False Confidence

Three Nights

Sasha

I paced the small expanse of the gym, having just failed my third combo in a row. Regardless of Azriel's situation at the moment, I shouldn't be struggling this badly, anything personal I feel should never hinder the quality of my work. That's the way it has always been and how it always should be. Despite my concern over the discovery of how far my loyalty truly went for Azriel, I was more focused on his safe return than anything else. Luckily, the Eastborne alpha had sent some terrified Rogue to deliver the news that Azriel was alive and well, currently being escorted to Northrun's estate in a matter of hours. Before that piece of information had come about, I had barely any time to think straight, forgoing food or sleep in favor of tracking down the resources to simply find him.

The fan whirred quietly, the only other sound besides my labored breaths which came steadily, even though I had yet to break a sweat. My skin was warm from the unrelenting procedures I adhered to in order to keep my body in excellent form yet there wasn't a drop of sweat that had broken through. I had no idea if it was because of the inconsistency given all my mishaps this morning or the constant stress gnawing at my mind. I was convinced it was both at this point, especially when it was a struggle to keep my food down. I had originally thought it was because of a surplus of American food but even babushka's recipes I had hurriedly typed into my phone before leaving Moscow were no use.

Although I'd never say it out loud...I needed Azriel.

I needed him around me, so I could keep him safe and tucked away from these damned cultish bastards and other sons of bitches. Like that Griffin kid, or Wren Brooke. I was sworn to him and while that oath was in place, there was no one alive who'd hurt him and not suffer the consequences. I was raised, born, and bred that way, my pack working as bodyguards for government officials before I fled to apprentice as an assassin.

I'd be damned if I didn't repay the Church.

"Sa-Mr.Sasha.."

I turned away from both the mat in front of me and my worried thoughts, directing my attention on a random male, whom I did not know. They stood tall, hands folded in front of them with downcast eyes. An omega then.

"The Alpha has required your presence, she says to hurry." He continued before bowing his head. He didn't waste another second, exiting the gym in the blink of an eye.

It took a matter of minutes to swiftly stride the familiar path to the obscure office, anticipation quickening my walk into a quiet jog. There was numerous possibilities racing in and out of my head, all of them having one thing in common. Was Azriel all right? He had to be, I'd feel it in my bones if he wasn't.

My legs were on complete autopilot, my uncharacteristically fleeting attention paging through every single scenario. Some were positive but some were pessimistic, like most of his thoughts. Turning a corner, I was abruptly stopped by an onslaught of a stomach-curling scent that went careening down my nostrils. It was all fresh salt water and summer baked air until it unraveled into a blend of various scents.

Eastborne.

I surged into a panicked bolt towards the scent, reason setting in despite my worry. They're was no possible way that they could've infiltrated Northrun. We were at the peak of our game, maybe a little shaken from the taking of our heir but it was only a further motivator. So why were they here? Could they have been dropping off Azriel? I would know if Azriel was here.

More questions and red flags surged as I halted to a silent stop, the double doors of a generic meeting office wide open, revealing three figures seated at a long table. They were faced away but I knew that pure alpha musk like the back of my hand and these three stunk of it. Given my invisible like approach, they didn't spare me a glance, unaware of my presence. But I didn't need to see his face to know who the man was all the way to the right. Wren Brooke, hunched over with his face in his hands, rubbing at his temples.