"He… he's dead. Along with his wife, Sasha."
The words hadn't even settled before rage exploded inside me. I swept everything off my table in one violent motion—glass shattered, papers scattered—and before I knew it, my fist went straight through the window.
"Asher Slade, you bastard!" I roared, shards clinging to my bleeding knuckles. "You've killed one of us again. I swear—I will make you pay."
"S–sir?"
"Get. Out."
The poor guy didn't hesitate. He bolted.
Silence followed, thick and suffocating.
I dragged a hand through my hair, chest rising and falling as I tried to steady myself. Then I pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with shaking fingers. The flame flickered in the dim room as I took a long drag, exhaling slowly while staring at the dark sky beyond the broken window.
Asher had taken too much.
Too many lives.
Too many people.
And yes… I had taken his too. But this—this endless cycle—it had to end.
One way or another.
Killing him would end it.
Or… killing someone close to him.
My jaw tightened.
His brother? No. Allen might act carefree, like a reckless playboy, but that was a mask. Underneath it, he was just as dangerous. Just as untouchable.
Then… his sister.
Clara.
The little darling of the Slade family.
A perfect target.
A clean strike.
A bull's-eye.
But then—
Alexia.
I froze.
They were close. Not just close—best friends. Killing Clara wouldn't just hurt Asher… it would destroy Alexia. It would shatter her.
And that—
That was something I could never allow.
I exhaled sharply, crushing the thought before it could take root.
Clara was off-limits.
Which brought me back to Alexia herself.
Wyatt had told me something earlier… something that still didn't sit right.
She was a hybrid.
But how?
As far as I knew, Alexia had never been bitten. Not once.
So… was she born that way?
If she was, then why now? Why was it only manifesting?
Nothing made sense.
And I hated that.
I hadn't seen her since that day at her house—the day Asher showed up. One moment everything was fine, the next she was screaming.
I knew Asher hadn't hurt her.
But that didn't stop the anger.
What the hell was he even doing there?
"S–sir?"
My eyes snapped toward the door.
"Didn't I tell you to get out?"
"Y–you did, but… someone's here for you."
"I'm not accepting visitors today."
"Someone's in a bad mood."
I didn't need to look to know who it was.
Wyatt.
"Asher killed another one of us," I said flatly. "Why shouldn't I be angry?"
He stepped inside, eyes immediately landing on the cigarette between my fingers.
"You're smoking?"
"Can't I?"
"Of course you can," he shrugged lightly, "but Alexia hates the smell. And with her enhanced senses now? Even the tiniest whiff might start a war between you two."
"She's not here, is she?" I muttered.
"And it's not like you'll tell her."
"I might."
I shot him a glare.
"Fine," I said, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under my shoe. "What brings you here?"
His expression shifted instantly—serious now.
"We have a problem."
My posture straightened.
"Go on."
"There was an emergency patient at the hospital today. I was on duty." He paused. "He was already dead when he arrived."
"And?" I frowned. "What does that have to do with me? I didn't kill anyone today."
"I know it wasn't you," he said quickly. "That's not the point. There were no injuries. No wounds. No internal damage. No signs of suicide."
"Then what? He just dropped dead?"
Wyatt didn't answer immediately.
And that—alone—made something in my chest tighten.
"When they wheeled him in…" he finally said, slower now, "the room temperature dropped."
I stilled.
"What?"
"The monitors started glitching. Lights flickering." His eyes darkened. "One of the nurses swore she heard… whispering."
A chill crawled up my spine.
"Wyatt—"
"I examined the body myself," he cut in. "There was nothing. No blood loss. No trauma. But Tyler…"
He hesitated.
And for the first time since I'd known him—
Wyatt looked afraid.
"It didn't feel like a body," he said quietly. "It felt… empty."
My pulse slowed.
"What do you mean?"
"It was like something had been inside him… and then ripped out." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Not taken. Not drained."
"Ripped."
The room suddenly felt colder.
"You know how hybrids feed," Wyatt continued. "Blood. Life force. There's always a trace."
He shook his head slowly.
"There was nothing."
A long pause.
"Like his soul was… devoured."
I swallowed hard.
"That's impossible."
"I thought so too," Wyatt said. "Until I realized—there's only one person who doesn't need to leave a mark."
My jaw tightened.
"Derek."
The name didn't just sit in the air.
It lingered.
Heavy.
Wrong.
Almost like saying it invited something in.
Wyatt nodded.
"But why?" I asked, quieter now.
"If I had to guess…" he said, "he's starving."
My brows furrowed.
"Starving?"
"Not for blood. Not for power the way we understand it." Wyatt stepped closer. "For something deeper."
My chest tightened.
"Souls don't replenish easily, Tyler," he continued. "And what he took from the King and Queen… that kind of power?"
He shook his head.
"It burns."
A cold realization settled in.
"So no matter how many he kills…"
"It'll never be enough," Wyatt finished.
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
"And from what I've heard…" Wyatt added, his voice barely above a whisper now, "he's been searching for the daughters of the King and Queen."
My head snapped up.
"They're alive?"
"Apparently."
"And he wants them because—"
"They're the only ones whose souls might actually sustain him."
Something twisted in my gut.
"And Tyler…" Wyatt added slowly, "if he finds them…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
The image alone was enough.
"And there's more," Wyatt said. "Spies. Everywhere. Watching. Listening."
"For Derek?"
He nodded.
"They don't just work for him." His voice dropped again. "Some of them… worship him."
I scoffed—but it came out weaker than I intended.
"Fanatics."
"Or terrified," Wyatt countered. "Because people who've seen what he can do…"
He met my eyes.
"Don't stay sane."
A flicker of unease passed through me.
"What about Logan?"
"As expected," Wyatt said. "He's aligned with Derek."
Of course he was.
I clenched my fists.
"His son is out there killing innocents," I muttered darkly, "while he helps wipe out what's left of the royal bloodline."
My voice hardened.
"They're not just monsters anymore."
I looked up at Wyatt.
"They're something worse."
Something unnatural.
Something that shouldn't exist.
My chest tightened suddenly.
"My parents…"
Wyatt placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Tyler. Their deaths weren't your fault."
I shook him off immediately.
"But they are."
And deep down—
For the first time—
A thought crept in that I couldn't shake.
What if Derek had been there?
Watching.
Waiting.
Feeding.
"Brody!" I called sharply.
The door opened almost instantly.
"Yes, sir?"
"Assign men to watch over Alexia. Discreetly. I don't want her knowing."
He nodded. "Understood." Then he disappeared.
Wyatt raised a brow.
"You really care about her."
I didn't hesitate.
"She's the closest thing I have to family," I said firmly. "And I'm not letting anything happen to her."
"She can handle herself, you know."
"Maybe," I said. "But that doesn't mean I'll take chances."
Wyatt smirked slightly.
"Let's just hope she doesn't kill you when she finds out."
A small chuckle escaped me.
"Yeah… let's hope."
He turned toward the door.
"I'll see you later."
I gave a short nod.
And just like that—
I was alone again.