103 | KING

Atticus

Atticus relished every racing beat of his heart. He was alive, more alive than he had ever felt, and each solid pound of it meant that he was still there. Still fighting.

Still fighting for her.

When he’d seen that arrogant, too-pretty-for-his-own-good, so-called Alpha kiss Lily, he’d seen red. He’d let that bright, burning red edging his vision become a prediction of the future: Apollo would bleed for all that he’d done.

But this fight was no normal fight. Atticus was strong, brutally so, but Apollo never seemed to tire or lag. He had no weaknesses that Atticus could take advantage of, no faltering glances or too-slow reactions. He was on top form, all of the time, and Atticus’s energy was starting to wane.

He whipped his head around, searching through the crowd for his Beta or Gamma. They were lost to the writhing sea of bodies, part of the blur of dark fur and bloody teeth surrounding him, packed tight in all directions.

His pride kept him from asking them for help. Apoll