Chapter 168
Kara
When I woke, everything was wrong.
The smell—not dank mildew, but something cleaner. Sterile. Chemical.
I jerked upright. White walls. White ceiling. White marble gleaming under recessed lights.
This wasn't the cell.
I was in a bedroom—if you could call it that. Three times the size of my old storage room at Midnight Estate, decorated with calculated luxury that screamed money and control. Black wooden bed frame, white Egyptian cotton sheets. The same thread count Asher, Blake, and Cole used. I recognized the texture against my skin.
But the walls made my skin crawl.
Photographs everywhere. Professional headshots, magazine covers, candid shots—all women. Different ethnicities, hair colors, eye colors. But every single one shared the same features: symmetrical faces, high cheekbones, perfect bone structure.
My gaze caught on the photo above the headboard. A woman with golden-brown hair and warm brown eyes, her smile genuine and unguarded. Something about her tugged at my memory, but I couldn't place it.
I looked down. Someone had changed my clothes while I was unconscious—the thought made bile rise. White cotton nightgown now, modest and clean. White robe at the foot of the bed.
The suppression collar still locked around my throat.
My fingers tested its weight automatically. Still there. Still cutting me off from my wolf, my mates, any chance of—
The door opened.
I scrambled back against the headboard as Viktor entered carrying a plastic bag, expression cold and unreadable.
"Where am I?" The words came out sharper than intended, fear sharpening my voice. "How did I get here? Did you drug me?"
His eyes met mine, and for a moment something flickered there. Something that reminded me disturbingly of how Blake used to look at me at Midnight Estate—that barely controlled intensity, like my presence made it impossible to focus on anything else.
Then it shuttered, and he was back to being the cold soldier.
"Water and pizza Alexei gave you were drugged," he said flatly, tossing the bag onto the bed. "Light sedative. Enough to keep you unconscious during transfer."
My hands clenched. "So Alexei was lying. The 'kindness' was just—"
"Alexei follows orders." His tone suggested the subject was closed. "Change. There are clothes in the bag."
I stared at him, trying to read past the mask. "Am I still in Alaska?"
"You ask too many questions."
"I'm entitled to know where I'm being held prisoner."
"You're entitled to nothing." No heat in the words, just flat fact. "Change. Someone will bring food shortly."
He turned to leave, and I heard myself blurt, "Do you know Celeste?"
Viktor froze. Just for a second, but enough. His shoulders went rigid, and when he looked back, something dangerous flickered in his eyes.
"Why would you ask that?"
"Because you look at me like you know me." I kept my voice steady despite my racing heart. "Like you recognize something. And the only person I look like is my mother."
Viktor stared at me for a long moment. Then he took a slow, controlled breath. "Don't ask questions you don't want answered, Luna."
The way he said the title—not mocking, not quite respectful, but something in between—sent chills down my spine.
"Change," he ordered again, voice rough. "And don't make this harder than it needs to be."
He left before I could respond.
I sat on the bed, mind spinning. Viktor knew my mother. Or at least knew of her. The recognition when I'd said her name had been too visceral to fake.
Which meant what? That my mother had been involved with Boss's organization? That she'd crossed paths with Viktor?
I forced myself to focus. I dumped out the bag's contents. White dress, knee-length with short sleeves. White cotton underwear. White slip-on shoes.
Everything exactly the right size.
Someone had taken measurements while I was unconscious, or gotten my sizing information somewhere. The thought made my skin crawl.
The white dress—was it significant? Some kind of symbolism? I thought of the photographs, the clinical perfection of this room. Was I being groomed for something?
I found the bathroom—white tile, modern fixtures, oversized shower. On the counter: soap, shampoo, conditioner, hair products. New toothbrush. Toothpaste. Even makeup.
Who the hell thought I'd want makeup in this situation?
I caught my reflection and barely recognized myself. Tangled hair, pale drawn face. The collar looked like exactly what it was—a shackle.
But my eyes were different. Harder. More aware.
I'd survived ten years at Midnight Estate. Survived being abandoned. Survived transformation and bonding and the twisted love of three Alphas who'd broken me first, then tried to piece me back together.
I could survive this.
I turned on the shower, letting it run hot while I stripped. The white dress could wait. First, I needed to think.
Hot water felt like mercy against my skin. I worked shampoo through my hair, untangling knots, piecing together what I knew.
Boss was the real power. Had resources and reach. Knew about me, my value as Luna. Had ordered Viktor to keep me safe—which meant Boss had plans.
And Viktor knew my mother.
I rinsed, applied conditioner, mind churning. The photographs in the bedroom—all those beautiful women. Were they other prisoners? Other "projects"?
I thought of the woman in the photo above the bed. The familiar one. Where had I seen her?
I finished showering, dried off, pulled on the white dress and underwear. Soft fabric, expensive. The kind I'd only started wearing after Asher, Blake, and Cole took me shopping.
The thought of them sent sharp pain through my chest. Were they looking? Of course they were. They'd be tearing Alaska apart. But would they find me in time?
And what would "in time" even mean if I was pregnant?
I pushed the thought away. Couldn't afford to let fear paralyze me.
I stepped out to find Viktor waiting, leaning against the wall. He straightened when he saw me, eyes doing a quick clinical scan.
"Better," he said. "Bathroom has everything you need?"
"Am I supposed to thank you for basic hygiene?"
A ghost of something—amusement? respect?—flickered across his face. "You have spirit. Good. Boss likes that."
"Does Boss also like kidnapping pregnant women?"
His jaw tightened. "Are you? Pregnant?"
I met his gaze, refusing to look away. "I asked you first."
"And I'm the one holding you prisoner, Luna." He stepped closer. "So I'll ask again: are you pregnant?"
My mind raced. Yes would buy protection—or make me more valuable, more carefully guarded. No would give them less reason to keep me alive.
"I don't know," I said finally, technically true. I'd seen two lines on the test but hadn't processed what that meant. "The test was... unclear."
Viktor studied me, and I had the uncomfortable sense he could see through my half-truth. But he didn't call me on it.
"Boss will want certainty," he said. "Medical personnel arrive tomorrow to examine you."
My stomach dropped. "I don't need a doctor."
"That's not your decision." He turned toward the door, then paused. "For what it's worth, Luna... I hope you survive this."
The words hung in the air after he left, more ominous than comforting.
I sank onto the bed, legs suddenly unsteady. Medical personnel. Tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours to escape or get a message to Asher, Blake, and Cole.
I reached for the collar, testing its weight. Smooth metal, seamless. No clasp, no lock mechanism. Whatever magic or technology bound it was beyond my ability to break.