Page 113 of Alpha's Rejected Warrior
He’s different now. Beyond confident. Beyond dangerous. He’s justwrongin a way that bypasses my higher-order thinking and goes straight to my lizard hindbrain, which is yelling,run,run, run. The magic pouring off him is a ticking bomb. Every nerve in my body screams that detonation is seconds away.
Rhiannon signals the pack. They try to form ranks, to overwhelm, to use their numbers against a single target.
Holden raises one hand.
The blast catches Branson mid-stride, lifting him off his feet and hurling him into Akila. They go down in a tangle of limbs. Xander dodges left, Rhiannon right, but Holden’s already turning, already tracking, magic crackling between his fingers like static electricity.
Fuck, he’s gotten faster.Rhiannon’s frustration hits me.And stronger.
He counters all of their attacks. The pack’s coordination means nothing against someone who can swat them aside like gnats.
But he’s not just fighting.
He’s movingdefensively. Repositioning constantly, always keeping himself between us and—
“He’s guarding the circle!” Conan shouts. He’s somehow still on his feet, giving a wide berth, his eyes tracking Holden’s movements with sudden clarity.
I see it now. Every dodge, every counterattack, every blast of magic...they all serve to keep the salt hexagon at Holden’s back. He needs to protect it.
Conan doesn’t hesitate.
He launches himself at Holden’s blind side, not aiming for him but for the space between him and the ritual geometry. If he can break the symmetry, disrupt the formation. . .
Holdenroars.
The sound is inhuman. Furious. He whips around with terrifying speed and catches Conan with a concentrated blast that hits him like a freight train.
Conan doesn’t fly backward. He just...crumples. Drops straight down like his strings were cut.
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t groan.
Doesn’t crack a joke about how that’s gonna leave a mark.
Nothing.
“Conan?” Akila reaches him first, sliding to her knees on the frost-slicked stone. Her hands float above his chest, shaking so much she can’t quite bring herself to make contact. “Conan, get up!Get up!”
Silence.
I’ve never heard panic in Akila’s voice like that before.
“Fall back!” Rhiannon commands. “Behind those pillars,now!”
Branson scoops Conan’s limp form into his arms like he weighs nothing and sprints for a set of massive stone pillars near the temple’s entrance. Akila covers their retreat, blade raised, eyes never leaving Holden.
I scramble after them, my boots slipping on the frost-slicked stone. Xander grabs my arm when I stumble, hauling me the last few feet into cover.
We collapse behind the pillars, breathing hard. Branson lays Conan down with surprising gentleness, and Akila immediately presses her fingers to his throat.
“Pulse is weak.” She swallows hard. “But he’s alive.”
The relief is short-lived.
Rhiannon crouches beside me, blood dripping from a gash above her eye. Her gaze meets mine.
If we can’t stop him...She doesn’t finish the thought. She doesn’t need to.
