Joker presses his forehead against the wood. His shoulders heave.
Was Phantom or Reaper shot?
Who died?
Shouldn’t I know if my own Alpha is lying dying out in the freezing snow?
My own distress amplifies Bird’s through the bond. Bird starts to stand at the same time as I jerk toward the door.
Joker, however, slices his hand across his throat to signal for us to stop.
We freeze.
Only then do I feel the relief like a warm spring melting Bird and my icy distress in the bond.
Joker knows that Phantom is okay.
I cock my head at him in question.
When Joker taps his gun, I understand.
He recognized the shots as belonging to Phantom’s gun.
I grin viciously, sending Bird a thumbs up.
Bird slumps back to the floor. He is pale. He looks like he has just lived through the entire stages of grief in a couple of seconds.
If there was any doubt that he loved our Chief Alpha, there isn’t any longer.
All of a sudden, a chill makes my skin goosebump.
A gut sense that has saved my life on missions before, makes me shift to the left.
There is a sudden crack, followed by a bullet flicking past by ear with a whip-like hiss. I grit my teeth at the sting, as the bullet grazes me, before it thuds into the wooden wall behind me.
Splinters spray over my cheeks.
Joker doesn’t hesitate.
He shoots through the open doorway like he was only waiting for this moment to give him a target.
Someone screams.
Bullseye.
My eyes burn with wicked delight.
I snarl, baring my canines.
I am still taken aback by the unhinged Alpha, feral with fury, who barrels through the doorway.
Viper is slim with poisonous green eyes and spiky silver hair. She is dressed in khaki trousers and matching long, buttoned up khaki coat. Her coat is stained with crimson blood from the gaping shoulder wound where Joker just shot her but also, down the front.
Is that Reaper’s blood from Joker’s explosive gadget?
Here’s hoping.
Viper is not following any plan. She is not being strategic.