But the Alpha gave no reply.
Instead, he turned without a word and mounted the waiting stallion—a powerful creature cloaked in sleek black, its silver-embossed tack glinting faintly under the dim light.
Maximilian must have prepared it beforehand just like they planned, and Clyde had timed it to perfection.
And now, with unwavering purpose, Clyde leaned down from the saddle—his cloak catching the air like wings—and swept Ryley up into his arms.
The blond gasped, the world tilting beneath him as he was pulled clean off the ground, gathered against the Alpha's chest like something precious, something claimed.
Before he could find his voice, they were already moving—racing forward into the unknown, as though fate itself was holding its breath.
Ryley parted his lips to protest, instinct rising on a tide of fear—but then he looked up.
And whatever words he had vanished.
