Chapter 279

Chapter 279:

I drove my fingers into the seam between the metal doors. With a roar that tore from my throat, I engaged my Lycan strength. The steel groaned and shrieked in protest, sparks flying as I forced the doors apart.

I stepped into the car. Before the doors could slide shut again, a hand stopped them.

Braydon squeezed inside, his face pale but set in a grim line. The space was too small for two Alphas, let alone an Alpha and a Lycan on the verge of a rampage. The air grew heavy, suffocating with our mutual hatred.

The elevator began its slow ascent.

“If he’s hurt her,” Braydon whispered, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white, “if Volkov has touched one hair on her head, I’ll kill him p>

𝗗i𝘴сo𝘷𝖾𝗿 𝗇𝘦𝘸 s𝘵о𝘳𝘪𝖾s о𝗇 𝗴a𝗹ո𝗈vе𝗅s.𝘤𝗈𝘮

I watched the floor numbers tick upward. 3… 4… 5…

“Get in line,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion.

Suddenly, a spike of emotion pierced through the mate-bond. It wasn’t fear this time. It was rage — hot, desperate, blinding rage. Adella was fighting.

My brave little mate.

Then my ears twitched. Through the layers of concrete and steel above us, my Lycan hearing picked up a sound that stopped my heart.

CRACK.

The sound of glass shattering. A struggle. And then a sharp, pained cry that I would recognize anywhere.

Adella.

Ragnar snapped the leash. My vision went completely red. My canines elongated, cutting into my lower lip. The beast was no longer in the back of my mind — he was in the driver’s seat.

The elevator chimed. A cheerful, mocking sound.

The doors slid open.

The penthouse suite was a wreck. But I only saw one thing.

Adella was on the floor. Her red dress was torn at the shoulder. Her hair was a mess. Blood — her blood — stained the corner of her mouth.

Standing over her, clutching a bleeding knee, was Jarred Volkov. He held a champagne bottle like a club, his face twisted in a snarl. He looked up as the doors opened. His eyes met mine, and for a split second, the arrogance vanished, replaced by the primal realization that he was looking at his own death.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t declare my title. I didn’t give him a chance to beg.

I launched myself across the room.

I moved faster than human eyes could track, a blur of lethal intent. The air cracked around me as I closed the distance in an instant. Volkov tried to raise the bottle, but he was moving in slow motion compared to the monster he had unleashed.

My hand closed around his throat before he could draw his next breath. Momentum carried us both backward, crashing through the glass coffee table in an explosion of shards and fury.

I was going to tear him apart, piece by piece.

Dallas

Gravity seemed to suspend us for a heartbeat before we crashed into the floor. The glass coffee table disintegrated beneath our weight, exploding into a thousand glittering shards that bit into my skin like angry insects.

But I felt nothing. No pain. Only the red, consuming haze of Ragnar’s fury.