Revenge to the Alpha Mate novel Chapter 236

Chapter 236: Chapter 236

Lily’s Perspective

The chaotic glow of emergency lights and the rising black smudge of smoke on the interstate grew smaller and smaller in the distance, finally swallowed by the rolling horizon. Xavier guided the SUV down an exit ramp, turning onto a narrow country road lined with overgrown weeds and sprawling oak trees. The world went abruptly quiet, the silence filled only by the steady shush of tires on asphalt and the subdued breathing of the five of us.

Silence settled over the cabin like a heavy, damp blanket.

My knuckles ached, bone-white from gripping the steering wheel. The order to turn around and retreat had come from my mouth, but each word had felt like a barbed hook being dragged from my throat.

I knew it was right... we’d had no real choice. I was the leader of this team. The safety of everyone in this vehicle, the very survival of our entire pack, rested on my shoulders.

But goddamn, it felt like shit. It felt like leaving a comrade on the battlefield and walking away, even if that comrade had become a monster. The tight line of Jacob’s jaw, the fragile light in Celena’s eyes, and the small, stubborn, foolish hope for Brett that still lived in a dark corner of my own heart—all of it twisted my stomach into hard, painful knots.

The deep thrum of helicopter rotors approached from above, flying low. I glanced at the sky in the rearview mirror. Two police-marked choppers, like giant metal dragonflies, skimmed the treetops, flying with grim purpose toward the chaos we’d just left behind. Their red and blue lights strobed against the twilight grey-blue sky, cold and official. They didn’t spare a glance for our nondescript SUV. Their target was the bigger mess, the battlefield that had spiraled out of control.

It confirmed everything Ethan had said. This had truly blown up, big enough to warrant air support. Leaving was the right call. We had to vanish.

We drove in heavy silence for several more minutes, winding further down back roads, away from the main arteries, away from everything. Isolated ranches and farmhouses began to dot the landscape, smoke curling peacefully from chimneys—a world of such normal calm it felt alien. That very peace only made the silence inside our vehicle feel deafening.

It was Celena who finally broke it.

Her voice was soft, a little raw, but remarkably clear and calm as it came from the back seat.

"We should go home."

I caught her eye in the rearview mirror. She had lifted her head from Jacob’s shoulder, sitting up straight. Tear tracks still marked her cheeks, but her gaze was no longer distant. It was focused on the peaceful fields rushing past the window. She reached over and gently covered Jacob’s clenched fist with her hand.

"It was the right choice," she continued, speaking more to herself, to all of us. "Jacob was right. Lily, you were right. We did what we could. I... I think I’m letting it go."

There was the faintest tremor in her voice when she said "letting it go," but it steadied quickly.

My throat tightened. What was I supposed to say? Offer some empty platitude about Brett understanding? Or simply agree and try to force this Chapter closed? Looking at her profile in the mirror, the careful mask of composure she wore, I knew the truth as well as I knew my own reflection. Her ‘letting go’ was like pressing a white-hot blade into your own chest and holding your breath so you wouldn’t scream. It was the same for me.

We all knew, rationally, that the thing that could throw men like ragdolls, dodge bullets, and rip through chain-link fences was not Brett. Brett had been a skilled hunter, a warm older brother, but he had been human. That thing up there was a monster wearing his skin.

But, damn it all, reason was one thing. There was always that dark, tenacious little corner of the heart that whispered: What if? What if some shred of Brett’s consciousness was still trapped deep inside that shell, watching it all, screaming in silent agony? What if by walking away, we were snuffing out his last, faint hope of rescue?

That tiny, stupid hope was a poison thorn lodged in the heart of everyone who knew. Including me.

Just as the suffocating silence threatened to reclaim the cabin, my phone buzzed again. The specific vibration pattern told me who it was instantly. Ethan.

I answered, putting it on speaker. They all needed to hear this. We all needed the authority of his voice to cement the necessity of our retreat.

"Lily." Ethan’s voice came through the speaker, carrying the slight fuzz of distance and an undertone of unmasked fatigue. But beneath the weariness, the warmth and concern that were for me alone—his wife, his mate, his Alpha, Aurora’s father—came through clearly. Just hearing it loosened the tight coil of my nerves by one tiny degree.

"Ethan," I replied, fighting to keep my own voice level. "We’ve disengaged as ordered. On back roads now, well clear of the engagement zone. All present and accounted for." The quick report was habit, and a way to reassure him.

"Good." He sounded relieved, the satisfaction genuine. "Glad to hear you’re clear of that mess. Smart call."

He paused, and his tone shifted, becoming lower, graver, as he began to relay the intelligence he’d gathered. "The situation on site... is bad. The firefight was intense, escalated way beyond projections. The National Guard has full operational control. At least four helicopters in the air, plus armored personnel carriers on the ground. They’ve cordoned off the entire area."

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