Chapter 167
Asher
Dmitri's scent exploded with rage, but he held position. Barely.
"Where is she?" Blake's voice was barely human, his wolf so close to the surface that his eyes had gone full gold. "Where's Kara?"
"Upstairs." The enforcer nodded toward a rusted staircase. "Second floor, southwest corner. Just like your thermal imaging showed. Boss's orders were to keep her comfortable, keep her safe. We followed orders."
"Why?" I demanded. "Why take her at all?"
The enforcer shrugged. "Above my pay grade. Boss wants her, Boss gets her. Though if I had to guess—" He looked at Dmitri again. "—it has something to do with what her mama could do. Blood magic. The real deal, not the watered-down shit most of us can manage. If the girl inherited even a fraction of that power..."
He didn't finish. Didn't need to.
"You're going to take us to her," I said, releasing just enough Alpha Command to make his wolf whimper. "Now."
"Can't." The enforcer's smile was grim. "Boss said if the Sterlings showed up, I was to tell you: 'You're too late.' She moved your Luna six hours ago. What's upstairs is just... bait."
The word hit like a bullet. Through the mental link, I felt Blake's rage ignite into something nuclear and Cole's desperate denial.
No, Cole sent. The heat signature—
Could be anyone, I realized, cold horror flooding through me. A decoy. A prisoner. Someone sedated to mimic Kara's size and vitals.
Blake moved before I could stop him. His fist connected with the enforcer's jaw with enough force to shatter bone, and the man crumpled. Blake was already moving toward the stairs, his gunpowder scent a declaration of violence.
"Blake, wait—" I started.
"Fuck waiting!" he roared, taking the stairs three at a time. "If there's even a chance—"
Cole, converge on second floor, I sent, racing after Blake. It might be a trap, but we're not leaving anyone behind.
Dmitri and our warriors followed, boots on rusted metal echoing through the empty plant. The second floor was a maze of small offices and storage rooms, most with doors hanging off their hinges. Blake was already kicking open doors, his wolf fully in control, searching desperately.
"Here!" Cole's voice came from the southwest corner. "Asher, Blake—here!"
We converged on the room Cole had found. The door was newer, reinforced steel with a keypad lock left open. Inside was a small space, maybe ten by twelve feet, with white walls and a single iron bed.
And on that bed lay a woman.
But not Kara.
I recognized her immediately from the photos Dmitri had shown us—one of the victims from Konstantin's trafficking operation. Mid-forties, dark hair, thin from malnutrition, wearing a suppression collar identical to what we knew Kara had been forced to wear. She was unconscious, breathing shallow, heartbeat the weak rhythm our thermal imaging had detected.
On the wall above the bed, written in what looked like lipstick, was a message:
Too slow, Alphas. Better luck next time. —B
Blake made a sound like a wounded animal. His fist went through the wall, then another, and another, until his knuckles were bleeding and the white paint was splattered with red. Through the bond, I felt his anguish, his rage, his absolute devastation.
Cole moved to the bed, checking the unconscious woman's vitals with shaking hands. "She's alive. Drugged, but alive. We need to get her medical attention."
"And Kara?" Dmitri's voice was hollow. "Where is Kara?"
I forced myself to think past the crushing disappointment, past Blake's breakdown and Cole's barely contained despair. We'd been played. Boss—this mysterious 'B'—had known we'd track Kara here. Had left a decoy to waste our time, to break our spirits.
But she'd also left a message. And messages meant communication. Meant she wanted us to know something.
Too slow.
I pulled out my phone, texting Devon: Building is clear. One civilian casualty, needs medical evac. Kara not here. Spread the word to all teams—we're looking for recent transfers, any movement in the last six hours.
The response came within seconds: Understood. Marcus Jr. reports possible activity at the Seattle border motel. Checking now.
I looked at my brothers. Blake had stopped punching walls and was now standing motionless, his gunpowder scent thick with self-loathing. Cole was gently covering the unconscious woman with a blanket, his mint and ozone scent sharp with unshed tears.
And Dmitri... Dmitri was staring at the message on the wall with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"What is it?" I asked.
"B," he said quietly. "Boss signs with 'B.' I've seen that signature before—on Eclipse Court documents, on execution orders. It's not just an initial. It's a title."
"What title?"
"Beloved," Dmitri said, his voice hollow. "The Eclipse Court's term for their highest-ranking female member. The one who speaks for the Court itself. If Boss is the Beloved..." He looked at me, and for the first time since I'd met him, I saw true fear in his eyes. "Then we're not dealing with a criminal. We're dealing with the Eclipse Court's living goddess. And if she wants Kara, she'll have resources we can't even imagine."
Through the mental link, I felt Blake's despair deepen and Cole's hope waver. We'd found the plant. We'd followed every lead. And we were still no closer to bringing Kara home.
We don't stop, I sent to my brothers, forcing steel into my mental voice even as my own wolf howled with anguish. We don't rest. We don't give up. We find every safe house, chase every lead, tear apart every organization until we get her back.
And then? Blake sent, his mental voice raw.
Then we make them pay, I replied. Every single one of them. Starting with this 'Beloved' who thinks she can steal our mate and get away with it.
I looked down at the unconscious woman, at the suppression collar locked around her neck, at the evidence of prolonged captivity written in her too-thin frame.
Kara had been here. In this building, in this room or one like it. Wearing that collar. Alone and afraid.
And then she'd been moved. Taken somewhere else. Somewhere Boss thought we'd never find.
She's wrong, I sent to Blake and Cole, letting them feel my absolute certainty. We will find Kara. And when we do, we're going to show this Beloved exactly what happens to people who hurt what's ours.
Blake's gunpowder scent flared with renewed purpose. Cole's mint and ozone sharpened into something lethal.
And Dmitri, standing in the doorway with his canvas bag of returned gifts, looked at us with something like hope in his ancient eyes.
"Then let's get started," he said. "Because I didn't wait ten years to meet my granddaughter just to lose her to the same monsters who took her mother."
We were too late this time, I thought, the words bitter as ash. But next time, we'll be ready. Next time, we won't fail.
Through the bond, faint and distant but undeniably real, I felt it—a flutter of consciousness, a spark of determination, a whisper that might have been Kara's voice:
I'm still fighting. Don't give up on me.