Queen of Death

Ace

Glass splashes at our feet when Tate shatters one of the windows on the ground level of the facility, granting us easy entrance. Three guards come running around the corner to investigate the source. I teleport behind them and snap the neck of the straggler while Tate shadows and takes out the other two before they have a chance to call for backup.

Three down, dozens to go.

Quickly and quietly we make our way past a row of cells and head towards the stairwell in the far corner. It’s eerily quiet, much more quiet than the last time we were here. I tell myself that last time they knew we were coming, maybe that’s why there are so many fewer guards here now. But, not only are there fewer guards, the cells on this level are all empty.

I know what you’re thinking, but we should keep moving. Tate links me.

Either those girls have been moved elsewhere in this facility, or they’ve been sold — or worse. Guards could be grouping up as we speak to come at us in force.

Tate’s right. We need to keep moving. The guards and the captives will have to wait for now.

We fly down the stairs into the basement where their security monitors and servers are kept. We’re in the opposite corner we were last time we came. Here the halls are darker, there are several doors on each side with brand new, state-of-the-art biometric scanners to access the rooms.

Tate slows down as we approach a t-intersection of the hall. Ahead of us is a corridor that’s a dead end, to the right more of the same walls and doors.

This way, around the next corner. Tate leads us confidently through the halls. He loops around a hairpin turn and stops dead in his tracks in the middle of the corridor.

We didn’t come here to stare at walls, T. My little lecture earns me a sarcastic glare.

Tate points to the wall like it offends him,this is where the security room is. I’m sure of it. Sol melted the door right in this spot.

I give the hallway a rudimentary scan, noting the doors and the locks, and come to realize that the number of locks doesn’t match the number of doors.

“They hid the door.” I say softly to Tate and Runidar. Tate feels around the wall for a seal and Runidar walks up and down the hall dragging his fingertips along the walls.

“Fresh paint on these walls,” He rubs his fingers together to rid them of the paint dust they gathered. “They’ve definitely done some renovating.”

“You’re sure the room is still there?” My tone is heavy and serious. If he’s right, best worst-case scenario we kill a few guards but gain access to the computers. Worst worst-case scenario we die because I teleported us into the drywall.

Tate nods in the affirmative. From our bond I can sense how confident he is, even knowing the stakes.

Very well. I link him, grab ahold of him and Runidar, and relinquish control to Tate so he can guide our teleport. I’m relieved when we land safely in a windowless and doorless room filled with a wall of security monitors and racks of servers.

There are no guards in here either. Two cups of coffee sit abandoned on the desk, still steaming with heat. If Tate notices this detail he chooses to ignore it in favor of getting straight to work. He opens up his laptop, connects whatever cords and drives he needs to and gets to work.

While Tate works I check in with the rest of the guys. Dean and Eli both link me but Hunter is blocked off like Sol is.

“Can you link Magnolia and get a status update?” Hunter and Griffin were in Magnolia’s group so I’m counting on Runidar’s link to Magnolia to get me info on Hunter.

Tate’s fingers blaze across the keyboard. He’s an absolute machine. Not moving a muscle except his fingers, he doesn’t even look down at the keyboard as he types. He’s focused on the screen the entire time his hands are moving.

“Mags says the first floor is clear,” he grunts as he tries to muscle the stone door open from the inside of the room. “The other floors have full cells but only two or three guards per floor. Ro and Varian said it’s the same thing in the other tower. They’re all coming back here.”

Tate’s hands freeze over the keyboard and his head snaps to Runidar. His eyes widen and his brows lift with urgent concern.

“That’s what they want,” he whispers. “Tell them not to come down here, that’s what they want!” He says a little louder and more aggressively.

He jumps out of his seat and launches himself at the door in an effort to close it just as a large explosion knocks us all off balance.

Smoke billows into the room through the cracks in the door. An alarm blares angrily in the halls. Tate tips a server stack that had crashed over him back upright.

Runidar is slowly coming to. A gash on his forehead actively bleeds from hitting his head when he was thrown back into the wall by the explosion.

“Tate, keep an eye on him,” I point to Runidar. “I’m going to find the others.”

Every one of Tate’s movements is sharp and more forceful than necessary. He’s slamming the computer mice, smashing the buttons on the keyboard, throwing papers around the room, essentially taking out his anger on the nearest inanimate object.

I don’t ask, but I don’t need to. He senses the question in my hesitation to leave.

“I’ll be fine as soon as you find Sol and bring her ass home.” He growls petulantly. “Can’t feel her, can’t hear her, what the fuck good is a bond if you can cut it off like a fucking umbilical cord?” Now he’s just muttering angrily to himself.

As much as his little Tate-tantrum amuses me, I do need to go find the rest of my pack and make sure everyone is safe before we make our next move. The guards here have learned a thing or two since our last visit. They’ve gotten upgraded weapons and fancier security, but unfortunately for them none of that will protect them from us.

Muted gunfire and screams sound in the distance hastening my departure from Tate. I speed through the halls, dodging debris and crumbling ceilings as I go. Lights flicker ominously and water from the fire suppression systems sprays weakly, with little water pressure, from the sprinklers in the sections of ceiling still intact.

Retracing our steps backwards brings me to that intersection with a dead end and that’s where I find Dean and Rhys frantically digging through a large pile of concrete rubble. At its base, white hair spills out from under the pile. Sol’s hair.

The clash of emotions that churn through me are enough to make me want to vomit. Dean looks up as he continues to dig with relief and fear written all over his face.

“Sol’s buried under here!” He shouts at me.

I snap out of my shock and rush to help them dig her out from under the debris. Dean tosses stones by hand while Rhys and I teleport armfuls of debris away from us making quick work of digging her out.

Finally I’m able to lift her from off the ground and hold her limp body in my arms. I dust off her face and her arms. Dean pulls the gaiter down off her face so she can breathe without any barrier.

“She’s alive. She’s okay, just knocked out.” I can hear her heart beating even if I can’t see her chest moving.

“Sol, baby, it’s me. Wake up, baby.” Dean pleads with her unconscious form. Her left hand falls out of her lap and hangs by her side. When I lift it back up I catch a glimpse of her bare wrist.

Emphasis on bare. As in blank. As in lacking a very distinct branding.

Panic, rage, confusion, betrayal boil beneath my skin.

I unzip her vest, exposing her neck and chest, which are also bare. No tattoos, no brands, no Marks... at least none that belong to me and my pack mates.

“That’s not...that’s...” Dean stammers.

“This is not Solana. This is Queen Magnolia.”