Chapter 224 Nail it Back Up
They burst through the heavy double doors just in time.
The freezing night air whipped through the open bay. A heavy transport truck sat idling, its diesel engine rumbling ominously. The three senior guards from the office were already there, their hands gripping the thick, splintering edges of a ridiculously cheap, rough-hewn pine crate. They were just hoisting the heavy, coffin-sized box up toward the truck's tailgate.
"Drop it!" Fennigan roared, his Alpha command echoing over the rumble of the engine.
The guards instantly froze. The heavy pine crate hit the concrete floor of the loading bay with a hollow, violent thud.
Without missing a beat, Fennigan crossed the concrete, his glowing silver eyes locking onto a heavy steel crowbar resting on a nearby workbench. He snatched it up.
"Alpha?" the lead guard asked, stepping back in confusion. "We just finished nailing it shut. The transport is ready."
Fennigan didn't answer. He jammed the curved, wedged end of the crowbar right under the edge of the pine lid. With a dark, feral grunt, the massive Alpha violently threw his weight onto the steel bar.
SCREECH. The sound of thick iron nails tearing out of cheap wood violently split the air. Jax stepped up right beside him, curling his massive, calloused fingers under the splintering wood where Fennigan had created a gap. With a synchronized, terrifying surge of pure werewolf strength, the two brothers ripped the entire top half of the lid clean off.
The rough pine completely shattered, exposing the dark interior of the crate.
And there he was.
Damon Blackwood. The monster who had built a slaughterhouse under their feet. His skin was pale and waxy in the dim fluorescent light of the loading bay, his body already stiffening with rigor mortis. They hadn't bothered to clean the soot or blood off his face.
Jax’s stomach violently heaved at the sight of him, but his silver eyes instantly locked onto his father's right hand, resting rigidly across his chest.
The ring.
It sat heavily on Damon's middle finger. In the harsh, industrial light of the bay, the smooth, iridescent white sheen didn't look like mother-of-pearl anymore. It looked exactly like what it was: a polished, sickening piece of stolen bone.
Jax didn't hesitate. He reached down into the crate. His massive hand completely engulfed his dead father's cold, stiff wrist. He pinned the arm down against the cheap wood while Fennigan reached for the ring.
Damon's knuckles were locked tight with rigor, resisting the movement as if the monster was trying to hold onto his dark magic even in death. Fennigan gripped the smooth, heavy band of bone. He pulled hard, twisting it violently over the stiff, unyielding knuckle.
With a sickening, soft pop of a dislocating joint, the ring slid free.
Fennigan staggered back a half-step, staring down at the object in his palm. The artifact was unnaturally cold, heavy, and practically vibrated with a dark, suffocating energy that made the Alpha's blood instantly run cold.
"We have it," Fennigan rasped, his voice a lethal, breathless rumble.
Jax let go of Damon's wrist, watching his father's arm thud lifelessly back against the bottom of the crate. He looked at the guards, who were staring at them in stunned, bewildered silence.
"Nail it back up," Jax ordered coldly, completely turning his back on the corpse. "And send the bastard to the capital."
The brothers didn't wait to watch them hammer the lid back into place. Fennigan closed his massive fist tightly around the elemental bone, burying it deep in his pocket as they turned and headed back into the packhouse. They had the key. Now they just needed the door.
The heavy oak door to the office pushed open, and the freezing, violent energy of the loading bay followed Fennigan and Jax right back into the sanctuary.
The room was exactly as they had left it. Ginny was holding a sleeping Iggy on the couch, and Leela was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the cushions with Caspian and Briar safely tucked under her arms.
Fennigan didn’t say anything as he crossed the room. He walked straight up to the massive mahogany desk where Elana sat in her wheelchair. He reached into his leather jacket, pulled his closed fist out, and opened his fingers.
He dropped the ring onto the polished wood.
The heavy band of bone hit the desk with a sickening, hollow clack that seemed to echo in the quiet office. In the warm light of the desk lamp, the iridescent sheen of the polished bone looked completely devoid of life—a stark, horrifying monument to Vane’s butchery and Damon’s betrayal.
The moment the ring hit the wood, Leela physically flinched from across the room. The dormant elemental magic in her own blood violently recoiled from the dark, suffocating energy radiating off the slaughtered child's remains. She pulled the twins just a fraction tighter against her sides, her silver eyes wide.
Elana stared down at the ring resting on her desk. She didn't reach for it. After thirty years of holding the hand that wore it, she refused to let the cursed object touch her skin ever again. Her silver eyes were devoid of any tears; they were entirely consumed by the cold, calculating fire of a matriarch preparing for war.
"We have it," Fennigan said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated with barely contained Alpha aggression. He looked down at his mother. "What do you want done with it?"
Elana didn't blink. She kept her eyes locked on the bone ring, but her voice was steady, commanding, and absolutely merciless.
"You take it down to the holding cells," Elana ordered. She finally looked up, meeting Fennigan's glowing silver eyes. "You show it to Miller. You ask him if this is the analog key to that titanium core."
Jax stepped up beside his brother, his massive arms crossing over his broad chest. "And if it is?"
"If it is," Elana said, her voice dropping into a lethal, unforgiving whisper, "then you drag him out of that cell by his throat. You have him take you down there, and you make him open the door. I want to know exactly what my husband was hiding in the dark."
Fennigan’s jaw set in a hard, predatory line. The order was given, and it aligned perfectly with the violent, protective rage currently boiling in his own veins.
"Yes, Luna," Fennigan promised.