Chapter 242

Ava’s POV

A deafening boom ripped through the room, a shockwave slamming into my chest and stealing my breath. Stone and debris rained down as thick clouds of dust filled the air, turning everything into a disorienting blur of gray. The explosion sent people staggering; some fell, others shielded themselves. My ears rang, drowning out all other sound.

Before I could react, men poured in—armed, fast, moving with lethal precision. Gunfire erupted, the sharp crack of bullets tearing through the room as chaos descended. I couldn't understand what was happening. One second we were trapped, forced to play Damien's twisted game; the next, the walls were blasted apart, and men in dark combat gear stormed in, taking us completely by surprise.

I turned to Grayson. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might break my ribs. His face was unreadable, but there was no shock, no hesitation.

Rickon, still clutching his bleeding leg, groaned as he tried to sit up. His lips curled into a pained grin. His voice was rough, but laced with vindication. "The bastard's plan actually worked."

Plan?

Realization hit me like a physical blow. Grayson had been waiting for this. He'd kept quiet, biding his time, waiting for the attack he'd orchestrated. But how… why? I was utterly confused.

Through the chaos, I saw Damien's surprised expression before my grandmother—the High Priestess—moved with impossible speed. One moment, she knelt beside him, appearing fragile and unassuming; the next, she struck.

The blade in her hand glinted as she drove it into Damien's side. His body jolted; his mouth parted in stunned silence before a ragged breath escaped him. Blood blossomed through his shirt.

My grandmother whispered something, and the air crackled. A surge of energy rippled outward, shattering the barrier that had kept us trapped.

For a moment, no one moved. Then Damien, his face contorted from shock to rage, lunged at her. But she was surprisingly fast. She sidestepped smoothly, her blade slashing his arm. A deep cut sent another spurt of blood onto the floor. Damien snarled, stumbling back, his hand gripping his wound, his eyes burning with fury.

Before he could retaliate, another wave of men poured in—armed, efficient, our men.

Strong hands grabbed me, pulling me back. My head snapped up; my heart hammered, my pulse roared in my ears.

Grayson's voice cut through the chaos: "You need to go. Now."

Go? I was still trying to make sense of everything—how he'd known to prepare for this—when Isabella moved to Rickon, her eyes scanning him. "Are you okay? Does it hurt that bad?"

Rickon, still pressing his hand against his wound, grinned. "I finally agree. You'd make a badass actress."

Isabella smirked. "Told you."

I stared at them, bewildered. What the hell was happening? My grandmother? A hidden plan? An entire attack force? My mind reeled, unable to connect the pieces.

Grayson helped Rickon to his feet. Isabella grabbed my arm. "You have to go," Grayson repeated.

I scanned the room for my mother, but she was gone. My chest tightened, but then I saw two men lifting my father's unconscious form toward the exit. Relief mixed with panic. I didn't know if he was okay, but we had no time to check. Maria and Elaine were also gone.

I turned back to Grayson, my voice harsher than intended. "What about you?"

Grayson met my eyes. "Go."

Something in his voice made my stomach drop, but before I could argue, Isabella yanked me forward. We ran—through the gaping hole in the wall, where men were still pouring in. I stumbled over debris, my breath ragged, my mind struggling to catch up.

I twisted toward Isabella, screaming, "What the hell is going on?"

She screamed back, "I have no idea how Grayson knew this would happen, but he had a plan!"

A plan? When? How? I dodged a falling beam, my heart lurching. "Why wasn't I in on it?"

"If we survive this shithole," Isabella shouted, breathless, "I'll tell you!"

We ran past bodies—some of Damien's men, some of ours. Gunfire echoed. My pulse pounded. Someone screamed behind us, but I didn't dare look back. Then we stopped. We had no choice.

The hallway stretched out before us, long and unfamiliar—a maze of turns and corridors. Panic surged through me.

"Where the hell are we?"

Isabella spun, just as lost as I was. "I don't know."

"You two! This way!"

Elaine's voice. We turned, spotting her motioning frantically from an open doorway. We bolted toward her, our lungs burning. Behind us, the sounds of battle grew louder.

We caught up with Elaine, breathless, adrenaline surging. "Where is my mother? And Maria?" I screamed over the chaos, the gunfire and inhuman growls filling the air.

Elaine shouted, "Grayson had them leave first! They went with his men—I'm sure they're already out! Your father—"

"I saw," I cut in, my chest heaving. The relief—knowing my mother and Maria were safe—did little to quell the terror clawing at my throat.

We kept moving. The walls shook from the battle. The scent of blood—thick and metallic—mixed with smoke and something worse.

A deep, guttural growl sounded ahead—close, too close. We skidded to a stop as two wolves emerged from the darkness, blocking our path.

Shit. Their massive bodies bristled with tension. They snarled, sharp teeth glinting as they prowled forward.

"Shit," Isabella muttered. "Anyone got their wolves back yet?"

"No," Elaine and I answered in unison, slowly backing away.

The larger wolf snarled again and lunged. Three gunshots rang out—three precise shots, and the wolves dropped instantly.

We whipped our heads toward the gunfire. A middle-aged woman, clad in black, stood a few feet away, her gun still raised. She looked completely unbothered. Sharp cheekbones, dark eyes holding no fear, and a commanding presence.

Her gaze settled on us. "Any of you seen my mother?" she asked, her voice smooth, edged with impatience. "Silver hair? Has a knack for trouble?"

Elaine, Isabella, and I exchanged looks before shaking our heads.

"No?" The woman sighed, muttering something in Italian before refocusing on me. Her eyes scanned my face with intensity. Then, her lips curled into amusement. "Well, Lily really did just spit you out, didn't she?" she said dryly.

I blinked. "What?"

She tucked away her gun. "If I didn't know Lily—sorry, Evelyn—I would almost be offended she never mentioned me once." She tilted her head. "I'm your aunt."

The words didn't register. My what?

She didn't wait for my response. "We'll save the reunion for later," she continued. "Let's go. You're going the wrong way, and I need to find my mother." Then she turned and started walking.

What in the hell?

Isabella was the first to react. "You have an aunt? A badass, all-black-wearing, gun-precise-aiming aunt? And you also have a grandmother who's a High Priestess? And your mother's name is Lily?"

I shook my head, my legs moving on autopilot as I followed the woman. "Apparently so."

Elaine, still breathless, muttered, "Don't forget a long-lost twin sister with an intent to kill you."

Isabella and I both turned to her, and she rolled her eyes. "We're practically running—or now walking—for our lives. Allow me to participate."

And despite everything—the gunfire, the growls, the blood, the unknown dangers—I almost laughed. But the laughter died as a voice—her voice—slid into my mind, sharp and cold.

"I wouldn't take another step if I were you."

I froze. My wolf was gone—so how was she reaching me?

My fingers curled into fists as I forced my mind to respond, my thoughts laced with ice. 'Save it, Crystal. We're almost out, and Damien's done. You lost.'

I felt her smile before I heard her voice again, slow and triumphant. 'Have I, really? Is that what you call standing over our dear, dear father… with a silver knife pressed to his heart?'

My stomach dropped. I saw them take him out. How did she have him? My breath caught in my throat, my pulse hammering.

Then her voice came again, soaked in victory. 'You're going to leave your little crew, and you're going to come back. Alone. Or I swear, the knife goes straight through his heart.'