13. The Queen of Marseille

The sound of the vault door sealing shut was the most final thing I had ever heard. It wasn’t a click; it was a thud that vibrated in my teeth, followed by the terrifying, high-pitched whistle of the air scrubbers reversing.

    Dante Moretti had turned the world’s most secure room into a vacuum chamber.

    I scrambled to my feet, my head spinning from the neuro-gas. My vision was swimming, but the white-hot light emanating from Girard’s frame was a beacon I couldn’t ignore. The silver chains were glowing cherry-red now, the smell of ozone and burning metal thick enough to choke on.

    “Girard!” I screamed, lunging toward him.

    The air was thinning. Every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass. I reached for the primary locking mechanism on the silver frame, my fingers blistering as I touched the heated metal. I didn’t care. Through the Lien de Sang, I could feel his heart—it was a drumbeat of pure, unadulterated power, fueled by the electricity the Morettis had used to torture him.

    He wasn’t dying. He was overcharging.

    “Arielle… get… back,” he rasped, his voice sounding like two tectonic plates grinding together.

    “I’m not leaving you!” I shouted, my lungs burning. I slammed my blood-soaked palm against the central console of the frame once more. “We are the bond, Girard! Use me! Use my life to break the circuit!”

    In that moment, the connection between us didn’t just flare—it solidified. It was as if our souls fused into a single point of blinding light. I saw his memories—the centuries of loneliness, the fear of the beast, the moment he first saw me and felt the world tilt.

    He didn’t want a “tether.” He wanted a partner.

    With a roar that shattered the remaining glass vials in the lab, Girard surged forward. The silver chains didn’t just break; they vaporized into metallic dust. He caught me as I collapsed, his skin burning against mine, his touch a mixture of lethal power and desperate tenderness.

    “I have you,” he whispered, his eyes still swirling with white lightning.

    The air was nearly gone. My vision was fading to black. I felt him pull me against his massive chest, his heartbeat the only thing keeping me conscious. He turned toward the reinforced vault door—six feet of solid titanium.

    He didn’t use a code. He didn’t use a tool.

    He shifted partially, his arm becoming a pillar of black fur and lightning-charged muscle. He punched.

    The sound was a sonic boom. The titanium buckled, a jagged tear appearing in the center of the door. He punched again, and the pressure difference did the rest. The door was ripped outward as the air rushed back into the room with the force of a hurricane.

    We were sucked out into the hallway, Girard shielding my body with his own as we tumbled across the marble floor. I gasped for air, the sweet, cool oxygen flooding my lungs.

    “We have to… move,” I panted, clutching his arm. “Dante. He’s heading for the docks.”

    Girard stood up, his human form slowly returning, though his eyes remained a lethal, glowing gold. He looked down at me, a dark, hungry pride in his gaze. He leaned down and kissed me—a hard, desperate claim that tasted of copper and victory.

    “Let him run,” Girard growled, his hand sliding into mine, our blood mingling in our palms. “He can’t run far enough to escape what’s coming for him.”