As night deepens, another team strikes—this time targeting a supply line. Three trucks carrying provisions and, more importantly, additional silver weapons are ambushed on the narrow mountain road. The attack is swift, surgical—drivers and guards neutralized, vehicles disabled, supplies taken or destroyed.
By dawn, Thaddeus’s forces have lost twelve wolves and critical resources without realizing they’re under attack. It’s only when they wake they’d realize.
The second night proves even more productive—despite the additional guards.
Elias leads a team that infiltrates the water supply system, introducing a mild sedative that won’t be detected until its effects manifest during the third night’s assault. Another team sabotages communication equipment, ensuring that when the attack comes, coordination between Thaddeus’s forces will be compromised.
I personally lead a strike against their silver weapon storage—a small, heavily guarded outbuilding near the main compound. The five guards posted there die quickly, their bodies concealed as we empty the building of its lethal contents. What we can’t take, we destroy, ensuring the defensive advantage silver provides them is significantly diminished.
One guard manages a partial shift before I silence him, his claws raking across my shoulder in a desperate last attack. The wounds sting but heal quickly—minor damage compared to what I’ll willingly endure to reclaim my mate.
“We’ve reduced their fighting force by nearly a third,” Elias reports as we regroup before dawn. He hands me some jerky from his ration pack. “Their supply lines are cut,communications compromised, and silver defenses weakened.”
“And our casualties?” I ask, chewing.
“None, Alpha. Three minor injuries, all healing.”
The knowledge satisfies but doesn’t surprise me. My wolves are trained for this.
“Tomorrow night, we bring her home,” I tell them, feeling their anticipation rise like a physical force. “Rest. Prepare. What comes will test us all.”
As the others withdraw to their assigned positions, I remain alone, watching the compound below where dawn patrols are discovering the first signs that something is wrong. Confusion ripples through their ranks, and along with it… dissent.
I can smell it on the air, see it in the way the guards whisper together, their heads bent conspiratorially.
Hold on, little mate. Tomorrow, I come for you.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Darkness recedes slowly, consciousness returning in fragments that refuse to align properly. My head throbs with the aftereffects of whatever sedative they administered, my vision blurring and clearing in nauseating waves.
I’m no longer in the stone cell where Xavier visited me. This room is larger, circular, with smooth white walls. I’m lying on a low slab that masquerades as a bed. No blanket, no pillow—just cold stone beneath my back, radiating a chill that sinks into my bones. My wrists are cuffed and chained to the edges of the platform, enough give to move but not escape. My ankles, too.
“She’s awake,” a voice announces from somewhere beyond my field of vision.
Footsteps approach, and a figure comes into view—not Xavier or Zella, but an older woman with steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe knot. Her eyes, a peculiar amber-gold, study me with clinical detachment.
“Can you hear me, seer?” she asks, her voice carrying the distinctive accent of the northern packs.
I manage a nod, unwilling to reveal how disoriented I still feel.
“Good.” She makes a note on a tablet she carries.
“Where am I?” I ask, my voice rougher than intended.
“Somewhere safe. For everyone concerned.” She sets aside the tablet and approaches, examining the silver chains with a disapproving frown. “These are crude. Effective, but unnecessarily harsh. Once the ceremony is complete, we’ll replace them with more humane restraints.”
“Ceremony?”
I catch a look of pity in her expression. “The severance of your claiming bond, of course. It’s scheduled for tomorrow night.”
“Who are you?” I demand, trying to sound stronger than I feel.
“Dr. Amara Reed. I specialize in wolf-kind genetics and psychic bonding patterns.” She picks up her tablet again. “I’ve studied seers for decades. Your case is particularly fascinating—a seer who cannot shift, yet maintains a functional bond with an alpha of exceptional power. The data we’ll gather from severing that connection will advance our understanding considerably.”
The clinical way she discusses destroying something so fundamental to my being makes my wolf rise with fury. She snarls and snaps behind my ribs, her rage amplifying my own.
