CHAPTER 12

"Help me! Madison, please! What the fuck are you doing? Help me!"

Austin’s voice was a wet, bubbling rattle. He dragged himself across the scorched asphalt, his fingers clawing at the grit. The sleek Mustang was a skeleton of orange fire behind him, the heat warping the air into a sickening haze. One of his legs was twisted at an impossible angle, the bone white and jagged through the charred denim. His face, that "golden boy" mask that had graced a thousand pack galas, was a ruin of soot and peeling skin.

Madison stepped out of the Lykan. Her heels clicked a steady, rhythmic beat against the pavement. The sound was clinical. Cold. She didn't rush. She didn't breathe harder. She stopped three feet from his reaching, blackened fingers.

"The engine's still hissing, Austin," Madison said. She looked down at him, her eyes as flat as frozen lakes. "You might want to move faster. The fuel lines are leaking."

"Madi... ahh! Fuck, it burns!" He coughed, a spray of dark blood hitting the road. "I was... I was coming for the locket. For you! I swear, it was all for you!"

Madison reached into the pocket of her racing leathers and pulled out her phone. She didn't call an ambulance. She didn't call the pack doctor. She tapped the screen and hit 'Play.'

A tinny, sharp recording erupted from the speakers, boosted by the car’s Bluetooth system. It echoed off the canyon walls.

"God, she’s so pathetic, Victoria," Austin’s recorded voice sneered. "That weak, omega scent... it makes me want to gag. I look at her face and I just see a charity case. Once the old man signs over the deed, I’m dumping her in the woods and letting the rogues have the leftovers."

Austin froze. His eyes darted to the sky.

Three hundred feet up, a high-altitude drone hovered, its red light blinking like a malevolent star. The feed was live. Every member of the Silver Moon, every Elder, every warrior in the barracks was watching the "hero" of the pack crawl in the dirt while his own treachery played on a loop.

"That... that’s a fake," Austin wheezed, his eyes bulging. "Victoria set me up! She forced me to say it! Madi, you know I love you! Ahh, God, help me up!"

"Forced you?"

The shadow that fell over Austin wasn't Madison's. It was larger. Heavier. Ethan Harper stepped out of the smoke, his boots crunching on the debris. He didn't look like a CEO now. He looked like the Cursed Alpha, his presence a physical pressure that made the fire behind them flicker and die down.

Ethan didn't say a word. He reached into his coat and dropped a stack of glossies. They fluttered down, landing in the pool of blood spreading around Austin’s crushed leg.

The photos were clear. High-resolution. Austin sitting in a dark corner of a rogue bar. Austin handing over a map of Madison’s jogging route. Austin pointing at a box of silver-tipped bolts. The dates were stamped in the corner. Three weeks before the "accidental" fall. Two weeks before the rejected mating.

"I found the rogue who took the cash, Austin," Ethan said, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. "He was surprisingly chatty once I started pulling his teeth."

Austin’s jaw worked, but no sound came out. He looked at the photos, then at the drone, then at Madison. The "Alpha" mask didn't just slip; it disintegrated. He looked small. A pathetic, broken thing leaking onto the highway.

"You were always so worried about legacies," Madison said. she leaned down, her face inches from his charred ear. "About who was strong and who was weak. You spent years making me feel like a ghost in my own home."

She stood up, smoothing the front of her jacket.

"But you aren't an Alpha, Austin. You aren't even a wolf." She turned her back on him, walking toward the Lykan. "You're just a tick. And I'm done letting you feed."

"Madison! No! Don't leave me here! The car's gonna blow! MADISON!"

She slid into the driver's seat. Ethan walked to the passenger side, his eyes lingering on her for a second before he got in. The engine barked to life, a savage roar that drowned out Austin’s high-pitched wailing.

Madison shifted into gear. She didn't look in the rearview mirror. She didn't need to. The explosion that rocked the chassis a moment later told her everything she needed to know.

The air in the penthouse was thick, charged with the leftover electricity of the mountain. Madison walked through the door and immediately began peeling off the racing leathers. She didn't wait for the bedroom. The adrenaline was a hum in her veins, a stinging heat that demanded an outlet.

Ethan was right behind her. He kicked the door shut, the sound a finality that echoed through the high ceilings. He grabbed her arm, spinning her around. His eyes were pure gold, the wolf at the surface, his chest heaving under the black silk of his shirt.

"You're a cold-blooded little thing, aren't you?" he growled.

"You're the one who provided the photos," Madison snapped, her breath hitching as he backed her against the wall.

"I provide the tools. You do the killing." He leaned in, his scent—cedar, spice, and raw power—drowning her senses. He didn't kiss her. He bit her lower lip, pulling until she tasted a copper hint of blood.

Madison groaned, her hands flying to his chest, ripping at the buttons. She didn't want words. She wanted the friction. She wanted to feel the weight of a real man, not a parasite like Austin.

Ethan hoisted her up. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his thick waist, her heels digging into his glutes. He walked her to the long, mahogany dining table, sweeping the crystal decanters onto the floor with a violent crash. He sat her on the edge, his hands bruising her thighs as he forced them wide.

"Madi," he rasped, his voice a warning.

"Don't talk," she hissed, yanking his head down.

His mouth was a massacre. He tasted of the storm. Madison thrashed against him, her fingers drawing blood through the skin of his shoulders. He stripped her bare, the cool air of the penthouse hitting her damp skin before his heat reclaimed it.

He didn't use his hands. He dropped to his knees, his tongue finding her, lashing against her clit with a bruising, rhythmic pressure. Madison’s head slammed back against the wood, her eyes rolling as the white-hot spikes of pleasure shot up her spine.

"Ethan! Ohh, god!"

She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. He licked her pussy like he was starving, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her steady. He sucked her hard, his breath hot against her thighs, until she was screaming, her body bucking in a frantic, messy release.

But he wasn't done. He stood up, his face flushed, his own trousers already discarded. His cock was a heavy, pulsing weight, dark and rigid in the dim light. He guided the head to her entrance, the tip rolling against her slickness.

"Look at me," he commanded.

Madison opened her eyes, her pupils blown wide, silver bleeding into the blue.

He lunged.

The thrust was a hammer blow. He buried himself to the hilt in one violent motion, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Madison screamed, a high, broken sound that echoed through the glass walls. He was too big. He stretched her until she felt like she might break, his weight pinning her to the table.

He began to move. It wasn't a dance. It was a pounce. He pounded into her, his hips slamming against hers with a rhythmic, meat-on-meat thud. Madison’s legs flew up, she held them high, her ankles crossing behind his neck to pull him even deeper.

"Mine," he grunted, his teeth baring.

"Yes! Fuck, Ethan!"

The table groaned under their combined weight. They were a tangle of sweat, salt, and desperation. Every thrust hit her cervix, sending jolts of lightning through her gut. He changed positions, flipping her over so her chest was flat against the mahogany. He entered her from behind, doggie style, his hands gripping her waist so hard he left finger-shaped marks on her pale skin.

He moved like an animal, savage and unyielding. The friction peaked, a stinging, searing heat that made her vision fracture. She felt him swell inside her, a final, desperate pulse before he emptied himself into her pussy, a hot flood that seemed to anchor her to the earth.

He collapsed on top of her, his literal weight crushing her into the wood. Madison lay there, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her skin stinging where the wood had rubbed it raw.

The hangover of the sex hit her—the shaking limbs, the lingering warmth, the heavy, grounding reality of his body. She felt the salt of his sweat dripping onto her back, the scent of their union thick in the air.

"The Cains are buried," Ethan whispered into her hair, his voice a low, vibrating hum.

"Not all of them," Madison replied, her voice steady despite the tremors in her legs. "Vanessa is still breathing."

She felt him stiffen. He pulled back, his eyes searching hers.

"She's at the estate. She’s calling an emergency meeting of the remaining Alphas."

Madison sat up, her hair a wild, silver-blonde mess. She didn't look for her clothes. She looked for her blade.

"Then let's give them a show."