Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

brIAR

" P atrick?" I breathe as I take in his disheveled appearance. His usually neatly styled hair is in disarray, his typically perfectly pressed clothes wrinkled, and his formerly classically handsome face sallow and sunken.

In short, he looks like shit. The petty part of me enjoys that way more than I should.

He's standing halfway down the sooty limestone alley, his shiny black dress shoes a contrast to the dirty cobblestone floor. In his black pinstriped suit and solid black tie, Patrick looks like a wannabe gangster. The shiny silver and black pistol he's holding at his side completes the bad-guy look he's going for.

"Briar, do you know much trouble you've caused me?" Patrick spits. His mouth twists in a sneer as he takes in the five of us. "I knew you were a whore just like your mother, but I didn't think the alpha heir was stupid enough to fall for your pathetic charms. And a mage, really? You're a disgrace to Dido's line."

A red haze coats my vision at Patrick mentioning my mom. "Don't fucking talk about her," I snarl as I attempt to lunge at him. Malachi's hand shoots out and wraps around my left wrist before I can get far. As I'm tugged to a stop, I try to get a handle on my anger. Insulting me is fine, but the second he talks about my mom or mates, I have the urge to throat punch him. Charging at him in a blind rage is probably what he wants, so that's the last thing I should be doing.

Patrick raises the gun and aims it at Malachi's head. "I don't want to kill you, Wyldhart, but I will if you stand in my way. Let her go, and you four will live to see another day. Is she really worth it?"

"No, I'm not," I answer for him.

At the same time, Malachi hauls me back into his chest. "Yes, she absolutely is. There's no way you win this, Patrick. So, drop the gun and walk away."

Patrick throws his head back and cackles, his laugh is the most unhinged sound I've ever heard. I never particularly thought Patrick was crazy, just a horrible person. Now, however? I'm wondering if he was ever all there.

His laugh turns to coughing that racks his slimmer-than-usual frame. He raises his hand not holding the gun to his mouth. When he lowers it, it's covered in blood.

Well, that's not good.

For him.

Personally, I would delight in seeing him choke on his own blood. It would make my day.

Is that sentiment a little sociopathic?

Probably.

Do I care?

Not even slightly. He deserves it for what he did to my mom and likely my dad.

"That's the thing, boy. I have much more at stake in this fight than you do. My life is on the line if I don't bring her in. It's not just an easy lay and a disappointing pussy for me. If you're as smart as your father thinks you are, hand her over. Now."

Eww. I physically cringe at Patrick's words. A shiver of revulsion snakes down my spine as I fight my body's instinct to be anywhere other than here with Patrick.

I can't believe he just said that. I know he's never been a parent to me, but it's still wildly uncomfortable having him talk about my pussy. And I'm not an easy lay, for his information. I'm at least an average-to-mildly-difficult lay, thank you very much.

"Who are you working for, Patrick?" Malachi infuses alpha command into his voice.

Patrick flashes him a sharklike grin but doesn't answer the question. "That won't work on me, Wyldhart. They've found an antidote to alpha commands. I don't answer to anyone now."

Well, that's new. I didn't know anyone was even looking for an antidote to alpha commands. Although, I can see why people would. It has to be annoying to be able to be ordered to do things against your will by your alpha. I wonder if this alpha command antidote has anything to do with how ill Patrick looks and why he's coughing up blood.

"Except for the people you're worried about killing you, whoever they are," I mumble under my breath.

His eyes narrow on me, and he lowers the gun until it's pointing at my head.

Lovely.

Who doesn't enjoy having a gun aimed at their face? Although, I do prefer this to him pointing it at any of my mates.

"You don't know anything!" he screams at me. "I'm the one who picked the winning side! I'm the one who isn't blinded by the bullshit packs spew. I'm the one smart enough to see that the only wolves who have a future are the ones who work with the Knights!"

I gasp in shock that he would stoop so low as to work with them. Although, I really don't know why I'm surprised. Patrick has only ever been interested in helping himself, no matter the cost to anyone else. The Knights of Aeneas are dedicated to the complete and total eradication of all supernaturals. So Patrick, logically, thinks they would be great partners for him to be evil with.

That makes sense. I'm sure nothing bad will happen to him after they get what they want.

"How long have you been working for them, Patrick?" I ask, disgusted by him more than I thought possible. Being willing to sell my family out is one thing, but selling out supernaturals as a whole is another. Thinking about my family makes my blood run cold as I realize something. "Did you kill my dad for the Knights?"

A slow smile spreads across Patrick's face. He looks so pleased with himself it makes me want to barf. "Ah, you figured that out, did you? My only task was to make your mother fall in love with me. When that proved challenging, I took out the competition. Even without your disgrace of a father, your mother was too loyal for me to sway. I blackmailed her, which was far easier but less satisfying."

"Why?" I choke out.

Patrick grins at me, the sadistic bastard taking joy in my suffering as usual. "Why else? Money."

A high-pitch ringing starts up in my ears, and the whole alley fades in and out of focus. I blink rapidly, trying to make the world make sense again. He killed both of my parents. For money. For a few extra fucking bucks.

A scream builds in my throat, but I force it back down. Saint, however, lets out a wordless shout, finally meeting the man who took his parents and his mate from him. I turn around and throw myself at him, partially to comfort him and partially to stop him from charging at Patrick.

Being a mage, Saint's the most physically vulnerable of all of us. If Patrick shoots him in the head, the heart, or any major artery, he's dead. For shifters, it takes major trauma to the head or the heart that's beyond our healing capacities to kill us. It'll take a few head or heart shots to take us down, but shifters are much more killable than, say, vampires or fae. I refuse to let Patrick take another person from me.

"Saint! Stop. Please." My plea breaks through the haze of pain clouding his judgement. Saint glances down at me, and his face crumples. An ocean of sorrow crosses Saint's storm-gray eyes for a moment before his expression completely shuts down. He robotically lifts his head to glare at Patrick. I swallow uneasily at the change in Saint, but I have to relegate that to the box of problems for once we get out of this.

I turn back around to face Patrick, feeling a strange mixture of pure rage burning through my bones and devastation weighing down my body. As soon as I'm facing forward again, Malachi snags my wrist and pulls me back into his side, like he's worried I'll disappear if he isn't holding me.

"As touching as this scene is, I am on a deadline," Patrick drawls sarcastically. He cocks his handgun and aims it at Malachi again. His finger moves to the trigger as he watches us. "Hand her over. You have five seconds before I start shooting. I can guarantee I'll take at least two of you down with me. I have faster reflexes than the Knights, so choose wisely, Wyldhart. You know she isn't worth it. Five, four, three, two."

My heart feels like it's in my throat, and it's hard to hear anything past my pulse roaring in my ears. He might be bluffing about being able to take two of my mates out with him, but I'm not willing to take that chance.

Before Patrick can say "one," I stomp on Malachi's instep, taking him by surprise. He grunts and loosens his hold on my wrist, which is all I need to break free. I dart over to Patrick before he can stop me.

When I reach Patrick, he roughly grabs my hair, wrenching my neck back, and spins me around to face my mates. He digs the cold barrel of the gun into my head hard enough to hurt. Involuntary tears spring to my eyes at the pain searing my scalp, but I refuse to let them fall.

Malachi lunges after me, but it's too late. "Briar!" he screams as Xander and Bastian hold him back. He thrashes in their hold, trying to get to me.

"Uh-uh. I wouldn't if I were you. One twitch, and you'll be picking up pieces of her skull all over this alley. The Knights want her alive but killing her is still an option." I can hear Patrick's smug smile as he gloats over his victory. Malachi stills at the threat, not moving a single muscle as he stares at Patrick with fury lining his face.

I briefly close my eyes, trying to think of a way out of this, but I can't come up with anything that keeps both my mates and me safe. Even my wolf isn't much help in this scenario, and my unreliable magic is more of a hazard than an advantage right now.

I will sacrifice myself over and over again if it keeps them out of harm's way, so going with Patrick is the only play I can think of. Maybe once the Wyldharts and Saint are safe, I can fight Patrick. Until then, I just have to go along with it.

Opening my eyes, my gaze finds Malachi. "I'm sorry," I mouth to him. I know he'll feel like this is his fault, but it's not. It's no one's fault other than Patrick's. And the Knights, obviously. Because those twat waffles won't leave me alone.

"Don't you fucking dare, Briar," Malachi orders, his voice lashing out like a whip. I give him a small, sad smile because there's nothing either of us can do about the situation right now.

Patrick's grip tightens on my hair. A whimper gets stuck in my throat, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's hurting me. He's silent for a long moment before he exhales harshly. "I can't believe it," he whispers. "The Wyldhart heirs are your mates. I wonder what they did to piss off fate to pair them with a whore like you."

Oh, for fuck's sake. Can't he find something interesting to call me other than a whore? Like an asshat or a jerk taco or a douche muffin. Any of those are way more creative than his repetitive insult.

I'm not sure what it says about me that this is what my mind chooses to focus on in a life-or-death situation, but we're rolling with it. It's better than me freaking out, at least.

"Yes, she is," Malachi growls, the sound raising the hair on the back of my neck. "You know we won't just let you walk away with her."

Patrick sighs deeply. "I guess I'll just have to kill all of you, then." He hasn't even finished his sentence before he pulls the trigger, and a deafening boom shakes the alley.

"No!" I scream as everything seems to happen in slow motion. The world moves so slowly that I can see the bullet as it inches its way toward Malachi's face. I'm helpless to do anything but watch in horror. My rage and hopelessness and grief and pain seem to boil in my chest before exploding out of me in a violent, chaotic wave.

I'm not really sure what happens next as the world resumes its normal speed. One moment, I'm trapped in Patrick's hold watching Malachi get shot. The next, I'm free and covered in a sticky liquid. Looking around in confusion, I see Malachi rushing toward me. Unharmed. No extra hole in his head in sight.

My knees buckle under me, but Malachi crushes me to his chest before I can hit the ground. He holds me in his strong arms for a long moment before pulling back. Bastian and Xander swoop in for a lingering hug next, Bastian plastered to my front and Xander to my back. I savor their comfort as they hold me almost desperately.

When they step back, I look around the alley in confusion. I don't find Patrick, but I see what looks like blood and… human tissue splattered all across the back of the alley. Squinting, I can even make out parts of the pinstriped suit Patrick was wearing. Looking down at myself, I notice that I'm also covered in blood and unidentified goo.

Gross.

"What…?" I start, but I have to swallow around my suddenly parched throat a few times before I can continue. "What happened?"

"Your magic came out, little shadow. You somehow made Patrick explode, which I didn't even know was possible." Saint is the last to reach me. He squeezes me to him so tightly I can barely breathe, but I don't complain. I let him hold me as long as he wants to, the whole time trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I blew up Patrick—or, well, my magic did.

It seems strangely anticlimactic somehow. All these years of beatings he put me through, and he's just gone in an instant. I'm not complaining, because he got a very gruesome death from what I can see of the alley, but it just doesn't really feel real.

Saint eventually pulls back to level me with a glare cold enough to make me flinch. "Don't you ever fucking do that again! I could've protected us with a shield, Briar! A defensive dome stops bullets and would've kept us all safe. But the second you ran to him, that option went out the window. When you decide to lone ranger a situation, you put all of us in danger!"

I shrink back at his rightful anger. Hanging my head, I absorb what he said. He's right. I didn't stop to think about what Saint could do. I saw Patrick and reverted to the Briar I was during every one of the beatings. The Briar who didn't know about magic, wolves, or anything supernatural. The Briar who just rolled over and let Patrick hurt her to keep her family safe.

I put everyone in danger by not thinking anything through. If that doesn't make me feel like the scum of the earth, I don't know what would. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

Saint grinds his teeth for a moment before shaking his head at me. "I know you are, but I don't think it's a good idea for me to be around you right now, Briar, not with how angry I am. I can portal you four back to the room and focus on cleaning up here. That should give me a chance to calm down."

Saint waits for me to nod. When I wordlessly agree while studiously avoiding looking at him, he sighs but doesn't say anything. A red-ringed portal opens in front of me. With one last glance back at Saint, who's radiating rage and heartbreak, I step through, leaving the horror show in the alley behind.