Chapter 103 The Embargo

Chapter 103 The Embargo
The silence in the hallway was heavier than the silence in our minds.

We walked down the grand staircase together, my hand tucked into the crook of Abel’s arm. 

The shower had washed away the soot and the smell of ozone, but it hadn't washed away the tension. 

Abel wore a fresh black tactical shirt that clung to his frame, hiding the scar, but I could feel the stiffness in his movements. The bond hummed in the background, a low-level radar pinging me with his fatigue.

Usually, at this hour, the Stone Estate was a machine. Guards changing shifts, staff polishing the bannisters, the distant shouts of warriors training on the lawn.

Today, the house was a tomb.

Dust motes danced in the shafts of light falling through the high windows. There was no one. No guards at the interior posts. No staff. Just the echoing sound of our footsteps on the marble.

"Where is everyone?" I whispered, moving closer to him.

"Mess hall, likely," Abel murmured, his eyes scanning the shadows, his instincts on high alert. 

"Or outside, starting the repairs on the East Wing."

But when we reached the double doors of the Alpha’s office, we found where the fear had gone.

Oliver was there. He was standing behind Abel’s massive oak desk, staring down at a spread of documents. He wasn't alone. 

The Pack’s Head of Logistics, a burly man named Marcus, and the Financial Director, a sharp-eyed woman named Sarah, were with him.

They looked sick.

Oliver looked up as we entered. He didn't bow. He didn't offer the usual greeting. He looked pale, his skin clammy, his eyes wide with a specific kind of terror I had only seen in prey animals.

"Oliver?" Abel’s voice was calm, but the command in it was absolute. 

"Why is the house empty? Where is the construction crew for the infirmary?"

Oliver swallowed hard. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him. He simply picked up a piece of paper from the desk and held it out. His hand was shaking so badly the paper rattled like a leaf in a gale.

"They left, Alpha," Marcus answered, his voice gravelly and low. 

"The contractors. The medical suppliers. The food vendors. They all packed up their trucks and drove out the gate twenty minutes ago."

Abel frowned, walking into the room. "Why? Did we miss a payment? Tell them to turn around. I’ll wire the bonus immediately."

"You can't," Sarah whispered.

Abel stopped. He looked at his financial director. "Excuse me?"

"You can't wire anything, Alpha," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "I tried. I tried the corporate accounts. I tried the pack operating fund. I tried the emergency reserves."

"And?"

"Declined," Oliver choked out. "All of it. Every cent."

Abel went still. The air in the room dropped ten degrees. "Explain."

Oliver stepped forward and handed Abel the trembling paper.

It wasn't a bank statement. It was a legal notice, stamped with a heavy, crimson seal that looked like a wound on the page.

NOTICE OF IMMEDIATE ASSET SEIZURE

ISSUED BY: THE GLOBAL BANKING AUTHORITY & SUPERNATURAL HIGH COUNCIL

TARGET: STONE ENTERPRISES / THE STONE PACK

CASE: Pending Investigation into Unlicensed Seismic Activity and Domestic Terrorism.

"Terrorism?" I breathed, reading over Abel’s shoulder. The word tasted like ash. "They think the explosion in the bunker was a bomb?"

"Kane," Abel snarled. The name ripped out of his chest, vibrating through the bond like a shockwave. 

"He didn't declare war. He tipped off the authorities. He framed the magical surge as a weapon test."

"It’s a blanket freeze, Abel," Oliver said, his voice hollowing out. 

"They’ve flagged your biological signature. Your personal accounts, the StoneTech payroll, the offshore liquidity in the Caymans, it’s all locked. We have zero purchasing power."

"We have three hundred wolves in this pack," Marcus said, stepping forward. 

"Almost fifty of them are in critical condition from the blast. We have no antibiotics. We have no burn salve. And the food stores in the basement? We have enough for three days. Maybe four if we ration."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "He’s starving us."

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. Kane knew he couldn't beat Abel in a straight fight. So he was doing this instead. He was turning the pack into a prison.

"He wants to see us eat each other," I whispered.

Abel slammed his fist onto the desk. The sound was like a gunshot. A crack appeared in the heavy oak, running from the center to the edge.

"Get me the Council," Abel roared. "Get me Councilman Thorne. I will tear his throat out through the phone."

"Thorne won't take your call," Oliver said. "But... he did send this."

Oliver reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a sleek, black envelope. It was sealed with black wax, stamped with a crest I knew better than my own name.

The Hellboud Crest.

Abel snatched the envelope. He didn't open it gently. He ripped the top off, shredding the paper. He pulled out a single, thick card.

He read it.

I felt his reaction through the tether. It wasn't anger. It was a cold, deadly stillness. The kind of stillness a predator falls into right before it strikes.

"What does it say?" I asked.

Abel didn't answer. He handed the card to me.

I took it. The handwriting was elegant, sharp, and cruel.

Alpha Stone,

I imagine you are finding the morning somewhat inconvenient. My apologies. Bureaucracy is such a tedious weapon, isn't it?

However, I am a reasonable man. I have no desire to see a historic pack crumble into dust. I have petitioned the High Council for a compassionate release of your funds. They are willing to lift the freeze immediately, provided you comply with one simple safety measure.

Evelyn is clearly unwell. The explosion proves she is a danger to herself and others. She is mentally unstable, traumatized, and currently in the custody of a man she barely knows.

Surrender Evelyn to my custody for psychiatric evaluation and care by sundown tomorrow.

Do this, and the money flows. The pack eats. The wounded get their medicine.

Refuse, and I’m afraid the investigation will take months. Can your pack last months without food, Abel? Can your wounded survive without morphine?

The clock is ticking.

— Kane Hellboud

I lowered the card, my hands shaking. "He’s framing me as crazy. He’s making himself the savior."

"It’s a trap," Oliver said. "If we hand you over, he wins. If we refuse, we look like monsters holding a mentally ill woman hostage while our own people starve."

"I won't do it," Abel said. His voice was low, vibrating with a terrifying finality. "I will not trade my mate for a bank transfer."

"It’s not just money, Abel!" I cried, panic rising in my throat. "It’s their lives! You can't let them die for me!"

"I said no!" Abel shouted.

Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered.

Zzzzt.

The hum of the air conditioning cut out. The computer screens on the desk winked out. The room plunged into gray, shadowy silence.

"Power," Marcus muttered, looking up at the dead bulbs. "They just cut the grid."

Abel stood there in the semi-darkness, his chest heaving, his silver eyes glowing in the gloom. He looked at me, then at his brother, then at the scorched window.

We were trapped. No money. No power. No food. And a deadline that was ticking down with every beat of my heart.

"He wants to know what I will choose," Abel whispered, his voice echoing in the silent room. 

"He wants to know if I will let you burn to save the pack."

"What are we going to do?" Oliver asked, his voice barely audible.