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Chapter 20 - Zane

I lunge toward her, everything else forgotten. My world narrows to a single point—Maisie, her hand stretching to grab mine, her mouth forming the shape of my name, those lips I love so much—

Bodies swarm between us. I am thrown to the side, and she is swept away, out of my line of sight.

A boot lands on my ribs. I’ve hardly hit the wall from the impact before I’m moving again, my breath coming hard and fast, my heart slamming against my ribcage. I’m barely on my feet before, again, I’m sent sprawling, hitting the wet ground with a bone-jarring thud as a body hits me hard.

Blood fills my mouth. I spit it to the rain-soaked ground and buck the attacker off me, throwing him to the ground.

The sound of boots splashing in the downpour is all I hear before I roll to my feet, snarling.

Two of them, both shifters, eyes glowing with the same predatory intent I’ve seen too many times before. One on either side of me.

Easy pickings.

My instincts kick in before I can even think. Fight .

One comes at me with a wild punch, veering with its force. I duck, my fist powering into his ribs. He doubles over.

The second is on me before I can follow through.

I twist, grappling with him, but he’s fast. Strong too. He grabs my arm, wrenching it behind my back, and pain shoots up my shoulder. I grit my teeth against the agony and slam my head backward.

My skull bashes against his nose, and there is a sharp cracking noise. He lets out a grunt, his grip loosening just enough for me to twist free.

I don’t hesitate. My wolf surges forward, and I give in.

The shift rips through me like fire, my bones cracking and stretching, muscles reshaping as fur bristles across my skin. It’s a violent, brutal change, but I don’t care. The moment I’m on four paws, everything sharpens—the scent of blood in the air, the slick ground beneath me, the heartbeats of my enemies.

The first shifter barely has time to react before I’m on him, my jaws closing around his throat. He lets out a gurgling scream as I tear him apart, blood spraying across the alleyway.

His body crumples, lifeless, before it even has time to hit the ground.

I whip around, snarling. The second shifter hesitates, eyes wide as I turn on him. But it’s too late. Maybe he’s thinking of transforming, too, trying to better his odds.

But I’m faster.

I leap, claws sinking into his chest as I drag him down. He struggles, but it’s futile. My teeth find his neck, and I crunch down until I feel the snap of his spine beneath my teeth.

It’s all over in seconds.

I stand there, panting, the taste of blood heavy on my tongue. The rain pours down harder now, but even it can’t dull the fiery rage in me. My fur is soaked, matted on my body. I shake off, licking my lips, trying to savor the taste of my enemies’ deaths.

My chest heaves as I shift back into my human form, the familiar ache of the change lingering in my bones. I don’t even take a moment to catch my breath.

I turn and lock my eyes on Maisie.

And my heart seizes.

She’s on her knees, arms pinned behind her. The gun is back at her throat, the man she escaped from holding her fast. Blood is dripping down the side of her face, mixing with the rain. She’s conscious, but barely, her eyes unfocused, her body swaying. She’s on the edge of collapse.

And the man holding her… I recognize him instantly.

Brendan. The slick, silver-haired second-in-command of the Haverwood pack.

He was there at the very beginning, the first gala Maisie and I ever infiltrated. I remember now; I was recording his conversation, but it gave us nothing.

A chill runs through me at the realization.

I should’ve known they’d send him. His reputation is not a kind one. Always the hunter, always watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. Less a second-in-command than a hunting dog.

His smile is a cold, twisted thing as he tightens his grip on Maisie.

“You’re a damn fool, Cox,” he sneers. “All this subterfuge, all these games of dress-up—did you really think you could pull one over on us? On me?”

I growl, slowly raising my hands in surrender. “Let her go. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let her go.”

He chuckles, low and mocking, as if the idea amuses him.

“Let her go?” His grip tightens on Maisie’s hair, yanking her head back, exposing more of her throat to the gun. Her terrified eyes meet mine. My wolf snarls to be set loose again, frantic, protective, enraged. “Oh, I don’t think so. You see, you and your little pet here—” He jerks her head to the side, causing her to wince. “—You’re the reason we’re here tonight. We’ve been watching you. We’ve known for weeks, watching you playing your little game. But the thing is… we decided to play back.”

The revelation hits me like a punch to the gut. They knew. They’ve known for a while. Here, we were assuming it was getting easier, assuming we were getting better at our act, but they were using us all along. Watching us.

“You’ve been guiding our hand for weeks,” Brendan continues, his voice cold and smug. “We didn’t need to track your pathetic team down, you brought them right to us.”

Rage burns through me, hot and consuming. “You’re lying.”

He laughs again. “Am I? You were never much good at your act. All along, you were too emotional. It was obvious you cared too much about—” His eyes flick to Maisie, a predatory gleam in them.

“Let her go,” I say again, a mantra more than a threat. “Let her go, Brendan, and you can leave here alive.”

“Hmm. Hit a nerve?” He laughs cruelly. “I must say, she’s good, though. Really good. I can see why you let her tag along. She almost had me fooled, I’ll give her that. But you know, I think she’ll be even better working for me. I’ve been watching her… She’s got potential. I could put her to use, make her one of ours. After all, she’s so good at pretending.”

The insinuation—his sick, twisted suggestion—sends a wave of fury crashing through me. My vision goes red, my pulse thundering in my ears. The thought of him controlling her, using her, breaking her will…

“Shut your mouth,” I snarl, taking a step forward. “Or I’ll rip your throat out.”

Brendan’s smile widens, full of dark amusement. “I’d love to see you try.”

His hand tightens on the gun, pressing it harder against Maisie’s skin. I can see the tremble in her body, the strain in her eyes as she fights to stay calm, and it kills me. I want nothing more than to tear him apart, to end him right here and now. But I can’t risk it.

One wrong move, and he’ll pull the trigger.

“You want to save her, ‘Markus’?” Brendan taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Go ahead. Make your move. But I promise you, she’ll be dead before you take your second step.”

My heart pounds, fury warring with helplessness. I need to think. I need to act fast.

Maisie is crying again, tears running down her cheeks in earnest.

“I’m going to kill you,” I vow, my voice low and dangerous. “I swear to God, I’m going to tear you limb from limb.”

Brendan chuckles again, the sound grating against my nerves. “Oh, you can try. But when I’m done with you, “Vivian” here will come home with me, and then I’ll take a look at what she can really do. Whether she likes it or not.”

I take a step forward, my muscles coiled tight, ready to spring.

Brendan’s eyes gleam with challenge, his finger twitching on the trigger.

The moment stretches out, impossibly lengthy. I can’t move. But I have to. But I—

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Maisie speaks.

“Zane…”

Her voice, barely audible over the rain, is the thread that snaps me out of my fury. It’s weak, trembling, but there's a quiet resolve beneath it.

Her gaze locks with mine, and even through her pain, there’s something else there—something calculated.

I’ve seen that look before. She has a plan.

Suddenly, her body shifts in Brendan’s grip. It’s as if time has slowed down. The movement I stretched like a stuttering videotape. I see her hand moving upward through the air, fingers brushing along the back of his neck, like she’s steadying herself to grip.

I know exactly what she’s doing before it even happens.

Maisie, with all her medical knowledge of shifter anatomy, knows precisely where to strike.

I see the tension in her fingers, the precision in the way she digs her short, red nails into the pressure point—that vital juncture where even a shifter’s powerful body can be momentarily paralyzed.

Brendan’s eyes widen in shock as his grip falters. His gun slips.

Just a fraction, but it’s all the opening I need.

I move.

Before he can react, I’m on him. I rip his arm away from Maisie, then hurl him against the wall like a ragdoll, then crunch the heel of my boot against his femur until it snaps.

He screams. I twist his wrist back until it breaks. The sound of his bones snapping beneath my grip is satisfying but not enough. I slam him into the ground, my knee digging into his chest as he gasps, still reeling from Maisie’s strike. He looks up at me, his eyes wide with something I’m certain he hasn’t felt in years: fear.

“You messed with the wrong pack,” I growl, my voice a deep, guttural snarl.

I don’t give him time to respond. My fist connects with his jaw, and I feel the sharp crack of bone. He struggles, trying to shift, but I pin him down. Rage courses through me, raw and primal, and I let it loose, transforming.

Brendan could be a dead pig—he could be a slab of meat for all the care I take in tearing him apart.

I dig my claws into his throat, ripping through muscle and sinew. His body convulses beneath me, but unfortunately, it’s over far too quickly. His eyes go glassy as his life drains away.

For a long moment, I stay there, panting, blood dripping from my jaw. Brendan’s body is beneath me, silent and lifeless, already growing cold. The rage inside me slowly cools, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

I change back, wiping blood off my face. I tilt my head back and the rain hits my face for a moment, washing it clean.

Then I remember Maisie.

I turn, my heart clenching as I see her crumpled on the ground, still shivering from the cold and shock. Blood streaks down her face, and she’s barely holding herself upright.

“Maisie,” I whisper, my voice rough with emotion.

I’m beside her in an instant, scooping her up into my arms.

She’s still shaking, so fragile in my grip. Warm and alive but utterly wrecked, so exhausted that she can no longer hold herself together. I hold her close to me so tightly that it’s like if I let go, she might disappear.

Her arms wrap weakly around my neck. I can feel it running through her body as she sobs against mine, the adrenaline crash and the pain finally catching up to her.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur, my voice barely a rasp. “I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Hot tears spill down her cheeks into my shirt, mixing with the rain and blood. She clings to me, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

“Zane,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Zane…” She repeats my name like a prayer.

Shushing her gently, I tighten my hold on her. I struggle to my feet, hefting her up into my arms, then cradling her head against my chest as I start to move, sprinting for the edge of the alley, heading for the woods behind the property.

“It’s not your fault,” I murmur in her ear. “We’re getting out of here.”

Her fingers curl into my shirt. She holds tight to me as if I’m the only thing she can rely on. Maybe I am. I press a kiss to the top of her head, the rain soaking us both as I run, feet pounding against the ground.

We break through the edge of the forest, the trees closing in around us, offering some small shelter from the storm. I slow my pace, keeping her tight against me as I weave through the underbrush.

“I’m never letting you go on a mission again,” I vow, my voice fierce but trembling with the force of my emotion. “Never. You hear me?”

Maisie lets out a soft sob, her face buried against my chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Never again,” I cut her off, emphatic. “Never again. You’re going back to Rosecreek, and I’m going to make sure—”

Her apologies halt all of a sudden.

“Stop it,” she whispers, her voice so quiet I almost don’t hear it over the rain.

My chest tightens, and I grip her closer to me. “Maisie, it’s okay, you hit your head—”

“Zane, stop.”

As if slapped, I halt in my tracks, just inside the tree line.

On Maisie’s insistence, I lower her gently to the ground. Her legs are still weak, so I hover close, but she makes a motion with her hands as if to encourage me to give her a bit of space.

“I need a minute,” she keeps gasping. “I just need a second. Give me a second, Zane, I mean it.” She rubs her hand against her injured temple.

“I’m taking you back to the pack center—”

Something hard and unrelenting splashes across her features. I’ve never seen it there before.

She turns to stare at me through the pressing darkness as if she’s never seen me before. Like I’m a stranger, or like something has occurred to her suddenly that she’d never considered before.

Then, clearly, she snaps: “Zane, no. ”

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