34. Compromise, or no?

Sinclair

Dead?

As if.

I don't dance with death. That word doesn't apply to me.

Two days, that's how long I've been out, thanks to a bunch of lackeys who thought their ashen bullets could end me. Pinned down, they thought they'd scored. I call it a temporary inconvenience. Those bullets, they only pissed me off.

The fool, Alaric, had taunted me with the word 'pup', but deep down, he recognized what I was; acknowledged it.

I'm the apex, and I would raze this world if I needed to, to keep my mate. He'd seen it that night and had known to prepare for it, taking me by surprise.

It's the only reason they left there alive.

I awoke this morning to find the only family I have ever truly known hovering at what was meant to be my death bed, poking at the sore spots on my skin that were slowly healing due to the ash in my blood.

They'd poked at it until I'd shot out of bed, snarling.

Sam and Naomi had taken out the bullets. All sixteen of them and my body had needed to rest to heal.

I