Elira's breath hitched against his neck.
Fenrir held her closer—not to dominate, not to claim, but to steady himself. The Pattern Core pulsed beneath his ribs like something caged and furious, matching each of her movements with a primal urge:
Consume. Bind. Break. Take.
He shut it down. Again.
And again.
He pressed his forehead to her shoulder, teeth gritted, forcing the instinct into silence. She touched his jaw, whispering his name, grounding him with a gentleness his core despised but he depended on.
Pattern wanted to tear.Fenrir wanted to hold.
He chose the latter. Every time.
When she finally drifted into sleep, he lay awake, chest heaving with the effort of staying himself.
Because loving her felt like teetering on the edge of a cliff—thrilling, terrifying, worth every risk.
Fenrir rose before Elira, as always.
The apartment was still, the city beyond their window glowing faintly with early light. He knelt in the center of the room, elbows on his knees, spine straight, eyes burning faintly blue.
Deep inhale.Lock Pattern.Deep exhale.Chain Pattern.
He visualized the core as a wild storm behind a steel door—one he had to rebuild every morning. It thrashed when he remembered Elira's skin, her voice, her heartbeat against his. It hated restraint. It hated patience. It wanted answers now, wanted purpose now, wanted Elira—
No.
Fenrir forced the door shut.
He meditated until the trembling in his hands ceased. Only when he was completely certain he wouldn't hurt her did he stand and let the sound of her moving in the bedroom guide him back.
She smiled at him softly.
He felt something in him ache.
I would burn the world to keep that smile.
The meeting room of Virex Tower felt colder than usual.
Dray sat at the head of the table, expression unreadable. Brakka stood behind him, arms folded. Vranos slumped in his chair, pale and hollow-eyed, smelling faintly of ethanol.
Fenrir stayed close to Elira—closer than necessary, judging by Dray's raised brow.
Dray activated a holographic map.
"Final decision," he said. "The Memory Core anomaly lies in Mongolia. Your team will depart within the hour." His gaze slid to Elira. "You'll lead."
Fenrir felt pride—not the Pattern's, but his own—rise in his chest.
Vranos scoffed.Brakka's jaw ticked almost imperceptibly.Dray ignored both.
"Elira sets the pace. Brakka handles systems. Fenrir provides containment. Vranos… you follow orders."
Vranos muttered something under his breath, something about pity and favoritism. Fenrir's head snapped toward him, but Elira's hand brushed his wrist—a tiny gesture that cooled the instinctive snarl climbing his throat.
She didn't even look at him when she did it. She just knew.
He sank back into silence.
But Vranos smirked, satisfied that he'd provoked a reaction.
The landing platform roared with wind as the engines warmed. Elira stepped forward first, Fenrir right behind her, acting as her shadow without needing to be asked.
Behind them, Vranos shoved past Brakka with a slurred, irritated "Move, tin-man."
Brakka stopped.Turned.Stared at him with the calm of someone already calculating sixteen ways to incapacitate him.
"You reek of alcohol," Brakka said. "You're a liability."
"And you," Vranos shot back, "are a walking wrench with delusions of superiority."
Brakka's hand went to the grip of the hammer on his back.Fenrir automatically shifted—not to protect Vranos, but Elira, should the fight escalate.
Elira didn't turn around, but Fenrir saw her shoulders tighten.
Dray's voice snapped over the comm:
"Both of you get on that jet now, or I'll throw you off the mission and into the purification vault."
Vranos grumbled and stomped forward.Brakka followed, expression cold steel.
Fenrir watched them with narrowed eyes, Pattern humming faintly under his skin.
Elira was leading them into danger.And he would tear apart anyone—infected, enemy, or teammate—who threatened her.
He stepped onto the jet behind her, door sliding shut.
Mission start.
And the beast inside him growled in agreement.