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"Here," Gerald unlocked a heavy iron door that looked decidedly out of place in the otherwise modernized building. "We can secure it inside."

The room beyond was sparse—concrete walls, a drain in the center of the floor, and a single metal chair bolted to the ground. Restraints hung from the chair's arms and legs.

"Not exactly five-star accommodations," Jim quipped, lowering the unconscious form into the chair.

"Not exactly a five-star guest," Gerald replied, his expression grim as he secured the restraints. "I'll get Elder Vic. He should see this."

As Gerald's footsteps receded up the stairs, Jim examined the creature more closely. The black veins had receded somewhat in unconsciousness, but the skin remained pallid, with an almost translucent quality. Beneath the surface, something moved—something that didn't belong in any living being.

The creature's eyelids fluttered, consciousness returning faster than Jim had anticipated. He stepped back, positioning himself between it and the door.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jim said as the creature's eyes snapped open, crimson bleeding into the irises. "Feeling chatty?"

The creature lunged against its restraints, teeth snapping. "You will all serve," it snarled. "The new order comes with the blood moon."

Two days. The same night as the final mating challenge. Jim's hand unconsciously moved to his chest, fingers finding the outline of the trinity knot beneath his shirt.

"Yes, yes, doom and gloom, very impressive." Jim circled the chair slowly. "Who did this to you? Who's your master?"

A rattling laugh escaped the creature's throat. "Master Matthews prepares the way. The pure blood will rule."

There it was—confirmation of what Jim had suspected since his return. His heart rate spiked, not with fear for himself but for Mia. She'd been right all along. Now he just needed to get it on record, to make the accusation stick before the Council.

"Matthews, huh?" Jim leaned closer, keeping just beyond biting range. "And what exactly is he preparing?"

The creature's head snapped up, nostrils flaring. Its eyes widened with what might have been fear. "He comes," it whispered.

A sound from above—the soft click of the kitchen door closing. Footsteps too light, too measured to be Gerald returning with Vic.

"We're about to have company," Jim murmured, keeping his voice low. "Tell me quickly—what is Matthews planning during the blood moon?"

The creature's eyes darted to the ceiling, tracking the movement above. "The binding—" it began, before a high-pitched whine cut through the air.

Jim threw himself backward as something sleek and dark shot through the small ventilation grate near the ceiling. The projectile moved with impossible speed, embedding itself in the creature's throat.

Blood sprayed across the concrete as the prisoner convulsed, the restraints creaking under sudden pressure. Jim lunged forward, pressing his hand against the wound, but the damage was catastrophic—whatever had struck had severed the carotid and trachea in one precision strike.

"No, no, no," Jim growled, applying pressure even as blood pulsed between his fingers. Mia needs this information. The pack needs it. "Stay with me!"

The creature's eyes locked with his, a moment of clarity surfacing through the contamination. "He knows you know," it gasped, blood bubbling from its lips. "Time slips..." The final word emerged as a gurgle before the body went limp.

Through the open door came the unmistakable swish of red fabric—Charlotte's signature color—as she pursued whatever had launched the projectile. Mia's scent followed, her footsteps light but determined as she raced after Charlotte.

Jim's chest tightened with conflicting needs—follow Mia into danger or secure the scene. The corpse made the decision for him. He needed to document this before Matthews could spin it.

A shadow fell across the doorway. Matthews stood there, his suit immaculate despite the alleged chase at the western border.

"What a tragedy," Matthews said, his eyes taking in the bloody scene with clinical detachment. "It seems our prisoner couldn't provide answers after all."

"Funny coincidence, you showing up right after something kills our only lead," Jim replied, rising slowly. Blood dripped from his hands, pattering against the concrete.

Matthews' expression didn't change, but something cold flickered in his eyes. "I heard the commotion and came to assist. Reyes is still pursuing the others."

"Also funny how the creature knew your name." Jim took a step forward, marking Matthews' subtle shift in posture. "Called you 'Master Matthews' right before getting a projectile through its throat."

"The ravings of a contaminated mind," Matthews replied smoothly. "You should know how vampire blood affects cognition, given your... travels."

A sharp pain lanced through Jim's forearm, drawing his attention downward. A small puncture mark marred his skin just below the wrist—a bite he hadn't noticed in the chaos of subduing the creature. When had—? His stomach dropped.

"Unfortunate," Matthews observed, his gaze fixed on the wound. "Vampire venom mixed with whatever else was in its system. You should get that treated quickly."

The room tilted slightly, confirming Matthews' assessment. Whatever had been in the creature's fangs was already entering Jim's bloodstream. Jim touched his chest again, feeling Mia's necklace, drawing strength from it.

"How did the flying creature know we brought the prisoner here?" Jim asked, forcing the words out as numbness spread up his arm. "No one knew except Gerald and me."

Matthews' smile never reached his eyes. "Perhaps it followed the scent. They are remarkable hunters."

"Or perhaps it was directed." Jim took another step, ignoring the growing weakness in his limbs. "Like that creature called you Master."

"Accusations without evidence are unbecoming, especially for an alpha candidate." Matthews glanced at his watch. "I should inform the Council about this unfortunate development. I suggest you seek treatment for that bite... before the venom reaches your heart."

The room spun more violently now, darkness creeping in at the edges of Jim's vision. Through the growing haze, he watched Matthews turn to leave, his movements too smooth, too controlled.

"This isn't over," Jim called after him, gripping the doorframe to stay upright.

Matthews paused, looking back over his shoulder. "For you, I believe it is."

Jim's knees buckled as the poison surged through his system. His hand fumbled for his pocket, fingers finding the small sketch of Mia he always carried—her laughing at something he'd said, drawn from memory during one of his lost months.

Mo stór, he thought desperately, trying to project through their bond as the floor rushed up to meet him. Matthews is the threat. Don't trust ? —

But the venom was stronger than his will. As consciousness slipped away, his last coherent thought was of this morning—Mia's sleepy smile, her lips forming "always" against his mouth, the way she'd clung just a second too long before duty called.

Should have told you I loved you one more time.

Then darkness claimed him, Mia's name a silent prayer on his lips as his body hit the cold concrete.