Chapter 135 Baited Trap
Wynter‘s POV
The fortress’s lower levels pressed in around us like a tomb, the air thick with the smell of old stone and newer blood. I led Serra and Brennan through twisting corridors, one hand on the wall, the other gripping my knife tight.
Through the Bond, I felt Chase’s distant satisfaction—the mining facility destroyed, the children safe and being evacuated. His relief bled into my own consciousness, but it couldn’t thaw the cold knot of dread in my stomach since we’d entered Cell Block Three and found it empty.
“This is the location,” Serra whispered, checking Fang’s map. “Cell Block Three, lower east corridor. The informant said high-value prisoners were here.”
I pressed my palm to the iron door, feeling the cold metal, and pushed it open slowly. The hinges creaked, revealing a corridor lined with cells, doors hanging open like broken jaws.
Empty. Every one.
My wolf whimpered as I checked each cell, desperation mounting. Old bloodstains patterned the floor, silver manacles hung from the walls, but no prisoners. No Jax. No Anne. Just ghosts.
“They’re not here,” Brennan said quietly.
I reached through the Bond, needing Chase’s steadiness. They’re not in Cell Block Three. The cells are empty—looks like they were moved recently.
His response came fast, concern threading through every word. How recently?
Hard to say. Hours maybe? The blood’s still tacky. Serra found scrape marks—something heavy was dragged out.
Chase’s mind shifted to tactics. They knew we were coming. Moved the prisoners before we could reach them.
Or it’s a trap, I sent, checking my weapons. Lead us to the wrong location, waste our time while they—
While they what? Execute them? If Draven wanted them dead, he’d leave the bodies as a message.
It made sense, but didn’t help. I stood, brushing dust from my knees. “We need to regroup with Chase. Figure out our next move.”
“Are you sure?” Serra asked, touching her bandaged arm. “We could keep searching—there might be other holding areas—”
“And waste time while Draven consolidates his defenses? No. We fall back, share intel, make a new plan.”
Through the Bond, I sent Chase our coordinates. There’s a maintenance junction two hundred yards north. Meet me there in ten.
Understood, I sent, gesturing for Serra and Brennan to follow.
The corridors seemed longer on the way out, shadows deeper now that the adrenaline was fading. My ribs ached, Serra was favoring her arm, Brennan moved with the careful precision of someone hiding a head wound.
We were a mess. And we’d accomplished nothing.
The corridor to the maintenance junction was wider, with vaulted ceilings and decorative stonework. Our footsteps echoed, multiplying until it sounded like an army marched with us.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Brennan muttered, hand on his weapon. “Where are the guards? We’ve been here nearly an hour and seen maybe five soldiers. Bloodrock should be crawling with defenders.”
He was right. The absence of resistance was wrong. “Maybe they’re concentrated at the main points, responding to the assault—”
The door at the far end slammed shut with a boom. I spun, knife in hand, but before I could move, the door behind us slammed too, iron bar falling with finality.
“Trap,” Serra breathed.
The air in the corridor shimmered, magic coalescing with a pressure that made my teeth ache. Horror gripped me as the distortion solidified into images.
Jax appeared first, chained upright, silver manacles burning his wrists and ankles, his body sagging, clothes in tatters, his face swollen and bruised.
“Sis!” His voice cracked, desperate. “Don’t come—it’s a trap—they’re waiting—”
A guard stepped into the projection, bringing a barbed whip down across Jax’s back. Jax screamed, agony echoing through the corridor.
My wolf surged forward, body moving toward the image before I could stop it.
“Wynter, wait!” Serra grabbed my arm. “It’s not real—a projection—”
Then Anne appeared, chained to the opposite wall, a dampener collar glowing red around her throat, sending visible jolts through her body. Her face was bruised, one eye swollen shut, blood at her mouth. But it was the resignation in her good eye that broke me.
“Chase,” she whispered, the word barely audible. “I’m sorry. I failed. I tried to—” Another jolt cut her off, her body convulsing.
Through the Bond, I felt Chase’s shock and fury. Wynter, that’s not real. It can’t be—
I know, I sent, but my voice lacked conviction. Some part of me couldn’t dismiss the possibility this was exactly what was happening.
The projection flickered, and glowing text appeared: Sublevel 5, East Wing, Interrogation Block.
“It’s showing us where they are,” Brennan said, voice tight. “Why would they show us—”
“Because they want us to go there,” Serra finished, gripping my arm. “It’s bait, Wynter. They’re dangling what we want most, hoping we’ll bite.”
I stared at the coordinates, at Jax’s face and Anne’s broken expression. “What if it’s not just bait? What if they’re really there? What if this is Draven’s way of showing us what he’ll do if we don’t surrender?”
“Then we verify before we act,” Serra said, pulling out a detection crystal. She held it up, and it pulsed with light. “It’s a hologram. Sophisticated magic, probably recorded earlier.”
The confirmation should have reassured me, but instead it just made everything worse. If this was recorded, someone had actually done these things.
Through the Bond, Chase’s tactical instincts warred with his Alpha need to protect. Wynter, we need to think—
I am, I snapped. But every second we waste—Jax risked his life to save us and now he’s— My voice broke. Chase, I can’t just leave him.
I’m not asking you to, he sent, resolve hardening. But we do this smart. Verify the location, plan our approach, don’t walk into an ambush.
The projection faded, leaving only the coordinates burned into our minds.