced system. The partial mate bond thrummed with dangerous energy as his wolf clawed at the surface, demanding blood and vengeance.
From the bed, Vivian's voice cut through his fury with razor-sharp clarity. "How many of my people?"
The question hung in the air like a death sentence, and Alaric realized that their personal war with Thorne had just escalated beyond anything they'd imagined.
TWENTY-THREE
VIVIAN
