Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Zane

A nger from the argument with Scottie burns through my veins as I pummel the speed bag in the gym. I hate fighting with her. I knew she'd be mad about leaving her behind, but I didn't want her hurt. She could never stay mad at us before. I thought this would be the same. Ask forgiveness, not permission. I thought we'd go out, gather intel and no one would be any the wiser.

It didn't work out like that.

I've never seen her like this. She was stubborn and hot-headed, sure, but I loved her fire.

Now she's ice.

I thought my girl was in there and I could coax her back to me. Maybe she's not.

She had sex with Tucker.

The thundering of fists to leather echoes all around me. I'm fucking murderous. My need to kill has my beast pacing, darker and more primal than ever.

I'm losing control.

I still smell it. That scent—Scottie's sweat, their sex, and his fucking shifter musk all over her flesh. Fucking Tucker.

Images bombard my mind of the two of them tangled up together, their scents entwined. It makes my blood boil and my fangs ache to break flesh.

It's a raw wound that won't stop bleeding.

I pull my bottom lip across the points of my incisors and tear the flesh. The rush of warm blood floods my mouth. It hurts, but not nearly enough.

Pushing back from the bag, I punch my fist into the mirrored wall. The silvered surface shatters beneath my knuckles and angular shards fall to the floor. I pick up a jagged piece and turn it on myself.

SCOTS

Her name is etched into my left pec, bleeding down my chest and abs. She used to be etched into my very soul, but now I'm empty and all alone.

I thought she'd hear me out, and we'd work through it—that she loved me. I thought she just had to remember how amazing we were together.

But she had sex with Tucker.

My feet are moving unbidden as my beast breaks free of my control. His fucking scent stings my sinuses and offends my olfactory system, blinding me to anything beyond the need to fucking wipe him out of my life.

I find him in the garage, leaning against the hood of the SUV, his arms crossed over his chest like he hasn't got a care in the world. The door flies open, breaking off its bottom hinge and puncturing the drywall where it hits.

Tucker looks up, and his eyebrows lift slightly as he takes in my expression. "Evening, Zane. Your chest seems to have sprung a leak. Nice penmanship, though."

"Stay the fuck away from Scottie," I snarl, my voice low and dangerous.

Tucker tilts his head, studying me with those sharp, dark eyes of his. He sees the bloody shard of mirror in my hand and a faint smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "Scottie is a grown woman who can make her own decisions."

My hand tightens around the shard, the mirror cutting into my palm. "She's not making good ones right now, but I'm not talking to her. I'm talking to you."

He straightens, shaking his hands out at his sides, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, as if this is some kind of joke. "You can't order me off because you're territorial. Scottie and I have a connection. It's new, but it's real. I won't walk away just because you can't handle it."

The words hit me like a slap. "You don't understand what's at stake here. Scottie needs to focus, and she can't do that with you getting into her head."

He raises an eyebrow, his amusement fading, replaced by something harder. "You mean she can't focus with me getting into her bed ."

I rush forward. With all my speed and anger, I throw myself at him, swiping forward with my makeshift blade.

The asshole is fast. Tucker counters quickly and slaps away my thrust. Gripping my wrist, he twists until bones snap. I drop the shard with a grunt, but the pain only makes me madder.

I take a run at him. He kicks the piece of broken mirror under the Lamborghini and shoves me back.

I take another run, intending to shoulder-tackle him against the nearest wall and make him listen.

He doesn't budge. "What the fuck are you?"

He grins. "That's none of your business."

I push off him and throw my hands in the air. "You don't get it. This isn't a game. If she's distracted—if she loses focus—she could get herself killed. She's my squire!"

"Bullshit." Tucker's voice cuts through my words like a blade. "If you believed that, you wouldn't have insulted her tonight and made her feel unworthy again. You think she's yours, but she's not."

"Well, she isn't yours!"

"Of course she isn't. She's her own person, Zane, and you won't get anywhere with her until you realize that and start respecting her."

"I respect her."

"Do you? I don't see it. You want her. You think you're entitled to her. You're even protective of her. But if you truly respected her, you would never have snuck away tonight and made her feel unworthy and unwanted. I'm not the problem here, Zane, you are."

The casual, almost dismissive way he says it sends my anger into overdrive. I close the distance between us, my chest bumping his as I glare up at him. "I'm the fucking king here, Tucker. Don't forget that."

Tucker's lips curl into a half-smile, but there's nothing friendly about it. "You might be the king of the Toronto seethe, Zane, but you're not my king."

I see the challenge in his eyes, the unflinching resolve that matches the strength in his broad shoulders. Like he's a force of nature that can't be bent or broken.

For a second, all I want to do is show him how much power I have—show him I could rip him apart if I wanted to. But even as the thought crosses my mind, I know it's pointless. He's not afraid of me, and he never will be. And somewhere deep down, that only makes me more furious.

I take a breath, forcing the rage down, forcing my fangs back into place. "Stay out of our way, Tucker. Last warning."

He doesn't budge, doesn't even flinch. Instead, he just holds my gaze, unyielding. "That's the thing, Zane. If she chooses you and asks me to step back, I will. But it's her call—not yours. I'm not going anywhere, so if you're smart, you'll figure out how to deal with it."

The words hang between us, heavy and cold. My chest heaves with the effort of holding back, of not lashing out. I don't know if I hate him more because he's challenging me, or because deep down, I know he's right.

Scottie isn't mine to control, and she never will be.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and leave the garage, my thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and jealousy. One thing is clear: the fight for control, for Scottie, and for this city is far from over. If Tucker wants to make himself part of that, he better be ready for what comes next.

Huntley

I sit alone in Bran's office, the video file marked ‘Huntley' called up and sitting open in front of me. Bran's familiar face stares back at me from the screen. It's a face I've known and trusted since I arrived here. Bran has been a father figure in my life since I was fourteen. He raised me, trained me, taught me everything I know about loyalty, strength, and duty.

But tonight, it's like looking into the face of a ghost.

Bran's image shifts slightly as he adjusts the camera. There's a weary smile on his face as he finally settles into place, clearing his throat like he's about to deliver a speech. "Huntley, my boy," he begins, his voice a low rumble. "If yer watching this, it means… well, it means I didn't make it, doesn't it?"

The humor in his tone is forced, and my throat tightens as I stare at the screen.

"It's a strange thing, making a message like this, searching for the right words to say what needs to be said." He takes a deep breath, and the edges of his smile soften. "I'm proud of ye, lad. Proud of the man ye became despite a rough start. Ye've shown great strength, and it's been an honor to train ye and to watch ye grow."

I blink against the sting behind my eyes. "Then why did you fuck me over in the end?"

It guts me that Bran's life was cut short, but if he was so proud of me, why didn't he choose me? Why give the Sacred Squire magic to Scottie, someone who'd been out of our world for years? Someone who didn't even want to be part of it?

"I'm sorry, lad. Ye must be gobsmacked right now, wonderin' why I changed the plan."

"Uh, yeah. You could say that." I grit my teeth, my hands clenching into fists in my lap. I don't want to hear whatever excuse he has for passing me over, but I can't bring myself to stop the video, either.

Bran takes another breath, his gaze dropping for a moment, like he's gathering his thoughts. "I love ye, lad. Like yer born of my blood. But I couldn't give ye the squire magic with what's been happening between you and Zane."

The words land like a blow, and my stomach twists with a sudden, sickening lurch.

He knew? How long did he know?

"I'm happy for ye, son, don't misunderstand. I see how the two of ye are and I'm glad ye found one another, but ye crossed a line a squire can't cross. In the clutch of violence, loving Zane could cloud yer judgment."

A bitter laugh escapes me, and I press a hand to my mouth, and fight to hold back the scream clawing its way up my throat. I thought I kept my feelings for Zane buried deep enough that no one would notice.

Of course, Bran saw the truth—he always did.

"Desire and duty make poor bedfellows, lad. Hard choices—the necessary choices—need to be made without the fear of hurt feelings or the impulse to please yer charge. And, as much as it pains me to say it, I couldn't take that risk. Not with Zane's life on the line. Not with the future of this city hanging in the balance."

I see the weight of the decision that must have been eating away at him. "If yer watching this, then it means my time's run out. I didn't have time to tell ye face-to-face, and for that, I humbly apologize."

The screen blurs as my eyes burn, and I force myself to take a shuddering breath. Scottie had nothing to do with this. She never asked for the magic. She didn't steal it from me.

It was never her fault—it was mine.

Bran rubs a hand over his face, looking suddenly older, more tired than I've ever seen him. "I know it isn't fair, and it's not what ye wanted, but if I hope ye can forgive me, son."

The video cuts off, leaving me staring at a blank screen. For a long moment, I sit there, the silence pressing in around me, my thoughts tangled up in a snarl of regret and loss.

He was worried I couldn't be objective. He thought my feelings might impede my duty. And the worst part is, I can't say that he was wrong.

I would do anything to keep Zane safe. Anything. Even if it meant crossing lines that shouldn't be crossed.

I clench my fists, and I swallow back the bitter taste in my mouth. That's why I wasn't chosen. Not because I wasn't good enough—but because he thought my feelings for Zane compromised my suitability for the role.

"Fucking hell." I lean forward and drop my head into my hands. Scottie didn't deserve my anger and if Bran were here, he'd kick my ass for lashing out at her. But Bran isn't here. A fresh wave of grief rolls through me. He's gone. He's really gone. And I never got the chance to say goodbye.

"Dammit, Bran." My whisper is swallowed up in the empty room. "Why did you leave this mess for me to sort out?"

I stare at the screen for a long time, the words he left me playing in an endless loop in my mind. There's nothing left but to move forward.

I owe Scottie an apology.

And I owe it to Bran to find a way to make this right.