Chapter Twenty-Six — The Replacement Alpha

The elevator doors opened.

Six men stepped out.

They wore dark tactical clothing without insignia, each carrying a compact weapon held low against the body. No masks this time. No attempt to hide what they were.

They had entered Ronan’s penthouse as though they expected to leave with whatever they wanted.

Or whoever.

Ronan moved in front of me.

Lucian swore quietly.

“I told you. They are here for him.”

One of the men lifted his gaze toward Ronan.

“Alpha Ashcroft.”

His voice was calm.

Professional.

Almost respectful.

Ronan raised his pistol.

“You have ten seconds to explain why you are inside my home.”

The man did not look concerned.

“Your participation in the O-17 protocol has been terminated.”

Something cold moved through me.

Ronan laughed once.

“Good. Then leave.”

“You misunderstand.”

The man’s gaze shifted toward me.

“The match remains necessary.”

Ronan’s expression changed.

“You said my participation was terminated.”

“Yes.”

“And the match?”

“Will continue with a replacement.”

Lucian stepped closer to me.

I felt his tension before I saw it.

“Do not listen to them.”

I looked at the stranger.

“What replacement?”

He reached slowly inside his jacket.

Ronan’s weapon lifted higher.

“Careful.”

The man removed a thin black tablet.

No gun.

He activated the screen.

A file appeared.

My file.

SUBJECT O-17

Beneath it was another designation.

PRIMARY MATCH A-04 — STATUS: UNSTABLE

Then:

REPLACEMENT MATCH A-09 — APPROVED

My stomach tightened.

Ronan stared at the screen.

“A-09.”

Lucian went pale.

“No.”

I looked at him.

“You know who that is.”

Lucian’s jaw tightened.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

The man with the tablet answered before he could.

“Someone more suitable.”

Ronan stepped forward.

“You are standing inside my penthouse telling me another Alpha is more suitable for him.”

The stranger did not react.

“Yes.”

That was probably the worst answer he could have given.

Ronan’s scent exploded through the room.

The tactical men immediately shifted their footing.

Weapons came up.

My body reacted just as quickly.

Heat surged.

Relief followed.

The response disgusted me.

Lucian grabbed my arm.

“Adrian, focus.”

I forced my breathing steady.

The stranger studied Ronan with clinical interest.

“Protective response remains elevated.”

Ronan’s eyes darkened.

“You are still observing me.”

“We observe everything relevant to succession.”

“I am not relevant to anything you own.”

“No.”

The man looked toward me.

“He is.”

Ronan fired.

The bullet struck the tablet out of the man’s hand.

Glass shattered.

The room erupted.

Marcus dragged me behind the stone kitchen island as gunfire cracked across the penthouse.

Lucian dropped beside us.

Ronan remained somewhere ahead.

“Ronan!” I shouted.

“Stay down!”

Of course.

Even while people were shooting at him, he was still giving orders.

A man rushed around the island.

Lucian caught his wrist, twisted the weapon away, and drove his elbow into the man’s throat.

The attacker collapsed.

I stared at Lucian.

He noticed.

“What?”

“You fight like Ronan.”

“That may be the most insulting thing anyone has said to me.”

Another shot struck the wall above us.

Marcus grabbed the fallen weapon.

“I officially hate this family.”

“You work for mine,” I said.

“Exactly.”

Despite everything, the sentence almost made me laugh.

Then I heard Ronan grunt.

The sound wiped every other thought away.

I stood.

Lucian grabbed my jacket.

“Adrian!”

I looked across the room.

Ronan was near the elevator.

One tactical man lay unconscious beside him.

Another was bleeding.

A third had Ronan pinned against the wall.

Something silver flashed.

A needle.

My blood went cold.

“Ronan!”

The attacker drove the injector toward his neck.

Ronan caught his wrist.

They struggled.

I moved.

Lucian swore and followed.

The heat inside me burned through every muscle, but adrenaline made my body faster than it had been all night.

I reached them just as the attacker twisted the needle downward.

I grabbed the man’s arm.

He turned.

His eyes widened when he recognized me.

“O-17.”

I drove my fist into his face.

Pain shot through my hand.

Worth it.

Ronan tore the injector free and slammed the man against the elevator wall.

“What was in this?”

The attacker smiled through blood.

“Stabilizer.”

“For what?”

“You.”

Ronan’s face went cold.

The man laughed.

“Your attachment has exceeded projected limits.”

Ronan tightened his grip.

“So you were going to drug me.”

“No.”

The attacker looked at me.

“We were going to reset him.”

Lucian froze.

“What did you say?”

For the first time, real fear appeared in his face.

The attacker saw it.

“You remember.”

Lucian stepped closer.

“Reset how?”

The man smiled.

“Memory suppression. Scent conditioning. Aggression reduction.”

Ronan’s grip tightened violently.

“You planned to alter my mind.”

“You were always temporary.”

The sentence silenced the room.

Even the remaining tactical men stopped advancing.

I looked at Ronan.

Temporary.

Cradle had never intended to let him choose anything either.

Lucian’s voice became quiet.

“A-04 was never supposed to bond emotionally.”

“No.”

The attacker looked toward me.

“The primary match was selected for conception efficiency, not attachment.”

Heat crawled across my skin.

Ronan shoved the man harder against the wall.

“And A-09?”

The attacker smiled again.

“Compliant.”

My stomach turned.

“Who is he?”

The man said nothing.

Ronan pressed the injector against his throat.

“Name.”

His smile disappeared.

“You would not understand.”

“Try.”

The man’s eyes shifted toward Lucian.

Lucian noticed.

So did I.

Something passed between them.

Recognition.

Fear.

I looked at my brother.

“Lucian.”

He did not answer.

“Who is A-09?”

His face had gone white.

The attacker laughed softly.

“You did not tell him?”

I stepped closer.

“Tell me what?”

Lucian looked at me.

For the first time since entering the penthouse, he looked truly afraid.

“There is something I did not know how to explain.”

Rage moved through me.

“Start now.”

The surviving attackers suddenly lowered their weapons.

Not surrendered.

Waiting.

The elevator chimed behind them.

Another car was coming up.

Lucian stared at the floor display.

His breathing changed.

“No.”

Ronan noticed.

“You know who is coming.”

Lucian backed away.

“Adrian, you need to leave.”

“I am not leaving until you answer me.”

The elevator climbed.

Sixty-two.

Sixty-eight.

Seventy.

The doors opened.

One man stood inside.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Black suit.

No weapon visible.

His face was unfamiliar.

But his eyes locked onto me with immediate recognition.

Then he smiled.

My heat surged so violently that I nearly lost my balance.

Ronan caught me.

The stranger’s expression hardened when he saw Ronan touch me.

Lucian whispered beside us,

“A-09.”

The man stepped out of the elevator.

His gaze never left mine.

Then he said quietly,

“Adrian Vale.”

I stared at him.

He smiled again.

“My name is Cassian Ashcroft.”

Ronan went completely still.

I looked at him.

“Ashcroft?”

The stranger nodded.

Then his eyes moved to Ronan.

“Hello, cousin.”

Ronan’s face changed.

Not surprise.

Recognition.

And something much worse.

Cassian looked back at me.

“They should have matched you with me from the beginning.”