Page 11

Maya

Consciousness returns in fragments. First, the cold—a bone-deep chill seeping through my clothes. Then pain, radiating from my shoulders down to my bound wrists. When I try to move, metal bites into my skin, and the sharp burn tells me everything I need to know. Silver.

I force my eyes open, but darkness greets me. The air is thick with the smell of damp concrete and something metallic—blood. My blood. Memory floods back: walking to my car after work, the strange scent I caught too late, the cloth pressed against my face. Hunters.

"Look who's finally awake." The voice comes from somewhere in the darkness, followed by footsteps. A light flicks on, harsh and blinding. I squint against it, trying to make out the figure approaching. "Sorry about the accommodations. Can't be too careful with your kind."

As my vision adjusts, I see him—tall, well-dressed, with the kind of face you'd expect to see in a boardroom, not a torture chamber. But his eyes are cold, calculating. Behind him stands a broader man with scarred knuckles, watching me like a cat eyeing wounded prey.

"Where am I?" My voice comes out raspy. How long was I unconscious?

"Somewhere no one will find you." The leader—because that's clearly what he is—crouches down to my level. "Unless you decide to be reasonable."

I test my bonds again, but the silver chains hold firm. My wolf, usually a constant presence in my mind, feels distant and sluggish. They must have dosed me with something. Wolfsbane, probably.

"The gala," he continues, studying my face. "Security details. Access points. Guest list. Simple information that could save you a lot of pain."

I manage a laugh, though it sounds more like a cough. "Go to hell."

The punch comes from the other man—Knuckles, I decide to call him. It catches me across the cheekbone, snapping my head to the side. Stars explode behind my eyes.

"That's just the beginning," Knuckles growls. "We've got all sorts of toys that work real nice on wolves."

As if to prove his point, he pulls out a syringe filled with purple liquid. My heart rate spikes—more wolfsbane. They're going to keep dosing me until I break or die.

But I won't tell them anything about the gala, about Adrian's plans. He's been working too hard, sacrificing too much to create a real sanctuary for our people. A place where supernatural children can grow up without fear, where families can put down roots without constantly looking over their shoulders. And Adrian... my mate, though we've barely acknowledged it. I won't be the reason his dreams turn to ashes.

"This is concentrated stuff," the leader explains casually, holding up the syringe so it catches what little light filters through the grimy basement windows. "Most wolves can't handle more than three doses before their systems start shutting down. But you seem strong. Maybe you'll last longer."

The needle slides into my neck. Fire spreads through my veins, and I can't hold back a gasp. My wolf whimpers, retreating further into the recesses of my mind. The room spins violently.

"We'll give you some time to reconsider your position," the leader says, his expensive shoes clicking against concrete as he moves toward the door. "Maybe a few hours alone will help adjust your attitude. Think about your family, Miss Ramirez. Think about what matters most."

The door slams shut, leaving me in near-total darkness. My throat burns with thirst, though the lingering effects of wolfsbane keep my stomach too unsettled for hunger. The silver cuffs have become a constant, searing presence around my wrists, made worse by every futile tug against the restraints. My shoulders scream from being bound behind me for so many hours.

The concrete floor beneath me has leached away what little warmth I had left, but I barely notice anymore. Everything hurts too much to distinguish individual discomforts. My wolf, usually a warm presence in my mind, feels distant and weak, like a candle flame struggling against the wind.

I fight to stay conscious, but the wolfsbane pulls me under like quicksand. Time becomes fluid, marked only by brief moments of consciousness between waves of nausea and pain. The pitch darkness of night eventually gives way to a pale glow of dawn through the high window, and then the harsh glare of afternoon sun. Nearly a full day has passed since they grabbed me outside the kitchen.

Heavy boots scrape against concrete, and the metal door groans open. Three shadows stretch across the floor – the hunters returning after leaving me alone for hours. The leader steps into the shaft of sunlight, his clean face throwing harsh shadows. Behind him, two others flank the doorway.

"Ready to talk yet?" Knuckes' voice comes from somewhere to my left. "The gala's security details. That's all we need."

I manage a weak laugh, though it sounds more like a wheeze. "Still not happening."

"Your loyalty to Blackwell is touching." It's the leader again. His footsteps echo as he approaches. "But misplaced. You really think a corporate alpha gives a damn about some pack wolf? Men like him use people like you as shields."

The words sting more than they should. I know what Adrian and I are to each other, even if we've both been fighting it. But doubt creeps in anyway, aided by exhaustion and pain. Would he really come for me? After everything?

"Do you have any idea who's going to be at that gala?" The leader continues, his voice taking on an almost conversational tone. "Lucien D'Arcy. The entire supernatural council. Pack alphas from three states. It's a perfect opportunity to cut off the head of the snake."

My heart pounds harder. Lucien. The council. All those powerful supernatural beings in one place—it would be a massacre.

"Fuck you," I say, because it's easier than examining the fear building in my chest.

A hand grabs my hair, yanking my head back. Knuckles' breath is hot against my face, reeking of cigarettes and coffee. "Watch your mouth, bitch. We've been patient, but that can change real quick."

I bare my teeth in what I hope is a threatening smile, even though my fangs won't descend with all the wolfsbane in my system. "Try me."

The punch catches me across the jaw, snapping my head to the side. Pain explodes through my face, and I taste blood, copper-bright and warm. But I don't scream. I won't give them that.

"You wolves," the leader sighs. "Always so stubborn. But everyone breaks eventually. It's just a matter of finding the right pressure point." He pauses, and I can hear him moving closer. His expensive shoes click against the concrete. "We have people watching your pack, you know. That little sister of yours—Sofia, isn't it? Sweet girl. Always walking to school with her friends, stopping at that little café for hot chocolate. Be a shame if something happened to her."

Ice floods my veins. The thought of Sofia—bright, fierce Sofia—in their hands makes my wolf surge against the wolfsbane, howling in helpless rage. "Touch my family and I'll tear your throat out."

"Bold words from someone who can barely lift their head." His footsteps circle behind me. "But I believe you mean them. Which is why we're going to try something different."

The needle slides into my neck before I can react. More wolfsbane, stronger this time. The room spins violently, and I can't hold back the whimper that escapes my lips. My wolf, already weak from the previous doses, retreats even further into the recesses of my mind, leaving me feeling hollow and vulnerable.

"We'll let that sink in for a while," the leader says. "Think about your choices. About what matters most. The gala's in a few days. We don't need you alive to make our point—just visible enough to serve as a warning to others who might stand in our way."

Footsteps retreat. A door slams. Darkness swallows me whole, but not before memories of Adrian flash through my mind—his rare smiles, the warmth in his eyes when he thinks no one's looking, the way his hand felt against my cheek.

I don't know how long I drift in and out of consciousness. The wolfsbane makes everything hazy, dreamlike. But in the depths of that chemical fog, something stirs. A pull. A connection I've been trying to ignore since that first kiss in Adrian's office.

Adrian.

I reach for him instinctively, not even sure if it's real or just desperation. But I picture him anyway—those storm-gray eyes that see right through me, the slight curl of his lip when he's trying not to smile at one of my jokes, the warmth of his hands when he touched me like I was something precious.

Please, I think, though I don't know if he can hear me. Please find me.

My head slumps forward as exhaustion takes over. I can't fight anymore.