Third POV limited
Marcus Stellano, the wine shop owner, stumbled backward, stepping on his own foot as two guards gripped his arms tightly, dragging him out of the shop toward their car.
He opened his mouth to shout, but Milo jabbed him hard in the throat, making him cough violently, his sagging cheeks flushing red almost instantly.
"I’ve got my license plastered on the wall of my office if you want to see it," Marcus defended himself, but Milo and the men flanking him paid no attention to his protests.
"You lot can’t be cops. You look more like some bulky mafia ex-con crew looking to drain rich men of their money."
Milo laughed heartily, something almost cruel in the sound. "You’ll know exactly what we want you for when we get there."
"Why the hell does this feel so off?" Marcus asked as the guards shoved him into the back seat, his bald head knocking against the edge of the car. "Man, take it easy, I’ve got kids twice your age."
"Not for a man in his late fifties who’s got kids twice my age," Adrian shot back, sliding into the driver’s seat, two guards settling beside Marcus while Milo took the passenger side.
Adrian parked properly at the east wing of the penthouse, an entirely different building from the one where Saint still lay unconscious. As they hauled Marcus out of the car by his shirt, Adrian kicked his feet out from under him, letting him drop hard onto the floor. Marcus whimpered, his face red and slick with tears, lips twisted in pain as he shifted himself backward against a chair, rubbing at the harsh ache in his tailbone like it had been struck with iron.
Embroidered across the top of his chest was the logo for Stellano Fine Wines.
"Please, you’ve got the wrong person."
"No, not at all. We’ve got our hands on exactly the right person, one who can either be our last stop or our first stop toward getting there." Milo smirked, a wicked tug at the corner of his mouth as he walked toward the corner of the room to call Dax.
"Got someone."
Not five minutes later, Dax arrived, his face unreadable, jaw clenched so tight a tremor ran down the sharp line of it, like it could crack through brick.
"I had Diego run an identity check on Marcus Stellano, and based on the photo I just got, this isn’t him. He’s a worker at one of the branches under him. And where’s Nicole?" Milo revealed, holding his phone screen up in front of Dax, who studied it for a long moment before looking back at the middle-aged man slumped on the floor.
"Nicole will be here soon. As for him, make him talk. Whatever he knows." Dax commanded.
"I really don’t know what you people have against me, but I’ve got nothing on me. I survive on wages from S.S." The man whined, pushing himself up from the floor, only for Adrian to shove him straight back into the chair before he could take a step.
"This man right here is a mouthful," Milo complained to Dax, jabbing a thumb behind him.
"Who the hell is S.S.?" Dax asked, stepping closer to the man they’d just realized wasn’t their main supplier after all.
"Umm. He’s nobody, just a slip of the tongue," the man lied, shifting nervously in the chair.
"Try again."
"Is he the guy you’re looking for? I really can’t help you if your questions aren’t direct enough to jog my memory," he joked, laughing weakly at his own words.
"Get me the wrench and a pair of chopsticks, Adrian." Dax’s voice boomed through the room, and the man’s throat went completely dry as he swallowed.
"This is intense," he muttered, voice hoarse.
"Let’s just get this over with quickly, since you’ve decided to play dumb."
Back at the mansion, Dr. Quinn leaned against the wall, still tracking every small sign from Saint, though Marchetti still hadn’t surfaced the way he expected. It should have meant Saint’s body was still functioning properly underneath it all, not like the lab rats, who hadn’t even survived as long as the timeline predicted.
"His body’s still fighting Marchetti even unconscious, I can see that clearly from here, but he’s not waking up on his own, which means Marchetti’s on the edge of going fully feral." Dr. Quinn said it to no one in particular. "I’m worried we’ll have to restrain him when it finally happens."
Dax stepped into the room, more like he’d sprinted there. "Saint needs to get the hell out of that bed and bring down Marcus Stellano himself, the bastard who put him in this position." He spat the words out, scratching the back of his neck as he paced the room before stopping beside the bed.
"Alyssa might be the only one who could reach him, but she’s still at school."
"There isn’t enough time to wait for her, like I said before. It has to be her." Quinn’s eyes shifted to Aurora, whose hand stayed wrapped around Saint’s like a devoted wife’s would.
"I’m not leaving until he wakes up," Aurora said without looking up from his face.
"No one’s asking you to." Dr. Quinn’s voice was calmer now. "Whatever you did earlier worked, even if only a little. Do it again. We’re out of other options."
Aurora leaned closer, his skin cold against hers, colder somehow than the blood had ever felt. She needed proof, something to hold onto that told her the man lying still on this bed still carried some hint of life in him, and she’d found it earlier in the rise and fall of his chest.
She’d run out of words. In the few days she’d spent in this house, she hadn’t really learned much about Saint beyond the stubborn streak everyone seemed to have long since accepted. Most of what she knew, she’d learned secondhand, through the things Alyssa had told her. She drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, trying to steady her racing heart.
"Alyssa’s going to be heartbroken if she comes home from school and finds you still lying here, not moving. I know you love that kid to the bone, but this isn’t showing it. Do you even know she’s already picturing some happy little family? She hasn’t told you, not because she’s scared, but because she doesn’t know who to say it to yet. She told me a lot in the car. She even introduced me to her homeroom teacher." Aurora paused, swallowing. "The truth is, I don’t even like it when she calls me Uncle’s wife, though it makes me feel something strange, something good, if I’m honest. I know you can’t hear me, but I think Marchetti can. I just need you to get up. Marchetti, show me you’re still in there."
She leaned in closer, her face only inches from his, staring at the dry line of his lips. She meant to pull back, but instead her mouth brushed against his. Her eyes flew open the second it happened, and she jumped off the chair almost instantly, realizing what she’d just done as Dax and Dr. Quinn exchanged a look, surprised but knowing, like they were both holding back a laugh at her expense.
The monitor spiked, the line wavering sharply across the screen.
"Dax." Dr. Quinn’s voice cracked with urgency, already moving toward the bed.
Saint’s chest jerked upward, a sharp, violent inhale tearing through him as his eyes flew open. Aurora stayed frozen where she stood, unable to move, her heart slamming against her ribs, her mind somewhere far away from her own body.
Confusion flickered across his face for a fraction of a second before it hardened into something cold, his eyes bleeding fully black. His hand shot forward, gripping her waist before she could react, and in one violent motion he had her pinned against the wall, trapped beneath him.
Aurora’s breath caught in her throat. She shut her eyes on instinct, too afraid to look at whatever darkness had taken hold behind his eyes.
"Marchetti." Dr. Quinn breathed the name out, realization hitting him fast. He lunged for his bag, filling a syringe from a small bottle. "His body’s too weak to hold Marchetti back. He’s going completely feral."
Fur pushed through the skin at Saint’s shoulder, dark and grey at the tips, almost the same shade as Aurora’s hair, his shirt tearing along the seam with a sound like paper ripping. His fingers curled, nails elongating into something sharp, pressing dangerously against her throat, possessive and unyielding.
His face hovered inches from hers, breath ragged and hot against her cheek, a deep growl building low in his chest as he tilted his head forward.
"Please," Aurora pleaded, voice low and shaking, eyes still shut tight. "Please, Saint." The tears slid freely down her cheeks.