Page 42 of Corrupted Tyrant

We allow ourselves one last moment, one final breath of connection. Then she straightens, her mask of cool composure slipping into place.

“Showtime,” she says, her voice steady.

Fury and I get out of the vehicle. Candy walks around and slides behind the wheel to drive the last mile and arrive alone as instructed.

She pulls into the park’s small, covered parking structure, just as Fury and I take cover behind some large trees on the edge of the lot. The mile run was just what we needed to get our blood pumping. I can smell four human males. Two are nearby, concealed. Two are in the parking lot waiting for my female.

I sense no movement. None of them know Fury and I are here.

“Humans… crappy sense of smell.” Fury mouths, then gives me a superior smirk.

We watch as Candy exits the car and walks toward the designated meeting spot, her head held high, her stride purposeful. Everything in me screams to follow her, to stay by her side and protect her from harm, but I tamp the urge down and follow the plan.

The burning rubber smell of Candy’s terror spikes my rage, which surges through my body like wildfire. Something is happening. I look over at Fury and see his body change just as I feel my muscles grow larger, my fangs elongate, my claws spring out longer and sharper than ever.

My senses are even more acute than they were a minute ago. Now I can smell the men’s aftershave and hear their shoes rustle against the cement.

When I glance at Fury, his face shows the same changes I feel. There’s a look of fierce pride on his face.

“We’ve shifted into our fighting forms.” His voice is deeper, a steady growl. ”It happened to me a few times back on An’Wa and with Bold when we rescued his mate, Jasmine.”

“I heard, but to actually experience it is fucking amazing. It’s as though I could battle an army.”

As the hidden males move to follow Candy, Fury steps next to me, his eyes tracking her every move. “She’s one hell of a female.” There’s grudging respect in his voice.

“That she is,” I agree, my chest tight with terror, knowing she’s put herself in harm’s way.

“I’m no relationship expert, but you should probably tell her she’s your mate.” He shrugs, a knowing look on his face.

It’s not the time to deny it, or have a heart-to-heart and admit I’m head over heels for her.

We take our positions, hidden from view but with clear sightlines to the meeting spot. Now, all we can do is wait and watch.

And pray to the Goddess that my female comes back to me safe and whole and victorious.

Chapter Thirty-One

Candy

The night air is thick, humid, pressing down on me like a physical weight as I make my way deeper into the park. My heart pounds a staccato rhythm against my ribs, my palms slick with sweat where they clench at my sides.

I’m not alone. Courage and Fury are out there, watching, listening, waiting. But in this moment, facing the looming shadows ahead, I’ve never felt more isolated, more exposed. Part of me knows this is crazy. I’m walking into the lion’s den with my backup a block away.

I’ve never been at a bigger crossroads in my life. I can either let fear of exposure hang over me forever or take a stand here and now. Besides, I huff a mirthless laugh. The whole world has seen my coochie. So what if they see the stupid, desperate behavior of a mixed-up teen?

Two figures emerge from the darkness, their faces twisted into smirking expressions of cold disdain. Raskins and Blackwell—the men who have haunted my nightmares for years.

“Candy, Candy, Candy,” Blackwell tuts, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? An informer warned us of your interview. We had a stealth drone in the air at that Airbnb and heard every word you said, saw every pathetic tear you cried. Poor little Candy.”

Raskins steps closer, his predatory gaze raking over me, making my skin crawl. “You’ve been a very naughty girl, Candy. Running your mouth, stirring up trouble. Didn’t we teach you better than that?”

His words send a chill through my blood as memories flicker through my mind like a horror movie on fast-forward. Raskins’ hands on my body, his hot breath on my neck as he whispered threats and promises in equal measure.

“I… I’m not afraid of you anymore.” I hate the way my voice shakes, so I muster more venom when I add, “I’m done living in fear.”

Raskins laughs, harsh and grating. “Is that what you think this is about? Fear?” He steps close enough that I reflexively retreat. “No, sweetheart. This is about power. And you never had any, not really.”

Bile rises in my throat, tears stinging my eyes. How often did I cry myself to sleep over studio incidents that left me powerless? And how many times did I wake up the next day and go back to that set so I could support my family—as a teenager?

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