Omega Bound Chapter 266

Thane

Engines cut one by one. Sixty SUVs stand in formation, my forty in the lead, Clarke’s twenty down the rear. Doors slam in unison, and the ground vibrates beneath the weight of boots moving with purpose. Our shifters in black tactical gear fan out, rifles slung, comms ready, eyes sharp beneath the shadow of the storm. The air is electric, the first growl of thunder rolling across the ridge like the earth itself is warning us back.

I ignore it.

My gaze is locked on Havenridge. “Decades ago, it was built as a state-of-the-art medical retreat. Part hospital, part research facility where the wealthy sent their broken to be mended. Trauma patients and the mentally ill were housed behind its walls, promised peace and recovery through cutting-edge treatments. But rumors spread of shifters vanishing, of experiments whispered about in hushed voices. When funding dried up, the compound was shuttered, abandoned, or so we believed.” Clarke explains.

Now, Havenridge is the huge carcass of a compound rising before us. Ivy strangles its concrete skin, black iron fences sag like broken ribs, and its blacked-out windows gleam like the eyes of a predator waiting in the dark. Ronan surges against the surface of my control, every muscle in my body coiled, ready. Gurds line the fences and pace the roof of the building. The place is heavily armed, and if the inside is as well, we could be outnumbered.

The rage boiling within us will be enough. It has to be.

Raven’s signal is alive, trapped somewhere in that façade of ruin. My pack hums with restrained violence at my back, Clarke’s men locking into their positions. The storm breaks overhead with a flash of white fire across the sky, and in that light, I see the truth.

This place isn’t dead.

It’s waiting for us.

“This is the first time I’ll ever say it,” I growl, voice carrying over the thunder. “There is no plan. No recon. No strategy to outthink. Tonight, we do what wolves were born to do. Everyone inside Havenridge dies. Every lab, every cage, every shadow of what they’ve built in there burns. We don’t stop. We don’t hesitate. We find Raven. We find Ayla. And we kill anyone and anything that stands in our way. Shift or don’t, I don’t care as long as everybody within this damn building dies!” I can feel the bond within my chest pulling me toward the building. I can feel my ‘everything’ being held behind these walls. I can’t feel her emotions, I don’t know what that means, but I know she is in there.

I make sure everybody here has a thorough understanding of Ayla and Raven’s appearance. I have never been more grateful that the fates made Ayla snow white and gave Raven flaming red hair.

“I’m ready to drive a damn vehicle through the gate, Thane. I need to be in there, now.” Cyrus points a thick metal dagger toward the compound as he growls. He’s covered in weapons and has a bag of explosives over his shoulder, which should concern me regarding our mate’s safety, but I trust him.

“You drive us through, we get as close as we can with the other SUVs, and we kill everybody. Mount up.” We all climb into our SUVs, the rumble of the collective engines probably already alerted them of our presence, but I don’t care.

Absolutely nothing matters to me right now other than my mate.

The SUV skids to a halt in the churned mud, the hood smoking from where it crumpled the fence. Bullets pepper the frame, a shriek of metal against metal, but Cyrus is already howling with laughter, his pistol firing through the half-open window. One guard drops in a spray of blood before the vehicle even stops rocking.

My boots hit the mud, and I’m moving before my wolf even fully rouses, rifle raised, every step precise, every shot calculated. One guard rounds the corner, and I don’t hesitate, two rounds to the chest, and he crumples into the wet earth. Another swings a baton at me, but I sidestep, catching his wrist and snapping it with a single, brutal twist.

Cyrus is laughing somewhere behind me, tearing through enemies like a man possessed, but I keep my focus forward. Another two guards pop up behind a barricade, and I squeeze off a controlled burst of fire. They hit the ground before they can even react. I drop to one knee, pivot, and fire again, each shot lethal, a beat in the rhythm of the battlefield.

A flash of movement catches my peripheral vision. I barrel forward, shoulder-checking one guard into another, slamming the butt of my rifle across a helmet. The storm tears across the clearing in a blinding sheet of rain. Every crash of thunder matches the pulse in my chest; every flash of lightning illuminates the carnage I’m leaving behind.

I duck a hail of bullets, mud spraying across my face. Blood sprays across my chest, but I barely register it. There are too many coming; another wave is bursting from the treeline heading toward the compound, screaming and firing.

I pivot, dropping one with a clean headshot, and another goes down beneath the edge of my knife. I pulled it faster than I can even fathom as he charged. The smell of blood, sweat, and wet earth is thick in the air, and my wolf is roaring for more.

For his mate.

For their blood.

Cyrus is laughing somewhere behind me, tossing explosives with reckless abandon. One detonates against a barricade, a blast of fire and twisted metal hurls guards across the mud like ragdolls. Shouts turn into screams, and their screams fuel our fire within.

I barrel forward through the chaos, catching a guard’s arm mid-swing and snapping it before driving my knee into his chest. Blood runs down my gloves, sticky and warm, but I don’t slow. The sound of screams and bullets echo through the clearing and bounce of the walls of this compound.

Clarke’s men move like clockwork, precision in every step, rifles swinging with deadly purpose. I can feel their training even through the chaos. Some of them are young, too green for this kind of carnage, but they move with a confidence that makes me trust them anyway.

The carnage doesn’t slow them, doesn’t scare them. They adapt, anticipate, and kill with efficiency I can’t help but respect. One of them glances at me for just a second, nodding as we clear another wave, and I see the same fire mirrored in his eyes that burns inside me.

I ditch my rifle to pick up speed and pivot through the mud, knife flashing in the dim, storm-lit clearing, catching a guard in the throat before he even pulls the trigger. The slash sprays hot blood across my chest. Another comes screaming from the side; I sidestep, spin, and shove him into the remains of a barricade, my knife burying itself in his shoulder as he collapses with a ragged scream.

Cyrus detonates another explosive behind me, sending a wave of fire and concrete into a cluster of enemies. Some are thrown screaming into the mud; others are scrambling to regain their footing. I run through the chaos, kicking one man in the face and slamming another into the side of a burning SUV, knife ripping through the meat of his arm before he hits the ground.

I am a blur of black tactical gear, steel, and pure, focused rage.

This isn’t retribution, this is rage-a-cide.