Chapter 93 93
Ezequiel
I can’t take it anymore. His voice drills into my ears—that rotten calm while Emmanuel keeps talking as if words could stop this monster. Thorne stands there, a fucking mountain of muscle and quiet fury, looking at us like we’re shit on his boots. My blood boils, my fists shake, and the sun inside me roars like a caged beast. I won’t let him take what’s ours. I won’t let him rip her from me.
The longer this drags on, the farther Lois gets from us. I can’t stand it anymore. We came here to fix that—not to waste time.
My pride is a wildfire, and I’m going to burn everything down.
“The circle?” I roar, taking a step that cracks the floor. “I don’t need your damn test, old man! I’m an alpha! And I won’t let you step on me!”
Thorne pins me with his eyes, his mouth twisting into a sneer that isn’t quite a smile.
“You?” His voice is a whipcrack—dry, sharp. “You’re a rabid pup. Sit before I break you.”
That’s it. Fire erupts in my hand—a roaring sphere, small but alive—and I hurl it straight at his face with a scream that burns my throat.
“Die!” Did I really just say that to my father?
He doesn’t move. The sphere slams into his chest and dissolves like nothing, but I don’t stop. Emmanuel is with me—his entire body ignites in flames, a golden inferno covering him from head to toe. He’s human, but he looks like a god, the fire dancing as if it were his skin. He glances at me, a growl in his eyes: together. Always together.
“We won’t bow!” he roars, and his voice shakes the air. “We are one, Father! And you won’t take her from us!”
Thorne unleashes a roar that shakes the castle to its foundations. The ground explodes beneath his feet, and a wave of black shadows—thick as oil—erupts from him. It’s not just strength; it’s pure power, a whirlwind of earth and darkness that rips stones from the floor and hurls them at us like shrapnel. He’s a veteran—a fucking war god who could shatter Enzo with a snap. And we’re pups before him.
I don’t care. I charge straight into the inferno, the fire in my hand growing, and throw a flaming punch. His arm meets mine—a blow that cracks my bones—and sends me flying into a column. Marble splits in two, pain lancing through me like hell itself, but I rise roaring.
“Come for me, you bastard!” I shout, and leap again, claws out, aiming for his throat.
Emmanuel attacks at the same moment—a whirlwind of fire that lights the hall like a fallen sun. The flames crash against Thorne, and for a second I think we have him. But he growls, and the shadows rise like a wall, swallowing the fire. He grabs Emmanuel by the throat with one hand, lifts him like a rag, and slams him into the throne. Wood explodes into splinters, and my brother collapses amid the debris, gasping.
“Evacuate!” Mom’s voice cuts through the air from the doorway—a shriek I barely hear over the chaos. Guards run, wolves flee, but I don’t look back. I only see Emmanuel on the ground and that bastard over him.
“Don’t touch him!” I roar, and lunge again. My fireball grows—bigger, hotter—and I hurl it with all my fury. Thorne deflects it with a swipe, but I don’t stop. I ram him shoulder-first, and feel his fist sink into my gut. The air leaves me; I drop to my knees—but I don’t surrender. I never surrender.
Emmanuel rises, his fire brighter, wilder. He unleashes a blast that scorches the curtains, melts the iron lamps, turning the entire hall into an inferno. Thorne counters with a blow that splits the ceiling in two. Stones rain down like deadly hail, one striking my shoulder and tearing a scream from me. But I don’t stop. I rise, bleeding, and throw another flaming punch.
“We are one!” I shout, and Emmanuel is with me—his body blazing like a beacon. He strikes Thorne with a fist of fire, and I follow with a claw slash to the chest. For an instant, he staggers—just one step—but it’s something. He sees us. He feels us.
Then his power truly erupts. A roar that bursts eardrums, and the ground caves beneath us. Rocks batter us like a hurricane, tearing down walls, shattering columns. The castle collapses—a chaos of dust and fire—and Thorne grabs us both, one in each hand, slamming us against what remains of the gate. Metal bends, wood splinters, and we crash amid ruins, gasping, broken.
I crawl toward Emmanuel, my arm bleeding, my fire barely a spark. He breathes heavily, flames dying on his skin. Thorne looms over us, covered in dust but unscathed, chest rising and falling with effort. The hall is a corpse—everything destroyed—and he still stands like a king amid rubble.
He looks at us, eyes cold, and lets out a growl that’s neither laugh nor pity.
“Both of you…” he says, voice an icy blade. “You could be the greatest alphas this pack has ever seen. But not with that omega. Never with that trash.”
There’s no kindness in his words. It’s a challenge—a contempt that makes my blood boil again, but I have nothing left to give. Emmanuel grabs my arm, holding me up, and his eyes say this isn’t over.