Page 49 of Forbidden Bonds
I want to fucking end him, but I only have eyes for my mate. I stagger to my feet, head still ringing and vision blurred, and drop to my knees beside her. I drag her into my arms, tip my head back, and roar.
She still doesn’t move.
Her mind is… quiet. Too quiet. My bond scrabbles for her and finds only silence where she should be.
My mind is full of white noise and mania. “No, no, no.” My hands are frantic as I try to find the source of the bleeding, like I might stem the flow.
A hand touches my shoulder and my head whips around. Lucian is standing beside me in full tactical combat gear. I blink up at him, stupefied, gulping deep breaths. My face is wet. So are my hands, covered in her blood.
Ethan roars. On the edge of my peripheral vision, I see him get zapped, and he slumps before they manhandle him out.
“We need to go, Rhett,” Lucian says.
I drag her limp body closer.Go?A terrible, hoarse sound leaves my throat before I can frame words. “Help me,” I beg. “Help me!”
“She’s gone, Rhett. You know she’s gone.”
Scuffles follow. The non-dynamics are cuffed and bundled out in a blur of movement. Ahead of me, Cohen is shouting incoherently, spittle flying from his mouth, like Larissa washisfucking mate.
I begin to shake. It feels like my body is rupturing.
“We need to move,” Lucian repeats, gently. “Bring her.”
Yes. I need to take her out of here. Take her home, back to her nest. She loved that nest. She’ll want to go there.
I stagger up, her weight slack in my arms, blind to everything but the need to get her home.
Five hours earlier…
“You want to shoot my mate.”
Ethan shrugs. “Usually, I picture strangling her. But that won’t work as well…”
A savage snarl rips out of me before I can stop it.
“Steady,” Lucian murmurs to my right. “Let’s hear him out.”
“Yes,” Ethan continues. “Shooting is more practical. A single round to the center of the chest?—”
“It’s not an actual bullet,” Zeb steps in, as if sensing I’m about to launch myself across the table and rip Ethan Black’s head off.
Not that I could, barehanded. But I’m prepared to give it a fucking try.
“She would be wearing an armored vest,” Zeb says. “It disperses the impact. Minimal bruising. Just enough to knock her backward. It will look dramatic. A sensor-triggered blood bag will burst. At the same instant, a chemical release would effectively leave her insentient.”
“Nobody’s drugging my mate.” My teeth grind. “Nobody touches her. And…minimalfuckingbruising? Really?!”
“Rhett, please.” She places a hand on my arm. “I want to hear what they have to say.”
“We’ve used this technique before,” Woodrow says. “When we need individuals to disappear off the radar. Otherwise Larissa will always be a target. Ordinary freedom is off the table. Her value is too great. You know that.”
“That isn’t much of a choice. You’re telling her she has to be a prisoner here or somewhere else.”
“She’s also your mate,” Woodrow points out baldly. “The two of you cannot be apart, even for short periods of time. What would freedom even look like for her when you’re agoraphobic?”
“And whose fucking fault is that?” Lucian growls.
“Not mine,” Woodrow says smoothly. “But that does not change the facts.”
