Page 41 of Venom Island
“Since earlier this week.” I slowly set my net back down on the ground, the bags slipping from my shoulders. “The Andorra Sector and Winter Sector Alphas took him out.”
“And sent you here?” she asks, a hint of wicked amusement tilting her lips.
“No.” I fold my arms, her increasing hostility sending off warning bells in my head. “What’s going on, Fran?” We used to be friends—more than that on occasion, actually—but I’m definitely not getting friendly vibes from her right now.
It’s also been well over a decade since I last saw her.
All these years, I thought she was dead.Has she actually been here the entire time?
“You tell me, Riq,” she counters, her gaze narrowing. “Why are you here?”
“Did you happen to see the jet I crashed last night?” I offer, not wanting to give her any other details. Especially since we’re not alone.
I’ve picked up two more approaching scents, both of them familiar, but I can’t quite place their identities.
“Yeah. Looked like a fancy piece of machinery,” she drawls. “Can’t imagine the owner of it will be all that pleased.”
“No, I doubt he will be.” Especially since it had been carrying nine precious Omegas, all of whom are now scattered about Exiled Sector.
“And who is he, exactly?” a masculine voice asks, drawing my gaze to one of the owners of the familiar scent I caught.
Philippe.
Shit.
It’s like I’m meeting with past ghosts.
“Carlos?” he presses.
“I just said Carlos is dead,” I tell him, aware that he absolutely heard me say that to Francesca.
“And you expect us to believe you?” a third person asks, the masculine tone making my wolf growl inside.
Xavier.
He tried to kill Carlos thirty years ago. He lost. Hedied.
Yet his blue eyes are bright with challenge as he steps through the hotel’s front entrance to join us all in the main hallway.
What the fuck is going on here?
I’m surrounded by three supposedly dead Alphas.
They’re all staring at me intently, their intense gazes seeming to see right through me.
These three are not like all the Alphas I took on overnight. They’re intelligent. Completely coherent. And very ready to accept a challenge.
This is not good. Not good at all.
Caja is out there—alone—and about to go into heat.
I don’t have fucking time to address past grievances.
Yet here we are.
“He looks surprised to see us,” Francesca notes, her gaze narrowing in suspicion.
“That’s because I am surprised to see you,” I tell her through my teeth. “What the hell did you expect? I thought all of you were dead.” I glance at Xavier. “I watched you fucking die.” My focus swings to Philippe. “And I haven’t seen you in over fifty years. Where the hell have you been?”
