Chapter 67
Elara's POV
The footprints on the roof were still fresh. Large boot treads. Professional spacing. Someone had been here minutes ago.
Kael? Or someone else?
I didn't have time to find out. Vivian was inside. That's all that mattered.
I pushed the question aside and moved to the edge.
I dropped from the roofline in complete silence. My boots hit the gravel without a sound—twenty years of training compressed into muscle memory this body shouldn't have.
The eastern guard stood three meters away. His back to me. Radio clipped to his belt. Hand resting on a holstered pistol.
Amateur.
I closed the distance in four steps. My left hand clamped over his mouth. The poisoned blade slid between his ribs before he could process what was happening.
His body went rigid. Then slack.
I lowered him to the ground. Checked his pulse. Gone.
The wolfsbane worked fast.
I moved toward the side entrance. Kept low. Stayed in the shadows cast by the broken streetlights.
The second guard was smoking. Leaning against the doorframe. His eyes scanned the perimeter in lazy sweeps.
Too slow. Too predictable.
I waited until his gaze swung left. Then I was on him.
Same technique. Hand over mouth. Blade between ribs. Body lowered silently.
Two down.
Then the radio on the first guard's body crackled to life.
"Mikhail? Pavel? Report."
My chest tightened.
My boot came down, crushing the device into silence.
Then I ran.
The stairwell was dark. Narrow. The kind of space where sound carried.
I took the steps two at a time. My breathing was controlled. Even. The treatment had worked—my lungs pulled in air without resistance. No wheeze. No tightness.
Just clean oxygen fueling my muscles.
I reached the second floor landing. Pressed my back against the wall.
Then I heard it.
Vivian's scream.
Sharp. Terrified. Cut off abruptly.
My hand went to the knife at my belt.
"Your cousin should have stayed out of our business..." A man's voice. Deep. Accented. Russian. "Now we send her a message she can't ignore."
My blood went cold.
They knew. This wasn't about Derrick's land deals or money.
This was about me.
I moved.
The door exploded inward under my boot.
I had one second to register the scene. Vivian tied to a chair in the center. Duct tape across her mouth. Eyes wide with terror.
Five men. Three by the windows. One at a laptop. One standing over Vivian with a knife raised toward her hand.
The one with the knife—tall, scarred, man presence radiating off him like heat—turned toward me.
I didn't give him time to process.
My hand snapped to my belt. Pulled the flashbang. Yanked the pin.
The canister left my palm in a perfect arc.
The man's eyes tracked it. Started to move.
Too late.
The flashbang detonated mid-air. Blinding white light flooded the room. The bang was deafening in the enclosed space.
Screams. Cursing in Russian.
I was already moving. Eyes squeezed shut during the blast. I'd counted the steps from door to chair when I first entered.
Seven steps. Slight angle left.
My hand found Vivian's shoulder. Then the ropes.
The knife cut through them in three quick slashes.
"Don't look up," I hissed in her ear. "Keep your eyes closed. Count to ten."
I heard boots. Multiple sets. Coming toward us blind.
The scarred man's voice cut through the chaos.
"A... little girl?" he said, his English thick with a Russian accent.
I opened my eyes. The white spots were already fading from my vision. Years of flashbang training in the Northern Territories.
The five men were scattered. Hands over their faces. Blinking hard. Trying to clear their vision.
The tech guy stumbled into the laptop table. "Has the Goldman family run out of soldiers?"
The scarred man's lips curved into something cruel. His eyes were watering but focusing fast. Too fast.
He switched to Russian. Spoke to his men without taking his eyes off me. "Не убивайте её сразу, я хочу поиграть."
Don't kill her right away. I want to play.
I understood every word.
Seven languages. That's what twenty years in the Northern Territories had taught me.
But I didn't react. Didn't let my face show comprehension.
I just moved.
---
The nearest guard didn't see it coming.
My blade opened his throat before he could raise his weapon. Blood sprayed across the concrete floor.
He went down clutching his neck.
The second and third guards rushed me together.
I dropped low. Let the first one's claws whistle over my head. Drove my elbow up into the second one's temple.
Bone cracked. He staggered.
The tech guy came from behind. Thought he was clever.
I spun. Planted my boot in his chest. Sent him flying backward into the laptop table.
Equipment crashed to the floor.
The scarred man's expression changed. The amusement died.
"Who are you?" His English was heavily accented. He started to shift. Fingers elongating into claws. Shoulders broadening.
I didn't answer.
I ran toward Vivian. Knife already moving. Cut away the last pieces of rope still clinging to her wrists.
She stumbled to her feet. Ripped the tape from her mouth.
"Get to the wall," I said. My voice was flat. Cold.
She obeyed.
---
The man charged.
His claws aimed straight for my heart.
I twisted. Felt the air displace as his hand passed inches from my chest.
But not fast enough.
Pain exploded across my left shoulder. Three deep gouges. Blood soaked through my sleeve immediately.
I bit down on the scream trying to escape my throat.
The man's eyes gleamed. He'd found my weakness.
"Oh?" His voice carried savage pleasure. "Can't shift? Just a broken Omega playing soldier?"
He came at me again. Faster. Harder.
I backpedaled. My shoulder screamed. Blood loss was making my movements sluggish.
He was right. Without the ability to shift, without supernatural strength—
His claws came for my head.
I couldn't dodge.
This was it.
Then the window exploded inward.
---
A black shape hit the man like a missile.
The impact sent him crashing through the interior wall. Concrete and drywall erupted in a cloud of dust.
I stumbled backward. Blinked.
The figure straightened in the broken window frame.
Tall. Over six-three easily. All black tactical gear. Half-face mask covering everything below the eyes.
But those eyes.
Amber. Burning with controlled fury.
And that presence. That particular weight in the air.
My heart stopped.
Cole?
He didn't look at me. Just spoke in a voice I'd heard a thousand times in another life.
"Take your person and go. I'll handle this."
The man burst from the rubble. Dust and blood coating his face.
"Another fool!" He roared in Russian. "Kill them both!"
I should have run.
Should have grabbed Vivian and gotten out.
But my body moved on instinct. The kind of instinct that came from fighting beside someone for years.
The masked man and I attacked at the same moment.
No signal. No coordination.
We just knew.
I went low. He went high.
The guard I'd hit in the temple was staggering to his feet. Blood streaming from his nose. Still dazed but reaching for a weapon.
Before his hand could close on the gun, my knife found his kidney. He went down hard.
The masked man's boot shattered the last standing guard's knee.
We moved like we'd rehearsed this. Like we'd done it a hundred times before.
Because we had.
Just in another life.
The masked man drove his elbow into the man's solar plexus. Followed with a knee to the face.
The synchronization was perfect. Deadly. Beautiful in its efficiency.
The man hit the ground. Blood pouring from his nose.
He stared up at us. His expression shifting from rage to something else.
Recognition? Confusion?
"You two... how...?"
Three minutes. That's all it took.
Four bodies on the floor. The tech guy unconscious against the destroyed laptop table. The man clutching his stomach. Bleeding heavily.
The man dragged himself to the window. Threw himself through.
I heard him hit the ground outside. Then running footsteps fading into the distance.
The masked man didn't pursue.
He turned toward me instead.
His hand reached for the mask.
No. No no no—
The fabric pulled away.
Cole's face. Older than I remembered. Harder. A scar running through his left eyebrow that hadn't been there before.
But definitely Cole.
His eyes locked on mine. Amber meeting amber.
His voice came out rough. Almost broken.
"You... who are you? Why do you fight like Lynette?"
My throat closed.
I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
The knife fell from my hand. Hit the floor with a metallic clang that seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
Cole took a step toward me. His expression was a mess of confusion and something that looked like hope and grief all tangled together.
"Answer me." His voice cracked. "How do you know her combat style? Those moves—I've only ever seen one person fight like that. And she's dead."