Chapter 243

Grayson’s POV

“How did you know this was going to happen?” Rickon asked, his arm slung over my shoulder, his weight slowing me. “Actually, why did I have to take the hit?”

I glared at him. “Save the whining for later—or better yet, be quiet.”

Of course, quiet wasn't in Rickon's vocabulary. “I’m touched you’re helping instead of swapping bodies with Ava. And speaking of which, we haven't had any one-on-one time since this started! Congratulations are in order, and I call dibs on godfather.”

I released him. He hit the ground with a groan and a curse as I moved ahead, men rushing past into battle. The clash of bodies, the metallic scent of blood, the gunfire, snarls, and snapping bones—a symphony of war.

Rickon groaned, trying to sit up. “I was joking! Grayson, come on. I promise to be quiet.”

I stopped, exhaled sharply, and turned. “Break that promise, and I’m leaving you.”

He grinned, and I hauled him to his feet. He limped less, cooperating more. Evelyn and Maria, whom I’d ordered to leave first, should be gone by now. Elaine would follow soon, then Ava and Isabella.

Raina, who’d been in on the plan, smirked before the chaos began. “I’m a woman of spirit, Grayson. I’ll find my way.”

I didn’t know the precise details, but I had the general picture, formed after Liam’s visit. Damien wanted Ava. He was watching us all. After everything he'd done, I knew Damien played games; he was unpredictable. To win, I had to stop being a pawn and become a player.

After Raina revealed the truth, I told her to let herself be captured. With her, Damien’s next move would be predictable—Ava. And if he enjoyed watching us, proving his superiority, he'd come for us all. I needed to control the battlefield, to know where to send my men. So I had Ricardo, a sufficiently slimy bastard, contact Damien and orchestrate an attack on Ava.

Rickon and I were to observe, reacting to Damien's moves, while our forces prepared a strike. And we had numbers. I didn't care how many men Damien brought—he wasn't escaping this time. More men would arrive. He’d be trapped.

That's why I didn't chase him. We'd surprised him, and Raina already landed a blow. The walls were closing in, and for once, he wasn't in control.

Isabella, thanks to Rickon’s blabbing (much to my annoyance), insisted on participating, and, grudgingly, it proved a good call.

I didn’t tell Ava the plan. For it to work, it had to be real. Someone might get hurt. Ava, as much as I loved her, would have ruined everything—she was too good. She would have tried to stop it.

I loved her. The thought felt strangely light for a battlefield, yet settled deeply. For a second, it almost made me smile.

Rickon must have noticed. “If you’re going to stand there smiling about how perfectly this is working, you might as well—”

Movement caught my eye. Isabella and Elaine appeared, their expressions grim.

They weren’t supposed to be here. My stomach plummeted. Where was Ava?

Isabella answered my unspoken question, shifting Rickon’s weight onto herself and Elaine. Her voice was steady, but her eyes held urgency.

“We have a problem,” she said. “Lilian went back.”

The ground seemed to shift. She what?

Isabella’s next words were sharper, unforgiving. “Crystal has their father. She’s threatening to kill him. You need to go.”

For a second, I could only stare. If I weren't on what I'd call probation with her, I'd be furious at her stubbornness, but I had no time to think. I moved.

“What direction?” My voice was colder, sharper, as I scanned the area.

Elaine pointed west.

“East wing, past the lower level. There’s an opening in the back—that's where Crystal asked Lilian to come. Ava went before we could stop her.”

I didn’t wait. I ran.

The sounds of battle faded. My heartbeat was a relentless pulse. My shoes pounded the ground, pushing me forward until I was sprinting through dimly lit halls, dodging bodies and debris.

I should have expected this. I should have known Ava would do something like this. Not this exactly, but something similar. She had a habit of charging into fire, believing she could extinguish it with sheer willpower. It was part of what made her who she was—one of the things I loved about her. But right now, love didn’t matter. I was furious.

Frustration burned, but I suppressed it. There was no time for anger, not when she was out there, making reckless decisions that could kill her. I pushed forward, calculating the fastest route to the lower levels. I should have accounted for this.

My shoes hit the stone floor hard, my breath steady despite the chaos above. Gunfire, snarls, bodies slamming against walls—but I kept moving. My hand tightened on my gun. Ava was my priority.

The stairwell was dark, emergency lights casting long shadows. My shoes were nearly silent as I descended, muscles tense, senses alert. The moment I reached the lower level, I felt it: a shift in the air, a split second of warning, then pain—a sharp, tearing bite to my leg. I stumbled, my knee hitting the floor, my vision flashing white. I twisted, my gun raised, teeth clenched, and saw him: Liam.

I recognized him instantly. The massive black wolf loomed, saliva dripping from his snarling jaws, his golden eyes burning with rage. I'd seen his transformations many times. I knew his movements, his instincts—but that didn't mean I could predict him. Worse, I was wolfless, and his intentions were clear: blood. Before I could regain my footing, he bared his teeth and lunged again.