Chapter 175
Blake
The SUV's headlights sliced through Seattle's drizzle as we headed south into the industrial district. I pressed my forehead against the cold window, watching the city decay block by block—boarded-up warehouses, rusted chain-link, abandoned fishing boats rotting in their slips.
"Target building, two blocks ahead," Ethan's voice crackled through my earpiece. "Thermal confirms fifteen inside."
Asher's hands tightened on the wheel, his ebony scent sharpening. In the back, Cole's mint traced calming patterns through our link, trying to counterbalance the gunpowder rage simmering in my chest. Dmitri sat rigid beside him, silver frost scent low and lethal.
We're getting closer, I thought toward the emptiness where Kara should be. Hold on, baby.
Lucky Toad had taught us that careful pressure beat immediate violence, even when every instinct screamed for blood. But God, it was hard. My fingers flexed against my thigh, imagining them wrapped around the throat of whoever had touched her.
"Blake." Asher's voice cut sharp. "Focus."
I forced myself to breathe. Through the link, Cole's gentle probe washed over my fire. I'm good, I sent back, though we all knew it was bullshit.
Asher killed the engine a block out. Rain drummed on the roof, broken only by distant foghorns. The building hunched ahead like something ashamed—unpainted wood gone black with rot, sagging roof, no sign, no light. Perfect for Court.
"Looks worse than Ivan described," Asher muttered.
Cole circled right, reading the space. Dmitri moved to the wall, his gaze locked on something that made his scent turn acrid.
Spray-painted on the weathered wood: a full moon wrapped in a serpent's coils, blood dripping from the center.
"Fucking Court," I growled.
Below it, red letters that looked painted in something thicker than spray paint. Ethan appeared beside us, camera flashing twice.
Dmitri leaned closer. "Iterum vivere."
"Again to live," Cole translated quietly. "What does that mean?"
Dmitri's expression darkened. "Court's favorite game. The ones who survive their blood magic trials—the injections, the breaking—they call it being 'born again.' Remade."
The implications made my skin crawl. Kara's mother, subjected to that. Scarlett, disappeared into it. And now our pregnant mate in their hands.
"We're going in," Asher said flatly. "Now."
---
The door groaned open. Wolf musk hit first, thick enough to choke on, layered with cheap beer and damp wood. The interior matched the exterior—rough wood tables, claw-marked chairs, desperate atmosphere.
Conversation died. Fifteen pairs of eyes swung toward us, the air thickening with tension. Mostly Betas, a few low-ranking Alphas, none strong enough to challenge us but all clearly on edge.
Steady, Cole sent. We need information.
I forced my gunpowder to settle. Asher's ebony and tobacco wrapped us like authority, Dmitri's silver frost adding its deadly promise.
My gaze caught on the wall behind the bar—photographs everywhere. Celebrity headshots, casual snapshots, all with handwritten messages. "Best bar in Seattle!" "A hidden gem!"
Those photos are fake, I sent, or this is a front.
Or everyone in them has Court connections, Cole finished. If that's true, their reach is deeper than we thought.
A woman emerged from behind the bar—young Beta, maybe twenty-five, pale skin with freckles, orange-red curls catching the light. Professional smile with fear underneath.
"Welcome to Serpent's Kiss," she said. "I'm Sienna. What can I get you?"
Her eyes flicked between us, trying to read our intentions. My wolf stirred, not with interest but comparison. Sienna had that practiced hospitality, that survival mask. Kara had never learned to hide like that. Even hating us, she'd been real—her anger genuine, her fear honest, her rare smiles worth everything because they couldn't be faked.
God, I missed her. Missed those brown eyes trying to decide if I was still the monster or the man who could be better. Missed her weight in my arms, the trust she'd given so carefully, the way her scent shifted when she felt safe.
Focus, Asher commanded gently.
"Four beers," Asher said, neutral but edged.
Sienna returned with glasses, ice crystals floating on top. "Sorry about the heating," she said, trying for humor. "Been broken for weeks. At least the beer doesn't need ice."
Her fingers trembled on the tray. Cole's gaze sharpened, catching something. I followed his line of sight—pink gingham dress, white apron, pink flats. And bare legs. Nothing between her skin and air cold enough to see our breath.
"You're not cold?" Cole asked, genuinely curious.
Her laugh came too quick. "I... have an unusual constitution. Don't really feel it."
Her right hand moved to her left elbow—nervous tell. Cole leaned forward slightly.
"Unusual constitution?" His smile was gentle, eyes sharp. "Natural, or acquired?"
Fear flickered across her face before she caught it. She turned away, reaching for a towel too quickly.
"Let me get napkins—"
"Wait." Cole's voice carried just enough command. "What's that on your arm?"
A flash of ink beneath her sleeve. Sienna went rigid, scent spiking with panic.
"It's nothing."
Asher stood, fluid and deliberate. Suddenly we were forming a loose circle—not threatening exactly, but making escape impossible. Through the link, I felt his calculation.
"Show us," he said quietly, with just enough Alpha weight to make it inevitable.
Sienna's eyes darted to the other patrons, looking for backup. They all became very interested in their drinks. Smart.
Slowly, hands shaking, she pushed up her left sleeve.
The tattoo revealed itself inch by inch—the same symbol from outside, but exquisite. Individual scales, tiny runes, a moon that seemed to glow faintly.
Dmitri inhaled sharply. "Eclipse Court mark. Outer circle. Only those who've passed the trials earn it."
Sienna's face went white. "You... who are you?"
My gunpowder exploded before I could stop it. Around us, wolves stood, hands moving toward weapons. This was Court territory, and we'd just revealed ourselves.
"Sit. Down." Asher's Alpha voice cracked like a whip, his scent slamming into every wolf with absolute authority. Betas and lower Alphas collapsed back into seats, unable to resist.
Sienna remained standing only because Asher hadn't directed it at her, but she swayed, her wolf wanting to submit.
Dmitri moved closer, silver frost sharp. "This tattoo—what does it mean? You mark yourselves to show you survived?"
Sienna's lips trembled, pressed together. Cole stepped forward, mint deliberately soothing.
"Iterum vivere," he said softly. "Again to live. That's what they call the trials, isn't it? Those who survive the blood magic, who live through Court's hell—they're 'reborn.' Given this mark as proof."
Sienna's eyes widened. "How do you—"
"We know about your Beloved," Dmitri cut in, voice hard. "We know about the Sanctuary. We know you're holding people there—wolves who know too much, who've outlived usefulness. And we know—"
The side door burst open. A massive figure stumbled through.
"Viktor?!" Sienna gasped.
The man was built like an Alpha—tall, broad, powerful. But his scent was wrong, chaotic and weak. Black hair, blue eyes like mine, strong features. But his eyes held wildness that spoke of barely-contained pain and rage.
Dark hoodie, jeans, trying to blend in. But every visible inch of skin—face, neck, hands—was covered in pink scratches. Claw marks, raked across flesh repeatedly.
"You shouldn't be here," Sienna breathed, horrified. "You're supposed to be—"
She cut off, but we all heard it: at the Sanctuary.
He'd escaped. Like Alexei at the pharmaceutical plant.
Cole inhaled deeply. "I only smell him," he said quietly. "His scent, and soap. Strong industrial soap. Nothing else. No other person's scent."
"He scrubbed himself clean," Dmitri said. "Destroyed any trace of whoever left those marks."
I studied the scratches, my artist's eye cataloguing them. Not defensive wounds. Too uniform, too deliberate. Too much coverage for random.
"Those are from a woman," I said low. "Nails, not claws. Someone marked him thoroughly, and he went to great lengths to hide who."
Viktor avoided looking at anyone. He made straight for the darkest corner, slumped into a chair with his back to the wall. But his hands shook on the table, and his eyes—when they briefly met mine—were full of fear and fury.
Through the link, Asher's predatory focus locked on. Cole's mind already working possibilities.
He's our way in, I sent. Whatever it takes, we get him to talk about the Sanctuary.
About what they do there, Cole added. About whether Kara's parents are being held there.
And whether Kara might end up there too, Asher finished grimly, if Beloved decides she's more useful as a prisoner than a prize.
My gunpowder flared hot enough that nearby wolves flinched. Asher's hand landed on my shoulder, grounding.
But watching Viktor huddle in his corner, covered in scratches he'd desperately tried to hide, I made a promise: before we left this bar, that man would tell us everything. Every secret, every horror, every detail that might help us find our mate.
Whatever it took.
I caught Sienna's eye, saw her glance nervously between us and Viktor. She knew something. They both did.