Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 102: Fancy Paperweight

Static bursts from three different walkies at once, creating a cacophony of urgent voices in the SUV’s confined space.

"Contact, northwest quadrant—"

"—negative visual on primary targets—"

"—maintain distance, do not engage—"

I press my face against the cool window, scanning the sky for massive wings or scaled bodies. Nothing but clouds and empty air greet my searching gaze. The absence of visible threats unnerves me more than seeing them would. At least then I’d know where they are.

Princess Paws shifts in my arms, her tiny claws pricking through my shirt. The purple lines beneath my skin have settled into faint traces, no longer burning or pulsing. My thoughts sharpen, the fog of pain lifting enough to process our situation.

"Alpha team, maintain formation." Logan’s voice pierces through the radio chatter. "Keep eyes on—"

A black-clad figure leans between the front seats, thrusting something toward my face. The sudden movement triggers my fight response, and I jerk backward, smacking my head against the window. A plastic oxygen mask hovers inches from my nose.

The sharp movement triggers a coughing fit. Dust from the collapsed building coats my throat, each hack sending fresh spasms through my chest. My eyes water as I try to catch my breath.

"Ma’am, you need supplemental oxygen." The soldier’s voice is firm but not unkind. "You’ve inhaled significant debris."

I wave him off, still coughing. "I’m—" Another spasm cuts off my words.

"Nicole." Logan’s tone brooks no argument. "Put it on."

The soldier adjusts the elastic strap around my head while I focus on not choking. Cool, clean oxygen flows through the mask, soothing my raw throat. My coughing gradually subsides as my breathing steadies.

"Better?" Logan asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice yet. The oxygen helps clear the last cobwebs from my mind, though exhaustion still weighs heavy on my limbs. Princess Paws butts her head against the mask, curious about this new accessory.

"Target spotted, bearing two-four-zero!"

"Confirmed visual, they’re gaining—"

"All units, prepare for evasive maneuvers."

The radio chatter starts again. I press closer to the window, desperate for a glimpse of our pursuers. The sky remains stubbornly empty.

Logan’s hands press against my shoulders, pushing me back into the leather seat. The buckle clicks into place across my chest, securing me just as another wave of coughing hits.

"Stay put," he orders, his voice tight.

The soldier twists around again, this time holding what looks like a miniature version of my oxygen mask. Logan takes it, demonstrating without words how to hold it near Princess Paws’ face without pressing it directly against her nose.

My heart clenches. I hadn’t even considered how the dust and debris might affect her tiny lungs. Some pet parent I’m turning out to be. But Princess Paws surprises me, settling into my lap with remarkable composure. She breathes steadily into the mask as if she’s done this a hundred times before.

"Good girl," I whisper through my own mask, scratching behind her ears.

A sharp movement catches my eye. Logan’s entire body goes rigid, his muscles coiling like a spring about to release. "All units, high alert," he barks into his radio. "Weapons ready."

He reaches down, hauling off the floor what looks like a cross between a rocket launcher and something out of a sci-fi movie. The metal gleams dull black in the dim light of the SUV. Questions burn on my tongue—specifically, what kind of weapon is that?—but the grim set of Logan’s jaw keeps me silent.

The SUV swerves violently to the left. My shoulder slams against the door as Princess Paws digs her claws into my thighs. Through the window, a blast of blue-white flame illuminates the night sky, so close I feel its heat through the glass.

I guess our wardstone shielding is over.

A thunderous roar rips through the air, rattling the SUV’s windows and vibrating through my bones. The purple lines beneath my skin flare to life, though nowhere near as intense as before. Still, the sensation sends my heart racing, each beat echoing in my ears.

"Everything’s going to be fine." Logan’s steady voice cuts through my rising panic.

My chest tightens as I struggle to draw breath through the oxygen mask. The sharp whistle of air tells me I’m hyperventilating. Princess Paws squirms in my lap, sensing my distress.

"Two-point-three kilometers," our driver barks out, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

The radio chatter intensifies, multiple voices overlapping in controlled chaos.

"—lost visual on Beta team—"

"—closing fast from the southeast—"

"—maintain distance at all costs—"

Logan remains a pillar of calm beside me, his hands steady on the strange weapon. How can he be so composed when everything’s falling apart? The contrast between his demeanor and the urgency in the voices around us only heightens my anxiety.

"One-point-eight kilometers," the driver calls out.

A blast rocks the SUV, and my stomach lurches as we swerve. Through the windshield, I catch glimpses of the other vehicles in our convoy, also in disarray.

"Point-nine kilometers—"

The SUV suddenly pitches sideways. My shoulder slams against the door as we veer off the road, tires crunching over gravel and grass. Princess Paws digs her claws into my thighs, and I clutch her closer, trying to shield her from the violent jolts.

The purple lines pulse in time with my racing heart. Each throb sends waves of unease through my body, like my own blood has become foreign and dangerous.

"Delta team, maintain formation!" Logan’s voice rings with authority through the chaos. "Keep tight on our six!"

The terrain grows rougher. Tree branches scrape against the windows as we crash through the underbrush.

"Bypass the ravine!" Logan’s voice cuts through the chaos of branches whipping against metal.

"Point-four kilometers," our driver calls out as we bounce over what feels like every rock in existence. My teeth rattle with each impact.

The soldier manning the radio swears. "They’re targeting this vehicle specifically."

"Of course they are." Logan’s voice remains maddeningly calm. "Dragons don’t let go of their treasure so easily."

A deafening crash above makes me scream. The roof caves in several places, metal groaning as massive weight bears down. Princess Paws yowls in my arms. Through the twisted metal, I catch a glimpse of scales, and red-painted claws.

For some reason, without a single doubt in my mind, I know who it is: Eliana.

The SUV swerves wildly. My shoulder slams against the door as Logan raises that strange weapon toward the roof. Pure instinct takes over—I duck down, hands clamped over my ears, torso curved over my cat, bracing for an explosion.

But there’s no boom. No fire. No shrapnel.

Instead, an unholy shriek pierces the air—a sound of pure agony that makes my bones vibrate. The weight above us shifts violently. The SUV tilts precariously to one side before slamming back down on all four wheels. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of a massive shape wheeling away into the sky, lopsided and ungraceful.

That terrible scream fades into the distance.

"Holy shit," the soldier breathes. "It worked? How—I thought these things were just fancy paperweights."

"They usually are." Logan lowers the weapon, his movements precise despite our wild trajectory. "Direct contact is required for the resonance to affect their magical system. The roof actually helped—created a conduit between the deterrent and her talons."

Unfortunately, I can see the sky through a few terrifying claw marks, too.

I have no idea what that weapon is, but it’s my favorite fucking thing on the planet right now.

"We’re here," the driver announces.

A massive explosion lights up the sky ahead of us.