Caron stepped in first, flanked by Gray and two security backups—one male, one female in an evening gown that looked far too glamorous for the holster she barely concealed at her side.
Clara froze under my grip. My palm still pressed against her jaw, but my body trembled—not with rage now, but with restraint. The fever in my blood was still burning, distorting everything.
Caron’s voice sliced through the heat and chaos like a blade. "Adrien. Let her go."
My jaw clenched. I didn’t move.
"She’s not going anywhere," Caron added, stepping closer, hands visible. "We need her to talk. You’re burning up. Let Gray get you out of here. Let us handle this."
Clara twisted in my grip. "Adrien, don’t listen to them—"
I slowly loosened my hold, backing away like I was coming off a ledge. My head spun. The warmth in my blood surged and dipped, like I was falling through waves of heat. I could barely breathe.
But I turned to her again, my voice low and heavy with exhaustion. "Where is she?"
Clara hesitated. Her lips parted, as if she still wanted to play innocent.
"Where is Isabella?" I said again, sharp and cold.
Clara’s lips parted. She looked between and Caron, her pupils wide, her hands trembling. Then, slowly—her expression cracked.
"I gave her a keycard," she whispered. "Suite 14B. It’s on the next floor, east wing. But—" she broke off, breath hitching, "you might already be too late."
The words hit like a bullet to the ribs.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t curse. I just nodded once and turned toward the door.
"She’s not alone," Caron said behind , already switching to command mode. "Gray, you’re with us. Jo, bubby—stay with Clara. Restrain if needed."
"Copy," Jo murmured, stepping forward.
But just as I reached the threshold, Clara’s voice shrieked after .
"Wait—wait! Adrien, please—don’t leave !"
I turned halfway just in ti to see her grab a steak knife off the table. It glead in the soft light, too delicate to look threatening—until she held it to her throat.
"Pick," she hissed, tears spilling hot and fast. "Pick her or —or I swear to God, Adrien, I’ll end it right here!"
Ti stopped.
Caron’s hand twitched. Gray stepped instinctively forward.
But I didn’t panic.
I stared at her, and for a fleeting mont, sadness tightened my chest. The girl who once followed through gardens barefoot now stood before , shaking and broken.
"Put it down, Clara," I said softly.
Her hand trembled, chin lifting in defiance. "If you walk out that door, I’ll do it. I swear I’ll do it. You will love —you have to!"
Caron took a half-step forward, his voice a low, placating rumble. "Clara, put the knife down."
"She’s not even one of us!" she sobbed. "You and I—we’re the sa! We belong together. I’ve waited so long for you to see it. And now she’s ruining everything!"
"Don’t you care?" Clara cried harder, pressing the blade until a thin line of red welled up. "Adrien, look at ! I’ll do it!"
I took a step toward her, then another. The world swayed, a nauseating lurch, but my eyes never left hers. The drug in my system was a ravenous beast, but my fury was its master.
"Do it," I said. My voice was eerily calm, stripped of all emotion except a chilling finality.
Her eyes widened, knife wavering. "What...?"
"I said do it," I repeated, stopping a few feet from her. "Go on, Clara. You want my attention? You’ve got it. Let’s see how committed you are."
Her face crumpled. "You don’t an that."
"Every second you waste with this pathetic theater," I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a venomous whisper, "is another second I’m not with her. Another second she might be in danger because of you. So if you’re going to do it, do it now. Or get the hell out of my way."
That broke her. With a guttural scream of pure anguish, she didn’t press the knife in. She lunged. Not at her own throat, but at .
It was a clumsy, telegraphed move born of rage and despair. Before she’d closed half the distance, the woman, Jo, moved with startling speed. She pivoted, deflecting Clara’s arm with one hand while her other hand chopped down hard on Clara’s wrist. The knife clattered to the floor. In the sa fluid motion, Jo twisted Clara’s arm behind her back and slamd her face-first against the wall.
Clara scread and fought, tears streaking her flushed cheeks. And then—she laughed.
The mont Jo slamd Clara into the wall, I was already moving.
The door flew open under my arm with a loud crack. I didn’t wait for the others.
The hallway outside stretched like sothing out of a dream—too narrow, too saturated. The lights overhead pulsed too bright, each bulb blooming like heat behind my eyes. My skin was crawling. My suit itched. My blood felt like it was made of steam.
Suite 14B. End of the hall. Golden serpent handle.
The need in wasn’t exhaustion—it was raw, urgent pressure. Not toward her. Toward Isabella. To see her. Touch her. Tear down whatever stood between us and make sure she was still breathing.
I heard Gray’s voice behind , sharp and controlled. "Jo—get Clara cuffed. Bubby, stay. Caron—"
But I was already at a sprint. Each step hit the ground too hard, each breath shallow and sharp. The closer I got, the more wrong everything felt. The carpet underfoot was too plush, the air too warm. My hands itched to grab sothing—soone—and burn this urgency out of my system.
And then I saw it.
The serpent glinted at the end like a lure in water.
My heart pounded loud in my ears—too loud. I didn’t slow down. I didn’t reach for the keycard.
I ramd my shoulder into the door. Once.
THUD.
It didn’t give.
From inside—I swear—I heard a muffled noise. A voice? A movent? My brain couldn’t parse it, only that it wasn’t hers.
I reeled back again.
THUD.
Harder. Louder. Sothing cracked.
Then Caron’s voice just behind : "Adrien—wait—step back—"
I did.
"Gray!" Caron barked behind . "Breach kit—now."
Gray didn’t hesitate. He shouldered past , a compact breaching ram appearing in his hands as if from thin air. It wasn’t a battering ram; it was smaller, more precise, designed for locks and hinges. He set the prongs against the jamb, right beside the serpent handle.
"Clear!" he grunted.
Caron yanked back by the collar of my jacket, a sharp, non-negotiable pull. "Hold, Adrien. Hold."
The command was a chain, but the beast in my blood strained against it. I watched, my body vibrating with a need so intense it was a physical agony.
Gray engaged the tool. There was a high-pitched hydraulic whine, followed by a sickening crunch of splintering wood and shearing tal. The door groaned, popped, and swung inward a few inches with a final, defeated crack.
That was all the opening I needed.
I broke Caron’s hold like it was paper. He swore behind , but I was already through the breach, a blur of motion fueled by fever and dread.
And then—
I ran into hell.
Reviews
All reviews (0)