Chapter 460
I tried to fight, to push against Anson’s chest, but my wolfless body had nothing left to give. The suffocating darkness rushed in, and I let it swallow me whole.
Dallas POV
The sterile walls of the High-Security Trauma Wing felt like a tomb. I sat in the medical chair, the burning agony of silver poison ravaging my bloodstream.
The heavy doors burst open. Duncan Whitaker rushed in, his face ashen. “My King. Azalea just mind-linked. Anson Fowler took her on the bridge. His Warriors blocked Azalea’s car.”
Ragnar erupted. A sound that rattled my very bones tore from my throat. Mate!
I ripped the IV from my arm, ignoring the blood trailing down my skin. I had to slaughter Fowler. I lunged forward — but Dr. Alistair Vance slammed his hands against my chest, forcing me back.
“My King, you can’t!” Vance shouted, his eyes wide with panic. “The Silver Claws are watching. If you go to her now, you prove she is still your weakness. You will paint a target on her back.”
“He has my mate!” I roared, the sound shaking the medical monitors.
“Anson wants her as a trophy — he won’t kill her,” Duncan pleaded, stepping in front of the door. “If you leave this room, the mercenaries will know the Rejection was a lie. They will hunt her down.”
The truth was a suffocating cage. I grabbed the steel medical tray beside me and hurled it with all my Lycan strength. Silver-coated scalpels and forceps shattered against the reinforced glass wall. I was the Alpha King, the Ghost — yet I was entirely powerless to save the only woman I loved.
The violent surge of adrenaline clashed with the silver poison in my veins, demanding release. A blood sacrifice.
“Where is Estevan Parrish?” I snarled, my voice dropping into a demonic octave.
“The docks,” Duncan whispered.
“Dr. Vance,” I ordered, gripping the armrests until the metal groaned. “Give me the military stimulants. The silver suppressants. And strap on my hydraulic leg braces.”
“Your heart can’t take it,” Vance warned, pale and trembling. “The silver has already reached your lower heart chambers. If you push too hard, you could trigger cardiac arrest.”
“How long do I have?” I demanded.
Vance hesitated. “Without treatment — weeks. Maybe less.”
Weeks. I had weeks to burn down every threat to my mate. It would have to be enough.
“Do it.”
Twenty minutes later, the icy rain of the Blackwood Docks lashed against my face. Gamma Vance Decker stood waiting in the shadows of the shipping yard, his Warriors securing the perimeter. He nodded and turned toward the rusted red metal of Container 409.
Vance unlatched the heavy door, the hinges screaming in the quiet yard.
Inside, tied to a steel chair, Estevan Parrish whimpered. He reeked of stale sweat and absolute terror. I stepped into the dim light, the hydraulic braces on my legs whirring softly with each heavy, deliberate step. I didn’t say a word. I simply let Ragnar rise to the surface and felt my irises bleed into pure, bottomless black.