Page 1 of Beckett's Fate

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BECK

Seven Years Ago

Somewhere in the Middle East

The oppressive heat of the desert wrapped around Beckett Grey like a vice, the arid wind doing little to alleviate the relentless sun beating down on the parched earth. The mission had brought his Delta Force team deep into the Middle East—coordinates unmarked on any map, a land both desolate and deadly.

Beck crouched low behind a crumbling stone wall, his M4 carbine resting steady against his shoulder. His sharp gaze swept across the expanse of the village sprawled below, the jumble of sunbaked buildings casting long shadows in the fading twilight. His wolf senses—suppressed but never gone—itched beneath his skin, whispering warnings he didn’t need his training to interpret.

“Target confirmed,” whispered Sergeant Lopez over the comms, his voice crackling through Beck’s earpiece. “Second building on the right. Movement in the northeast corner. Looks like they’re arming up.”

Beck’s jaw tightened. They had intel that the high-value target—a terrorist leader known only as the Viper—was holed up here, surrounded by loyal fighters and a stockpile of weapons that could destabilize an entire region. They’d been tracking him for months, the trail always cold until now.

“Eyes on the prize,” Beck murmured, his voice calm but commanding. “Alpha team, hold position. Bravo, take the east flank. I’ll lead entry.”

A chorus of acknowledgments followed, his men trusting his word as absolute. Beck checked his watch. Twelve minutes until the village guard shift changed—just enough time to infiltrate, neutralize, and extract. Quick and clean.

Or as clean as things got out here.

He gave the signal, and the team moved like wraiths, shadows slipping between crumbling alleys and stacks of old crates. Beck’s wolf bristled, his senses hyperaware of the faint scent of sweat and gun oil on the wind, the distant shuffle of boots on stone. It was always like this before the action—a dance between his human precision and the primal instincts of his animal side.

“Clear,” came Lopez’s voice again, confirming the perimeter was secure.

Beck raised a fist, signaling his team to hold. He peered through his scope, catching sight of the target’s silhouette in a dimly lit room. The Viper paced with restless energy, gesturing sharply to a group of armed men. His voice carried faintly through the cracked window—foreign, furious, unmistakably dangerous.

“Bravo, set your charges,” Beck ordered. “Make it loud.”

A flash of white teeth split his face—a predator’s grin. The loud approach would rattle the guards, drive them straight into the kill zone. Chaos was a language Beck spoke fluently.

Seconds later, the sharp crack of an explosion split the desert air, a plume of dust and debris spiraling skyward. The Viper’s men scrambled, shouting as they ran to assess the breach.

Beck and his team surged forward.

The next moments were a blur of precision and violence. Beck breached the door with a single, powerful kick, his carbine barking as he dropped two guards before they could raise their weapons. His movements were fluid, each step calculated. A third man lunged at him, and Beck met him with a blow to the temple, sending the attacker crumpling to the floor.

“Commander, left flank!” Lopez called out.

Beck spun, raising his weapon just in time to fire a single, silencing shot into another combatant. His team poured into the room behind him, the sounds of controlled and suppressed gunfire blending with shouted commands. Dust and gunpowder choked the air, but Beck’s focus never wavered.

His eyes locked on the target—the Viper, frozen in place with a pistol half-drawn. For a split second, the room went still, the chaos receding into the background.

“End of the line,” Beck said coldly, his finger tightening on the trigger.

The Viper sneered, raising his weapon in defiance. Beck didn’t give him the chance to fire. A single shot rang out, and the Viper crumpled to the floor, the fight draining from his body in an instant as his blood stained the ground beneath him.

“Target neutralized,” Beck said into his comm, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “Alpha, Bravo—status report.”

“All clear, Commander,” Lopez confirmed.

The team regrouped outside the estate, their extraction vehicle rumbling up the dusty road under the cover of the encroaching night. Beck stood watch as his men loaded up,scanning the horizon for any signs of movement. His wolf stirred again beneath his skin, its restless energy not yet sated.

This was the life he’d chosen—danger, duty, and the constant pull of the hunt. But even as the desert stretched out before him, Beck couldn’t shake the faint, lingering sense that something else—something deeper—awaited him beyond the battlefield.

With a final glance at the horizon, Beck climbed into the vehicle, the shadows of the past already beginning to close in.

Two Years Ago

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