Page 23

EIGHTEEN

ORION

O rion's broad shoulders tensed as Seraphina climbed the stairs to Senator Iverson's private jet.

The blue-green sundress she wore billowed slightly in the morning breeze, making her look like a siren being swept away from her rightful home.

His fingers tightened into fists at his sides, the black shirt stretching across his tense shoulders.

He wanted to snarl. To shift. To claim. But centuries of discipline kept him rooted to the tarmac.

"I'll be back before you know it," she'd promised moments ago, her voice carrying a tremor that set his instincts on high alert.

He hadn't responded. Couldn't. The wolf inside him was too busy howling at the wrongness of it all.

York followed close behind her, his lanky frame casting a predatory shadow. The aide's practiced smile did nothing to mask the victorious gleam in his eyes as he cast a final glance back at Orion.

Through the tiny window, he caught Seraphina's gaze—tears glistening in those green eyes he'd lost himself in just minutes before. But beneath the sadness lurked something darker. Fear. Raw and unmistakable.

"She had another vision," he muttered, not looking away from the plane.

Chance shifted beside him. "You think?"

"I know." Orion reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the sapphire necklace she'd pressed into his palm before leaving. "She's worried about something she's seen."

The plane began its taxi down the runway, carrying his heart away with each foot of distance gained. Without her presence grounding them both, her powers would be running wild—ambushing her with visions she wasn't prepared to handle alone.

"Was it done?" Orion asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble as the jet lifted off.

Chance nodded, his dark eyes tracking the plane's ascent. "The tracker's in place, just as you ordered. Embedded in the undercarriage where they won't find it."

"And our jet?"

"Fueled and ready. We can be airborne in ten minutes."

Orion's eyes never left the departing plane, even as he felt something shift in his chest—the mate bond stretching thinner but vibrating with increasing intensity. Through it came waves of rising panic, sharp enough to make his teeth ache.

"They're not heading toward Miami."

Chance pulled out his tablet, tapping the screen to bring up the tracking information. "Son of a bitch. You're right. They're veering northwest toward?—"

"The senator's private island." Orion's voice was lethally quiet.

"What's the plan, boss?" Chance asked, already pulling out his phone.

Orion's fingers closed tighter around the necklace, the sapphire's edges biting into his palm. "We're going after them. Now."

"The diplomatic approach? Or are we going full wolf on this one?"

A dangerous smile crept across Orion's face, one that hadn't been seen in centuries of peaceful rule. "Get the helicopter too. And tell the team to bring weapons—both kinds."

"The council?—"

"The council can go fuck themselves." Orion turned, his eyes flashing with predatory intensity. "That's my Luna they've taken. I'm done playing by human rules."

Through the bond, he sent a silent message of reassurance—though he knew she couldn't hear his thoughts, perhaps she could feel his determination.

"No one takes what's mine," he growled, striding toward the helicopter. "And that senator's about to learn exactly what it means to challenge a four-hundred-year-old alpha."

The next ten minutes passed in a blur of efficiency as the Starlight pack members assembled on the airstrip. Orion paced like a caged predator. Centuries of control couldn't quell the primal rage building inside him. His wolf clawed under his skin, demanding release, and demanding blood.

"ETA on our arrival?" Orion barked at the pilot as he climbed into the helicopter, Chance following close behind.

"We'll reach Tristan's island in forty minutes if we push it, Your Majesty."

"Then push it." His voice left no room for debate as he settled into his seat. "The dozen we selected for the plane?"

Chance nodded, his eyes reflecting the same determination. "All armed and ready. Elite guards only—the ones who can shift quickly and silently."

"Good." Orion clenched his jaw as he stared out the window, watching his island shrink away. The mate bond tugged painfully in his chest—a compass pointing toward his Luna. "She's terrified, Chance."

"We'll get her back."

"It's not just that." Orion closed his eyes, concentrating on the bond that stretched between them. "Her fear... it's different. Sharper."

"The visions?"

"They're getting stronger without me there to ground her." He slammed his fist against the side of the helicopter. "That bastard has no idea what he's dealing with."

As the helicopter cut through the clouds, Orion felt something shift within the bond—a pulling sensation so visceral it made him gasp.

Orion, please. I need you. It's a trap. He means to kill you. To enslave your pack. Find me.

Her voice whispered through his mind, clear as if she stood beside him. His wolf howled in response, every muscle in his body tensing.

"She's calling to me," he growled, his eyes flashing gold. "The mate bond—it's evolving. I can hear her."

Chance leaned forward. "What's she saying?"

"Iverson means to kill me. To enslave our pack." A deadly smile curved his lips. "Looks like the good senator forgot the first rule of hunting wolves—don't corner what you can't kill."

Forty minutes later, they touched down on Tristan's island. The lush jungle island sat adjacent to Senator Iverson's private retreat—close enough to see the senator's compound through high-powered binoculars.

Tristan, a tattooed shifter with ties to multiple packs, met them at the landing pad. "King Orion. It's been decades."

"I need your boat, Tristan. The fastest one you've got."

"I gathered as much from your urgent message." Tristan's eyes darted between Orion and the armed shifters disembarking from the plane. "Must be important to bring this much firepower."

"The senator has my Luna."

Tristan's eyebrows shot up. "You found her? After all this time?"

"And lost her in less than two days." Orion's voice was pure steel. "I won't lose her again."

"My speedboat's yours. It can get you there under the radar—the cove on the east side has minimal security."

As they headed toward the docks, the mate bond flared with such ferocity that Orion stumbled. Images flashed through his mind—Seraphina, bound to a chair. The senator, shifting partially, claws extended as he towered over her.

"We need to move. Now." Orion's eyes blazed, his canines lengthening despite his iron control.

Chance grabbed his arm. "Steady, brother. We go in smart, or we don't go in at all."

"If he touches a single hair on her head?—"

"Then we'll rip him apart together," Chance finished, his usual humor replaced by cold determination. "But getting yourself killed won't help her."

Orion took a long, deep breath.

"We'll take two boats," he ordered as they reached the dock. "I want a team on each side of the island. Radio silence until the signal."

Chance nodded. "And the signal is?"

Orion's smile was all teeth, predatory and ancient. "When you hear the senator screaming, that's your cue."

Orion soon stood at the bow of Tristan's speedboat, the ocean spray kissing his face as they cut through the turquoise waters toward Iverson's island.

The salt air filled his lungs but did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside him.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the railing, each minute of separation from Seraphina like a physical wound.

"ETA three minutes, Your Majesty," the shifter at the helm called out.

Orion nodded curtly, his jaw clenched so tighly, he tasted metal. The mate bond pulsed beneath his skin—no longer just a whisper but a thundering drum that guided him toward her. Through it, he felt her fear, her determination, and something else... hope. She knew he was coming.

"I need eyes on security positions," he barked to the team huddled behind him.

One of his elite guards handed him binoculars. "Six human guards patrolling the beach perimeter. More inside, no doubt."

Orion scanned the white mansion perched on the cliff like a vulture surveying its domain. Pristine and gleaming in the afternoon sun, it masked the corruption festering within. His wolf snarled at the thought of Seraphina trapped inside those walls.

"Remember," Chance said, appearing at his side, "we're here to extract her, not start a war." His dark eyes held a knowing gleam. "Yet."

Orion's lips curled into something resembling a smile. "I've exercised restraint for several lifetimes, old friend. What's another hour?"

"That's what worries me." Chance tapped the comm unit in his hand. "Team Two, head for the west shore and await orders."

The speedboats separated, curving around opposite sides of the island. Orion's boat approached a small, secluded cove partially hidden by overhanging vegetation. Perfect for a stealth landing.

As they killed the engine and drifted silently toward shore, Orion closed his eyes, focusing on the bond. I'm here, sweetheart. Hold on.

The sensation that returned was electric—a jolt of recognition as if she had heard him. The bond was strengthening with each mile closer he got to her.

They disembarked with practiced efficiency, three pack members securing the boats and establishing a perimeter while the rest followed Orion and Chance into the dense tropical foliage.

The humidity wrapped around them as they moved silently through the undergrowth, communication reduced to hand signals and knowing glances.

"Two guards, northwest corner," one of his men whispered, pointing ahead.

Orion inhaled deeply, catching their scent on the breeze. "Human. Not shifters." Easier to take down, but also a complication—humans meant potential witnesses, potential exposure of their kind.

"Allow me." Chance disappeared into the foliage with another guard, returning minutes later in a security uniform two sizes too large. "Christmas came early. Got enough for the team."

Orion slipped into the dark blue uniform, his nose wrinkling at the human smell clinging to it. "The senator spares no expense, I see." The material was high-quality and the gear top-of-the-line.

"The man's got aspirations beyond the Senate, clearly." Chance adjusted his earpiece. "Ambition like that makes men dangerous."

"So does taking another alpha's mate," Orion growled.

As they approached the mansion's rear entrance, the mate bond flared so intensely, Orion had to stop, bracing himself against a tree.

Images flooded his mind—metal biting into Seraphina's wrists as she struggled against handcuffs, the gleam of the senator's too-white teeth as he leaned over her, demanding she use her powers to advance his ambitions.

The wood splintered beneath Orion's grip.

"She's in the east wing. Underground level." He straightened, eyes flashing gold before he forcibly reined in his wolf. "He has her restrained."

Chance placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "We'll get her out. But we need you sharp, not feral."

Orion took another deep breath, centering himself. "I've been king for quite a long time. I think I can manage ten more minutes of self-control."

"Sure you can." Chance's skeptical tone was accompanied by a knowing smirk. "Just like that time in Barcelona when?—"

"Not helping."

They approached the service entrance, two of Orion's men taking point.

Inside, the marble floors gleamed under recessed lighting, the décor screaming old money and new power.

Orion's tactical mind catalogued exit points, security cameras, and staff positions even as his wolf zeroed in on Seraphina's scent—jasmine and stardust, now tinged with terror.

Each step deeper into the compound made the bond pulse stronger, guiding him through the labyrinthine hallways. His blood burned with the need to shift and tear through walls and guards alike to reach her.

"Sub-level elevator requires keycard access," one of his men murmured, gesturing to a discrete door guarded by a single uniformed human.

Orion's smile was all predator. "Then let's acquire one, shall we?"

Minutes later, they stood in the elevator descending to the lower level, the guard's keycard in hand and the man himself conveniently taking an unscheduled nap in a supply closet.

As the doors slid open, the mate bond no longer just pulled—it sang, vibrating through his entire being. Seraphina was close. So close.

"She's in the third room on the left," Orion whispered, not needing surveillance to confirm what the bond told him with absolute clarity. "Two guards at the door. Iverson is with her."

The hallway stretched before them, sterile and white, a stark contrast to the opulence upstairs. This level wasn't for show—it was functional, designed for privacy and containment.

Chance checked his weapon. "Plan?"

The wolf inside Orion howled for blood, for vengeance, and for the satisfaction of tearing out Iverson's throat. But the king within him, the strategist who'd ruled for centuries, knew better.

"We go in clean. Secure my Luna first, then deal with the senator." His voice was deceptively calm, belying the storm within. "But make no mistake—he will pay for putting his hands on her."