Chapter 30
title: "The Mercy Kill" wordCount: 2329
The silver chains around Declan's wrists are the same ones that scarred him six years ago, and Garrett has made sure he can see them in the light.
I know because I can see them too, from my position behind a rusted shipping container thirty feet from the warehouse entrance. The metal is cold against my palms. My breath comes in short bursts that fog in the night air.
The bond is still empty. Still silent. But I can see him now, kneeling in the center of the warehouse floor, and that is somehow worse than the emptiness.
Iris crouches beside me. She has a gun in each hand and a knife strapped to her thigh. Her face is set in hard lines.
"How many?" she whispers.
I count the shapes moving in the shadows. "Six. Maybe seven."
"We can take them."
"No."
"Sloane—"
"I said no." I do not look at her. Cannot look away from Declan and those chains and the way his head is bowed like he has already accepted what is coming. "You stay here. You do not move unless I call for you."
"That is suicide."
"Yeah, no. That is a choice." I shift my weight, preparing to move. "There is a difference."
Iris grabs my arm. Her grip is iron. "He would not want you to die for him."
"Good thing I am not planning to die, then."
I pull free and move before she can argue. My legs are steadier than they were an hour ago. The wolf in me—Siobhan—has been feeding me strength in small doses, just enough to keep me upright. Just enough to get me here.
The warehouse looms ahead. Broken windows. Rusted metal siding. The kind of place where bodies disappear and no one asks questions.
I can hear voices now. Garrett's smooth corporate tone, the kind that makes threats sound like business proposals. And Declan's measured responses, each word carefully chosen, each sentence complete even though he must know it will not matter.
I move closer. The shadows swallow me. My heart is a drum against my ribs.
"You always were predictable," Garrett is saying. "I told Marcus you would come. He did not believe me. He said you were too smart to walk into an obvious trap."
"Marcus does not know me as well as he thinks he does."
"No. But I do." Footsteps. Slow. Circling. "I know you have been hunting me for weeks. I know you have been asking questions about the warehouse, about the wolves who disappeared. I know you think you can stop me."
Declan says nothing.
"The problem," Garrett continues, "is that you are alone. No pack. No allies. Just you and your misplaced sense of justice." A pause. "And her, of course. But she is not coming. She is too smart for that."
I reach the edge of the doorway. Press myself against the wall. Peer inside.
The warehouse is mostly empty. Concrete floor. Metal beams overhead. Fluorescent lights hanging from chains, casting harsh shadows across everything.
Declan kneels in the center of it all. The silver chains are wrapped around his wrists, pulled tight enough that I can see the metal biting into his skin. His face is blank. Expressionless. But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is set.
Six wolves stand in a loose circle around him. Cascade pack. I recognize two of them from the challenge grounds.
Garrett stands directly in front of Declan. He is wearing a suit. Charcoal gray. Perfectly tailored. His hands are clasped behind his back like he is giving a presentation to a board of directors.
"I knew you would come," Garrett says. His voice is almost gentle. "I have been waiting for you to finally choose death."
Something cold slides down my spine.
This is not about Declan.
This was never about Declan.
"She will not come," Declan says. His voice is steady. Certain. "She is smarter than that."
"Is she?" Garrett tilts his head. "I wonder. Love makes people do stupid things. You, for instance. You are here because you love her. Because you think if you kill me, she will be safe."
"I am here because you are a murderer."
"Semantics." Garrett waves a hand dismissively. "But let us test your theory, shall we?" He raises his voice, projecting it toward the shadows. "You can come in now, Sloane. I know you are here."
My breath stops.
Declan's head snaps up. His eyes scan the darkness, searching. "No. She is not—"
"Do not insult my intelligence." Garrett's smile widens. "I can smell her from here. That particular combination of fear and fury. It is quite distinctive."
I could run. Should run. Iris is thirty feet behind me with weapons and a plan and every reason to drag me away from this.
Instead, I step into the light.
Garrett's smile does not change, but something in his eyes sharpens. Recognition. Satisfaction.
"There she is." He spreads his arms like he is welcoming me to a party. "Sloane Carrigan. The wolf who does not exist."
Declan makes a sound low in his throat. Not quite a growl. Not quite a word. His eyes find mine and I see everything in them—rage and terror and something that might be resignation.
"Let him go," I say. My voice is steadier than I expected. "This is between you and me."
"Is it?" Garrett glances at Declan. "I thought this was between me and the wolf who has been sabotaging my operations. The wolf who thinks he can play hero." He looks back at me. "But perhaps you are right. Perhaps this has always been about you."
I take another step forward. The Cascade wolves shift, hands moving to weapons, but Garrett raises a hand and they freeze.
"I am going to make you an offer," Garrett says. "One time only. No negotiation."
"Not interested."
"You have not heard it yet."
"Do not care."
His smile tightens at the edges. "I will let Declan Thorne live. I will release him from these chains and allow him to walk out of here. I will even promise not to hunt him down later, which is more mercy than he deserves." He pauses. "All you have to do is forfeit the trials and leave my territory. Tonight. Forever."
The warehouse is silent except for the hum of the fluorescent lights.
"You are not ready to face me," Garrett continues. His voice is reasonable. Patient. Like he is explaining basic math to a child. "We both know it. You are injured. Weak. You have no pack, no training, no chance of winning. So take the mercy I am offering. Walk away. Let him live."
"Do not." Declan's voice cuts through the air like a blade. He is looking at me with an intensity that makes my chest ache. "Do not do this."
"Shut up," Garrett says mildly. He does not look away from me. "Well? Do you love him enough to die for him?"
I meet his eyes. They are cold. Empty. The eyes of something that stopped being human a long time ago.
"No," I say. "But I hate you enough to try."
Garrett's smile finally fades.
He makes a gesture—quick, sharp—and the Cascade wolves move toward Declan. One of them pulls a knife. Silver blade. It catches the light.
"Kill him," Garrett says.
"Run!" Declan shouts. "Sloane, run—"
I do not run.
I attack.
I cross the distance between us in three strides, faster than I should be able to move, faster than my injured body has any right to go. Siobhan surges forward in my mind, lending me speed and strength and the kind of reckless fury that does not care about consequences.
My fist connects with Garrett's jaw.
The impact sends shockwaves up my arm. He staggers back, surprise flashing across his face, and I press the advantage. I hit him again. And again. Each blow fueled by weeks of running, months of hiding, years of being afraid.
The Cascade wolves freeze. The one with the knife stops mid-swing, blade hovering inches from Declan's throat.
Garrett catches my wrist on the fourth punch. His grip is iron. He twists, forcing me to my knees, and leans down until his face is inches from mine.
"Alpha challenge," he says. His voice is soft. Almost reverent. "You just struck first. You know what that means."
I bare my teeth. "Yeah. It means you have to fight me."
"It means I get to kill you." He releases my wrist and steps back. "But I accept."
The Cascade wolves immediately retreat to the edges of the warehouse. Challenge law. No interference. No help. Just two alphas and the space between them.
Declan is shouting something but I cannot hear him over the roar in my ears. Siobhan is fully awake now, pressing against the inside of my skull, offering power I do not know how to use.
Take it, she whispers. Take all of it.
I do.
My eyes flash silver. I can feel it—the change, the shift, the way my vision sharpens and my senses expand and everything becomes more. The wolf rises in me, not taking over, but merging. Becoming one.
Garrett sees it. His smile disappears completely. "So she did wake."
"Who?" I ask. But I already know. He is not talking about me.
"Your ancestor." Garrett circles me slowly. "The first Carrigan alpha. The one who made the Conclave kneel." He tilts his head. "How much of her do you have? How much of her power?"
"Guess you are about to find out."
He moves first.
Garrett is fast—faster than any wolf I have ever seen. He closes the distance in a heartbeat, his fist aimed at my ribs, and I barely manage to dodge. His knuckles graze my side hard enough to bruise.
I counter with a kick to his knee. He shifts his weight and my foot connects with his thigh instead. Solid muscle. Like kicking a tree.
We break apart. Circle. He is smiling again.
"You have some of her speed," he says. "Some of her instinct. But you do not have her experience. You do not have her control." He lunges. "You are just a child playing with power you do not understand."
This time he is faster. His fist catches me in the stomach and the air leaves my lungs in a rush. I double over and he brings his knee up, aiming for my face.
Siobhan screams a warning.
I twist. His knee grazes my shoulder instead of my jaw. I grab his leg and pull, using his momentum against him, and we both go down.
We hit the concrete hard. I am on top for half a second before he flips us. His hand closes around my throat.
"You are not ready," he says. His voice is calm. Conversational. Like he is commenting on the weather. "You will never be ready."
I cannot breathe. Cannot think. The edges of my vision are going dark.
Declan is screaming my name.
I drive my knee up into Garrett's ribs. Once. Twice. He grunts but does not let go. His grip tightens.
Move, Siobhan snarls. Now.
I stop fighting his hands. Instead, I go for his eyes.
My nails rake across his face. He jerks back with a curse and I suck in air, rolling away before he can grab me again.
We are both on our feet in seconds.
Blood runs down Garrett's cheek from three parallel scratches. He touches his face, looks at the blood on his fingers, and laughs.
"There she is," he says. "There is the wolf."
We clash again. Fists and claws and teeth. He is stronger but I am faster. He has decades of experience but I have Siobhan whispering strategies in my ear, showing me openings, guiding my movements.
It is not enough.
He catches my arm mid-swing and twists. I hear the snap before I feel the pain. My radius. Clean break.
I scream.
Garrett does not let go. He pulls me close, his breath hot against my ear. "Yield."
"No."
"Yield and I will make it quick."
"No."
He throws me. I hit the ground hard enough to crack ribs. The world tilts. Spins. I taste copper.
Declan is still screaming. The chains rattle as he fights against them. The silver is burning him. I can smell it.
Garrett walks toward me slowly. Deliberately. He is not even breathing hard.
"You are not ready," he says again. "You will never be ready."
I push myself up with my good arm. My broken arm hangs useless at my side. Every breath is agony.
"Then I will die trying," I say.
Something shifts in his expression. Not quite respect. Not quite recognition. Something older. Something that might be memory.
"Yes," he says softly. "You will."
He moves in for the kill.
I try to dodge but my body will not cooperate. My legs give out. I am on my knees when his hand closes around my throat again.
He lifts me off the ground. My feet dangle. I claw at his wrist with my good hand but it is like trying to move stone.
"I am going to enjoy this," he says.
The warehouse doors explode inward.
The sound is deafening—metal shrieking, hinges tearing free, the entire frame collapsing in a shower of rust and debris. Smoke pours through the opening, thick and gray, carrying the scent of ozone and something else. Something ancient.
A figure walks through the smoke.
She is tall. Slender. Her hair is the same shade of red as Garrett's. Her eyes are silver like mine.
Like Siobhan's.
She looks at Garrett. At me dangling from his hand. At Declan in his chains.
Then she smiles.
"Brother," she says. Her voice is layered—multiple tones speaking in harmony, the way Siobhan sometimes sounds in my head. "You were supposed to wait for me."