Chapter 188
Blake
We approached on foot, having ditched the vehicles two miles back. The facility loomed ahead—rusted chain-link and barbed wire, concrete walls scarred by decades of winters. But new security cameras tracked along the fence line. Fresh boot prints led from a reinforced gate. And underneath rust and decay, the unmistakable musk of wolves—at least a dozen, all male, all carrying the acrid undertone of fear and violence.
"North side," Ethan whispered through our earpieces. "Blind spot. Three-minute window before the next patrol."
We moved like shadows. My wolf's night vision picked out trip wires, pressure plates, broken glass embedded in the fence top.
Court's security was military-grade. Professional.
They were expecting trouble.
Good.
Asher went over first, movements economical despite his size. I followed, finding the same holds. Cole brought up the rear, Dmitri moving with surprising agility.
We landed in a crouch behind a rusted Quonset hut. The main building loomed fifty yards ahead.
"Heat signatures concentrated in basement levels," Ethan confirmed. "Ground floor activity—two guards, fifteen-minute rounds. You've got..." A pause. "Eleven minutes until the next pass."
Not enough time to breach and search. We needed a way in that wouldn't trigger alarms, wouldn't alert guards, wouldn't—
A sound cut through the night. Muffled but unmistakable: cheering. Roaring. The savage excitement of a crowd baying for blood.
Through our bond, I felt Asher's sharp focus. Cole's confusion. Dmitri's sudden recognition.
"Underground fighting ring," the old wolf whispered. "Court runs them as cover. Looks like illegal gambling—authorities turn a blind eye. But underneath..."
"The real facility," Asher finished. "The cells. The labs. The blood farms."
Another roar from below. The wet sound of impact. Flesh on flesh. My wolf's lips peeled back.
"We go in through the fight," I said.
Asher studied the building, tactical mind mapping vectors and exits. "Blend into the crowd. Look like spectators. One goes in, two provide overwatch."
Through our bond, I felt his calculation—three unknown Alphas together would draw attention. But one rich wolf seeking thrills?
"I'll go," I said before anyone could argue. "Best fighter if things go sideways. And..." The truth clawed out. "I need to be close to her. Even if I can't reach her yet, I need to know she's here."
Our eyes met in the darkness. Through our bond, a thousand arguments passed.
But underneath, Asher felt what I felt: the desperate need to confirm Kara was alive.
"Ten minutes," he finally said. "Scout, signal, extract together. No heroics."
"No heroics," I lied.
---
The entrance was a nondescript side door, guarded by a bored Beta who barely glanced at me. Down narrow metal stairs, the air growing warmer, thick with sweat, blood, and wild pheromones. The crowd's roar grew louder with each step.
The arena opened like a vision of hell.
Circular space carved from the basement, concrete walls rising twenty feet. In the center, a cage—ten meters diameter, floor stained rust-brown. Inside, two massive wolves tearing at each other with savage efficiency.
The crowd packed the space—at least fifty wolves, mostly male, radiating entitled arrogance. They screamed and gestured, waving cash, their pheromones a chaotic storm.
I pushed to a position near the back, high enough to survey everything. My wolf cataloged exits—three visible, probably more concealed. Guard positions—six armed. And the fighters...
My breath caught.
Both wore thick metal collars, surfaces etched with symbols that made my skin crawl. Blood magic. The collars pulsed sickly purple-red in time with heartbeats. And their eyes—
Their eyes were wrong. Completely black. No white, no gold, no hint of consciousness. They moved like automatons. No spark of intelligence. No soul.
Through our bond, Cole's medical horror filtered through my observations. Asher's cold fury.
And my wolf's recognition: this could have been Kara.
The fight ended with a sickening crack. Gray wolf's jaws closed around brown's throat. Blood sprayed. The crowd erupted.
"Next fight!" The announcer—tall, thin, red suit—grabbed a microphone. "Our newest acquisition. They call him the Silent Death!"
A gate lifted. Guards with electric prods drove a massive dark gray wolf into the arena. Scars crisscrossed his flanks. He moved with a predator's economy despite the collar.
His opponent was pushed in from the opposite side—a black wolf, larger, dead eyes tracking with mechanical precision.
The crowd held its breath. The gate clanged shut.
And that's when I caught it.
A scent. Faint. Nearly lost beneath blood and sweat and corrupted magic. But unmistakable to a wolf whose mate's smell was burned into his soul.
White musk. First snow. Kara.
My world stopped.
The crowd's roar faded. The lights dimmed. Every other scent disappeared, leaving only that one perfect, terrible fragrance.
It was on Viktor. Mixed with his sweat and blood, clinging to his fur. Fresh enough that it could only mean one thing:
He'd touched her. Recently. Within hours.
My vision tunneled. Gold bled into my irises. My wolf surged with such violence my human form almost couldn't contain it. Gunpowder and leather exploded from my pores, so concentrated wolves ten feet away stumbled back, choking.
Through our bond, Asher's alarm spiked. Cole's instant understanding. Their combined command crashing through: Blake, don't—
Too late.
I was already moving. Shoving through the crowd toward the cage. People scattered. Someone grabbed my arm—I threw them aside without looking. Another blocked my path—I barreled through, eyes locked on Viktor.
He'd touched her. Put his hands on my pregnant mate. Left his scent on her while she was terrified and alone and—
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The announcer's voice cut through. "It appears we have a volunteer! A challenger!"
The crowd's attention shifted. Fifty pairs of eyes fixed on the Alpha radiating enough killing intent to make the air shimmer.
I reached the cage, gripping the bars hard enough to make them groan. Viktor's gray eyes—clearer than the others', still carrying some consciousness despite the collar—locked onto mine.
Recognition. Guilt. Fear.
"You," I growled, voice barely human. "You touched her."
Through our bond, Asher was already repositioning for extraction. Cole's medical mind flagged the danger—if I shifted here, if I lost control, every guard would be on us.
But I didn't care. Couldn't. Because Viktor's scent carried Kara's, and that meant he knew where she was, what they'd done, whether our child—
"Sir." The announcer appeared at my elbow, professional smile strained. "If you'd like to wager—"
"I want in." The words came flat. Cold. Certain. "I want to fight him." I pointed at Viktor.
The announcer blinked. "Sir, that's not how this works. Viktor is a blood slave, house property. We can't just—"