Defy The Alpha(s)-Chapter 764: The Cornered Rabbit

Patrick woke up with a sharp gasp. Instinctively, he tried to sit up only for a calm voice to stop him.

"You shouldn’t do that, sir. You’re in no position to move right now."

As if to prove the point, white-hot pain tore through him, slicing through his body like a blade. Patrick sucked in a shaky breath through his nose, every muscle locking in protest.

He lifted his head slowly and focused on the man standing beside the bed. Recognition hit him.

"Y-you..." His voice came out hoarse.

The man was one of the intern doctors. One of the ones he had worked with during the production of Ignis. They were in a small room with bare walls and a single closed window, clearly not meant for comfort.

"Yes," the man said, offering a polite smile. "Me."

Patrick groaned softly. "What happened?" Even speaking felt like dragging broken glass through his throat.

The intern leaned closer, checking the monitors and bandages. "You nearly died, that’s what happened."

"Oh." Patrick breathed, the word heavy with resignation.

The memory of Vera’s betrayal flooded back all at once. He had always known his sister was ruthless, but trying to murder him? Her own brother? That crossed a line even he hadn’t believed she would step over.

And yet, she had.

Patrick closed his eyes, pain pulsing through him in slow, punishing waves.

"How am I even alive?" he asked.

If Vera wanted him dead, she would have finished the job. As far as he remembered, his sister had never been sloppy.

"It was your brother, sir," the doctor confessed. "After your sister murdered your mother—"

"What?" Patrick stiffened, every muscle going rigid. He looked up at the man, dread flooding his chest. "What did you just say?"

"I’m sorry," the doctor murmured, sympathy etched into his face. "Madam Moira is gone as well."

The color drained from Patrick’s face. His stomach twisted violently, nausea surging up his throat. For a moment, he had foolishly hoped that the memory had all been a hallucination.

But it was real.

His mother had fought for him and Vera had killed her too.

Grief slammed into him, followed closely by bitterness and rage. This was his fault. All of it. If he had never brought Ignis into their lives, none of this would have happened. His mother will still be alive.

The doctor hovered uncertainly as Patrick broke down, sobbing openly now, no longer caring about the pain ripping through his body.

"I’m going to kill that bitch," Patrick snarled through gritted teeth. "Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure she suffers. I’ll teach her the real meaning of pain."

"U-um..." the doctor began, clearly uncomfortable. He shifted on his feet before forcing himself to continue. "Perhaps... perhaps that should wait until after you recover."

Patrick let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

"You were stabbed through the lower abdomen," he went on carefully, trying to ground the conversation. "The blade missed your spine, but it tore through muscle and narrowly avoided major organs. You lost a dangerous amount of blood. If your brother hadn’t gotten you here when he did—"

"I’m a doctor," Patrick cut in sharply, "I know how close I came to dying."

"Even so, you’re looking at weeks before you can stand properly, possibly months

before full recovery. Any strain before then could reopen the wound—."

"That is enough!" Patrick thundered.

The man shut up at once. He looked around the cramped space, wishing he could be anywhere but here.

"I’ll heal and get her," Patrick whispered, making the promise more to himself.

The doctor said nothing this time. Not that there was anything he could say. This was not his business. Joseph had merely paid him enough to sneak Patrick out of the hideout and nurse him back to health. Once Patrick could stand on his feet again, he was out of here and back to his family.

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock on the door.

Both the doctor and Patrick stiffened.

Their eyes met, alert and tense.

"Who is that?" Patrick asked, his voice tight.

"I... I don’t know," the doctor answered nervously.

Patrick’s pulse spiked. "Who knows I’m here?"

"Nobody," the doctor said quickly. "Not even Joseph. He didn’t want to risk implicating you if Vera found out what he did."

"Fuck," Patrick cursed.

He groaned loudly as he tried to sit up, pain ripping through his abdomen.

The doctor panicked. "You shouldn’t be moving! You’ll reopen the wound!"

"Not if they’ve found me," Patrick snapped. "I have to get out of here."

But where was he going to go? There was only one entrance, not even a back door, and the window was not wide enough to escape through. Still, Patrick wasn’t about to lie there like a sitting duck and let them take him.

Then the door exploded inward.

The hinges screamed as the metal frame tore loose, the door ripping completely off its mounts and flying across the room with brutal force. It slammed into the opposite wall in a crash of splintered wood and dust.

Patrick and the doctor shouted, instinctively throwing their arms up to shield their heads.

Before either of them could recover, boots thundered across the floor.

In the blink of an eye, the cramped room was flooded with soldiers clad in black uniforms, their weapons drawn. Every gun in the room was aimed at him.

Patrick’s heart pounded violently against his ribs as reality sank in. Neither he nor the doctor dared to move.

They were surrounded.

Then the soldiers began to part, forming a narrow way.

The first thing Patrick noticed was the slow, deliberate sound of boots striking the floor.

Alpha King Elijah stepped into view and stopped directly in front of him.

"Finally," Elijah said sarcastically, "the rabbit runs out of holes."

Patrick swallowed, staring up at Elijah. Though the Alpha King’s expression was calm—almost relaxed—there was a storm brewing beneath it, and waiting to break.

Then Elijah turned his back on him.

He spoke to the soldier nearest him, his voice detached. "Take him," he said. "Kill the other one. We have work to do."

The doctor’s eyes widened.

He opened his mouth, perhaps to plead, or explain, but the sound never came. A gunshot cracked through the cramped room, and the doctor’s body collapsed instantly, lifeless before it hit the floor.

Patrick shouted, straining against the hands grabbing him, pain ripping through his abdomen as blood soaked through the bandages. Yet he was hauled roughly to his feet despite his injuries.

And Elijah never looked back.