Page 43 of The Reluctant Mate (Shifters of the Three Rivers #5)

Chapter forty-three

Derek

T he abandoned airfield loomed ahead, a skeletal remnant of a time long past. Rusted fences lined the perimeter, curling in places where nature had begun to reclaim its territory. Cracked asphalt stretched in long, jagged lines, leading toward the hulking remains of hangars and the control tower standing like a silent sentinel against the dusk sky.

There was no time for tactical planning; we just had to get in there and see if Kane would talk to us. He always did like to talk, and if I baited him enough, maybe we could stall them.

Sofia sat rigidly beside me, hands knotted in her lap. She hadn’t spoken in the last five minutes, but I could feel the tension radiating off her in waves.

“Sofia—”

“Don’t even think about pulling over and asking me to get out here. I’m coming with you. I might be a barista, I might not be the best fighter, my instincts might stink, but we’re all that’s standing between Three Rivers and an army that wants to eliminate us from the face of the earth. You stop me from fighting for my home, my Pack, and I’ll never forgive you, Derek. Never.”

Alright, then.

“If things go south, you run, Sofia. Promise me this. I give you the signal, you get the hell out of there.”

She studied my face for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I promise.”

Thank fuck for that.

“So, do you at least have a plan?”

I rolled my shoulders, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “Maybe.”

Her sharp green eyes narrowed. “Maybe?”

I glanced at the Darth Vader USB sitting in the console between us. “Depends on how much Kane likes surprises.”

“So we’re winging it?”

“We’re adapting.”

“Adapting sounds a lot like making shit up as we go.”

I smirked. “That’s what I said.”

The headlights illuminated the chain-link gate ahead, where two guards stood, assault rifles slung across their chests. They straightened as we approached, one raising a hand to signal us to stop.

I killed the engine and exhaled, letting my wolf settle beneath my skin. He wanted out—wanted to tear these men apart before they could threaten our mate, our Pack. But not yet. Not now.

One guard stepped up to my window. He was built like a brick wall, his dark tactical vest straining over his shoulders. A recent sunburn peeled across his nose, suggesting he’d been stationed outside for days. When he leaned in, I caught the scent of energy drinks and cinnamon gum. He was probably fighting to stay alert at the end of his shift.

“State your business.”

I kept my expression neutral. “We’re here to see Kane.”

“You think you can just roll up and get an audience with the boss?”

I held up the USB. Light from the dying sun caught the black plastic, making Vader’s helmet gleam.

“I have information he’s going to want. And he’s not going to be happy if you waste time by keeping us out here.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Step out of the car. Both of you.”

Sofia and I moved in unison, both getting out with slow, measured movements. I could smell her nervousness, though she kept her face carefully composed.

The other guard was leaner, wiry, with sharp eyes that flicked between Sofia and me. His scent was filled with coffee and stale cigarettes, his deodorant failing to mask either. He kept his gun trained on us; it looked like a standard SIG Sauer M18 but with a slightly wider barrel. We’d used something similar in Echo Command, and my guess was it had been modified for tranquilizer bullets. If so, the magazine would be able to hold ten rounds before he would have to replace it. Was this standard issue for Kane’s men? Ten rounds would down even the biggest Shifter.

The bigger guard, who I mentally nicknamed Brick, reached into a pouch on his belt, rummaging around with a frown. “You got any silver ties?”

The wiry guard grimaced. “We’re out. They all got used on the others.”

Others?

Silver was only used on Shifters.

Sofia picked up on it, too, and stiffened beside me.

“You’ll have to use the plastic ones.”

Brick snapped, “Hands out.”

Every instinct screamed against letting them restrain me, but plastic wouldn’t hold a werewolf for long. Despite knowing this, my wolf thrashed inside of me. It was Sofia. The thought of her bound, vulnerable to the humans here, made both him and me furious. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she stepped forward and offered her wrists without hesitation. I looked at her, silently asking if she was sure, and she gave a barely perceptible nod.

I let them tighten the restraints around my own wrists. As soon as they were on, Brick radioed in, asking for an escort. Thirty seconds later, two more guards appeared: a tall woman with close-cropped blonde hair and hard eyes, and a stocky man with a ginger beard and burn scars along his neck. Both carried themselves with the alert readiness of seasoned veterans.

They led us through the gate and into the compound. The old airfield swarmed with activity, a war machine in motion. Barracks emptied in disciplined waves, soldiers moving with lethal efficiency. The scent of gun oil, sweat, and pre-battle adrenaline thickened the air.

I counted quickly. Thirty, maybe forty per squadron. Six squadrons visible, with more movement behind the massive hangar. Too many. Way more than expected.

“Five minutes to roll out!” a voice cut through the controlled chaos. “Gear check and load up!”

The guards steered us toward one of the hangars, its towering doors yawning open. Inside, the cavernous space had been stripped and repurposed. The high ceiling vanished into shadows, steel beams crisscrossing above, industrial lights buzzing with a harsh fluorescent glare. The concrete floor bore scuff marks from constant movement. Makeshift partitions carved the space into briefing areas, comms stations, and weapons racks.

We passed desk after desk, one with a half-eaten protein bar left on the keyboard. Another had a mug of coffee and a photo taped to a monitor of a golden retriever in a party hat. Cables snaked across the floor, bundled with zip ties. A trash bin overflowed with energy drink cans and ration wrappers.

Twenty men in this room alone. Another dozen in the corridor beyond. All armed. All ready.

The guards herded us deeper, through the nerve center of the operation. Here, officers were barking coordinates into headsets. A man clicked his pen against his teeth, eyes locked on a tablet. A woman with dark circles under her eyes blinked in quick succession, then applied eyedrops without missing a keystroke. There was a clear tang of gun oil mixed with printer toner and someone’s too-strong cologne.

Analysts pounded keyboards, pulling up satellite feeds and terrain overlays. A printer spat out freshly marked maps, snapped up as fast as they appeared. And then, a screen.

Three Rivers. My territory. My Pack.

Bottley’s glowed on the display, its entry points marked in red. Then, the enforcers’ building and Alpha Compound. Finally, the Alpha House, where Mai was on bed rest, appeared.

Rage burned through me with every new image.

Sofia paused, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. The stocky, ginger-bearded guard shoved her forward.

“Keep moving.”

The contact was brief, just enough to make her stumble, but my vision went red.

Instantly, Sofia turned her head and gave it a quick shake in warning.

Not yet.

I forced down the urge to tear the guard apart, but I knew his scent. The way his boots scuffed against the floor. Later. I’d find him later.

The blonde guard stopped us at a reinforced door. “You wanted to see the boss?”

I nodded, steeling myself to see Kane again. I wanted to look that motherfucker in the eyes. I had to stall him long enough to let Sam get here, but then I could tear him apart.

Two quick knocks, then the guard pulled the door open.

I froze in the doorway, catching a scent I thought I would never smell again.

No.

The ghost of every nightmare I’d had for years stood there, flesh and blood and impossible. Same military stance. Same sharp eyes. Same scar above his left brow.

Not Kane.

Harris.

My wolf howled, the sound echoing through my skull until I couldn’t think. Memories slammed into me: Harris’s blood on my hands, his last breath rattling in his chest, the weight of his body as life drained away.

But he was here. Alive. Standing. Smirking.

The room spun. Was this part of my PTSD? Was I hallucinating Harris here? Fuck, I needed to be clear-headed right now. I couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t let my mind betray me, not when Sofia’s life was on the line. My legs locked to keep me upright as reality cracked around the edges.

Sofia shifted beside me, anchoring me to the present. She must have picked up that something was very wrong. Her fingers twitched against her restraints—ready to move, to fight. To protect me, even now.

Harris grinned, slow and easy.

“Derek Shaw.” His voice was exactly as I remembered. “It’s been a while.”

He tilted his head, studying me with those calculating eyes. Not a memory. Not a hallucination. He was real.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His smirk widened. “What’s wrong, brother? Surprised to see me?”

Brother.

The word twisted in my gut.

I forced air into my lungs. Forced my voice steady. Forced everything down—the rage, the betrayal, the accumulation of years spent drowning in guilt.

“Harris.”

One word. That’s all I could manage without ripping his fucking head off.