17. The Extraction of Desire

The air in the laboratory didn’t just vibrate; it shrieked.

    The sound of the high-pressure cooling vats cracking under the sonic roar of the Ghost Alpha was a symphony of destruction. I watched, my back pressed against a jagged pillar of reinforced concrete, as Girard rose from the wreckage of the glass partition. He was a vision of primal fury. His clothes were little more than scorched rags clinging to his cabled muscles, and his skin—that beautiful, olive-toned skin I had worshipped in the quiet of the estate—was now glowing with an internal, white-hot fire.

    Through the Lien de Sang, I didn’t just feel his anger; I felt his absolute, soul-deep terror for my safety. It was a dark, heavy weight in my chest, a physical pressure that made it hard to draw breath. He wasn’t just fighting for his pack anymore; he was fighting for the woman who held his soul in her human hands.

    “Let. Her. Go.”

    The command wasn’t just spoken; it was a psychic wave that shattered the remaining light fixtures in the room. In the sudden, flickering gloom, Girard’s white eyes were the only beacons of light.

    Marcel—the thing that had stolen my father’s face—hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pipe. He didn’t drop me. His grip around my throat tightened, his fingers cold and slick with the purple ichor that served as his blood. I felt my vision start to gray at the edges, the lack of oxygen making my brain fire off frantic, disjointed images: the wedding ring, the North Tower, the way Girard looked when he slept.

    Then, the world exploded.

    Girard tackled Marcel with the force of a landslide. The impact was so violent it sent a shockwave through the floor, cracking the tiles and sending me flying into a pile of discarded lab equipment. I hit the ground hard, the air returning to my lungs in a jagged, painful gasp. I didn’t have time to recover. Two Ghost Wolves, their bodies half-formed and weeping violet fluid, crawled toward me, their jaws unhinging in anticipation.

    “Stay back!” I screamed, reaching for my Glock.

    I fired three rounds into the skull of the nearest beast. It didn’t stop. It didn’t have a brain to destroy; it only had the serum. I scrambled backward, my hand brushing against the obsidian pendant. It was burning—not with heat, but with a raw, electrical frequency that seemed to vibrate in sync with Girard’s heartbeat.

    The bond, I realized, my fingers curling around the stone. It’s not just a connection. It’s a battery.

    I looked up at the observation balcony where Dante Moretti stood, his face a mask of panicked greed. He was clutching a silver-tipped rapier, his eyes darting between the struggle below and the main console. If he reached the override, he could flood the room with the neutralization gas, killing everyone—including me.

    I didn’t think. I climbed the metal ladder to the balcony, my muscles screaming with exhaustion. Dante saw me coming. He sneered, his handsome face twisting into something ugly.

    “The little Luna thinks she’s a hero,” he spat, his voice echoing in the hollow lab. “You’re just a girl who fell in love with a dog. Let’s see how you bleed when the silver bites.”

    He lunged, the silver blade whistling through the air. I parried with my combat knife, the impact sending a jolt of silver-sickness through my arm. It felt like my blood was turning to ice. I fell to one knee, the rapier’s tip grazing my shoulder, drawing a thin line of red.

    “You’re weak, Arielle,” Dante mocked, raising the blade for the killing blow. “Human. Fragile. A mistake in the Alpha’s lineage.”

    I closed my eyes. I didn’t reach for my strength; I reached for his. I dove into the link, past the fear and the pain, until I touched the white-hot core of Girard’s Primal State.

    Give me the spark, I pleaded into the void of our shared soul. I am your Luna. Give me the flame.

    A surge of white-hot energy erupted from the bond, flowing through my veins like liquid lightning. My vision turned a brilliant, blinding white. My skin tingled with ozone. When I opened my eyes, my hand—the one clutching the obsidian stone—was glowing with a terrifying, ethereal light.

    I grabbed Dante’s silver blade with my bare palm.

    The silver hissed and began to melt, the metal dripping onto the floor like wax. I didn’t feel the burn. I felt the power of a thousand years of Roux Alphas flowing through my arm. Dante’s eyes widened in pure, unadulterated terror as he realized what I had become.

    “What… what are you?” he stammered, backing toward the edge of the railing.

    “I’m the woman who’s going to end you,” I whispered.

    I punched him in the chest, the electrical surge from the bond throwing him backward with the force of a cannon blast. He hit the primary cooling vat below, the liquid nitrogen instantly encasing his body in a jagged tomb of violet ice.

    I stood on the balcony, my chest heaving, the glow slowly receding from my skin. Below me, the Ghost Alpha and the Apex were locked in a death grip, the fate of the world hanging on the next heartbeat.