Chapter 56 Mom kidnapped

Chapter 56 Mom kidnapped
The call came at 7:14 p.m. on a Thursday.

Emily was in the rooftop garden—bare feet on cool artificial turf—sunset painting her swollen belly in shades of rose and gold. She wore one of Logan’s oversized linen shirts, unbuttoned to accommodate the heavy curve of her pregnancy, the fabric parting over breasts that had grown impossibly full in the last month. One hand rested instinctively on the taut dome where the twins kicked lazily; the other held a glass of chilled hibiscus tea Lucas had pressed into her hand twenty minutes earlier.

Her phone—still the sleek black one the brothers had given her—vibrated on the small glass table beside the chaise.

Unknown number.

She almost ignored it.

But something—instinct, wolf senses, mother’s intuition—made her pick it up.

“Emily Anderson.”

The voice on the other end was calm, cultured, cruel.

“Magnus.”

Her blood turned to ice.

“Don’t scream,” he said smoothly. “Don’t alert your mates. Listen carefully.”

She gripped the phone so hard the case creaked.

A soft, terrified whimper came through the line—unmistakable.

Her mother.

Emily’s knees buckled. She sank onto the chaise—free hand flying to her mouth.

“Don’t hurt her,” she whispered—voice cracking.

“We haven’t yet,” Magnus replied. “But that changes if you don’t cooperate.”

Another sound—muffled crying, a chair scraping concrete.

Emily’s wolf snarled—claws pricking beneath her nails—silver flaring in her eyes.

“Where is she?”

“Somewhere safe. For now.” A pause. “You know what we want.”

Her throat closed. “The bloodline.”

“Precisely.” Magnus’s voice hardened. “You will come to the old Dark Moon warehouse on the south docks—alone—tonight at midnight. No mates. No security. No tricks. You walk in, we perform the false mating claim, we take what we need from your blood and your power. Your mother walks free the moment it’s done.”

Emily’s hand pressed harder against her belly—the twins kicked sharply, as though sensing her fear.

“And if I don’t?”

A low chuckle. “Then your mother dies slowly. Painfully. And we’ll make sure your mates watch the recording. Over and over.”

Silence stretched—thick, suffocating.

Emily closed her eyes—tears slipping free.

“How do I know you’ll let her go?”

“You don’t,” Magnus said simply. “But you know what happens if you bring the Walkers. We kill her the second their scent hits the perimeter. One phone call. One tracker. One wrong move. Her heart stops.”

Emily’s breath hitched—sobs threatening to break free.

“I’ll come,” she whispered.

“Good girl.” Satisfaction dripped from every syllable. “Midnight. Alone. Or she dies screaming your name.”

The line went dead.

Emily dropped the phone—hands shaking so violently she nearly dropped her tea too.

She stared at the city skyline—sunset bleeding into night—and felt something inside her fracture.

Her mother.

The woman who’d raised her alone after her father died. Who’d worked double shifts with failing kidneys just to keep the lights on. Who’d never once made Emily feel like a burden despite everything.

And now she was leverage.

Because of Emily’s blood.

Because of the power she carried.

Because of the babies growing inside her.

She pressed both hands to her belly—felt another kick—sharp, insistent.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to them. “I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t go back inside immediately.

She sat there—numb—until the sky turned indigo and the first stars appeared.

Then she moved.

Quietly.

She slipped downstairs—avoided the main living areas where the brothers were gathered watching security feeds and arguing strategy. She went to the guest room she still kept as a private space—grabbed a black hoodie, dark jeans, flat boots. Stuffed her hair under a baseball cap.

She wrote one note—short, trembling handwriting on a scrap of paper torn from a notebook.

I have to do this alone.

I love you. All of you.

I’m sorry.

—E

She left it on the pillow in the master bedroom.

Then she took the service elevator down to the garage—slipped into the least conspicuous car—a plain black sedan Luke kept for surveillance runs—and drove.

The docks were forty minutes away.

She cried the whole way—silent, steady tears—hand pressed to her belly the entire time.

The warehouse was abandoned—rusted metal walls, broken windows, weeds growing through cracked concrete. A single floodlight burned above the loading bay, casting long shadows.

She parked a block away—walked the rest—hood up, hands in pockets, heart hammering so loud she was sure they could hear it.

The side door was unlocked.

She stepped inside.

Darkness swallowed her.

Then—lights snapped on.

Magnus stood in the center of the open floor—flanked by six enforcers.

Behind him—tied to a metal chair, duct tape over her mouth—eyes wide with terror—was her mother.

Emily’s wolf roared—claws fully extended now—silver eyes blazing.

“Let her go,” she said—voice steady despite the tremor in her limbs.

Magnus smiled—slow, satisfied.

“Come closer, little Luna.”

She did—step by step—until she stood ten feet away.

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears—head shaking frantically—no, no, no.

Emily looked at Magnus.

“I’m here. Alone. Let her go.”

Magnus tilted his head.

“So brave. So stupid.”

He nodded.

One enforcer stepped forward—syringe in hand.

Emily’s wolf surged—ready to tear them all apart—

But then she felt it.

The twins.

Kicking hard—panicked—sensing her fear.

She froze.

She couldn’t risk it.

Not with them inside her.

She let the enforcer approach—let him slide the needle into her arm—cold liquid burning through her veins.

Sedative.

Her knees buckled.

Magnus caught her—hands on her shoulders—smile widening.

“Sleep, Silverfang,” he murmured. “When you wake… you’ll belong to me.”

Darkness rushed in.

The last thing she saw—before everything went black—was her mother’s eyes—wide, pleading, filled with love and terror.

Then nothing.

Only darkness.

And the faint, frantic beating of two tiny hearts inside her—calling for their fathers.

Calling for home.