Something dark and dormant within him roared and he felt a pulsation and a pop just as his power connected with his mind.
Ice flowed out of him, freezing the brass in his hand. It was a fight against the heat, ice melting almost as quickly as hecould form it, so Fenrir stepped in closer, shielding the knob protectively with his body, even as fire licked at his arm and caught the cuff of his pants.
He didn’t even notice.
There was a voice in his head screaming at him now, not to escape, but to hunt.
To break free so he could find King before anyone else did.
To find him and claim him the way a Shout should.
The metal crumbled in his hand suddenly and he fell forward, landing on the ground out in the hallway where the air was mostly clean, gasping. Alarms blared loudly, and red flashing lights made him dizzy as he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled. The second he regained his balance, he started to run, completely unaware of the fire making quick work of the walls at either side of him or the ceiling overhead.
Instinct was a funny thing. Maybe if Fenrir hadn’t spent more than half of his life fighting against his, he would have recognized what he was experiencing sooner, but alas. His primal urges took full control, spurring him onward almost mindlessly.
Images flashed through his mind as he ran. The first time he met Oberon’s green gaze.
The first time he caught his scent.
The feel of the alpha’s mouth on his.
The way he held him close at night while he slept.
The way he’d sounded when he’d told Fen that he was his pack.
With each recollection, a wave of frost poured out of him, ghosting across the floorboards and up the tacky wallpaper. Windows shattered, first from the heat from the ensuing flames, and then from the pressure of the ice that snuffed those embers out.
Power leaked from his pores, energy zapping and crackling in the air around him, and his omega pheromones followed suit, bursting and quarrelling against the smell of char and smoke.
What was that thing Oberon had once said to him?
That absolutely perfect, incredible thing?
That before him, Fen had been a hybrid who had endured.
That was true.
But Fenrir was sick of enduring.
He wanted to thrive.
He caught the fresh scent from the top of the stairs and picked up the pace, taking the steps two at a time, so that he practically flew down them.
His alpha came into focus first, eyes wide, standing next to a bleeding…someone. Someone Fenrir should know but that he couldn’t bring himself to place or care about in the moment. Words were too hard, let alone names.
Only one name mattered.
Only one thing.
The gun was the next object his mind processed, held by another unimportant face that tickled his recognition. The female holding it turned toward him, weapon raised, but Fenrir was so far ahead of her, it was almost laughable.
As if he’d allow anything to stand between him and his mate.
His ice was already sweeping the steps ahead of him, trailing down the banister. The cold wave hit those below a second before his feet touched the ground, and the woman holding the gun shivered, giving him the perfect opportunity to strike.
She got a single shot off but he easily dodged, backhanding her arm so the weapon went flying. His fingersfound her throat and squeezed, and he poured that chill into her as he kept walking, eyes locked onto his prize even as he choked the pathetic creature in his hold.
The second she went limp he tossed her to the side, instantly forgetting all about her existence.