Chapter 186
Blake
Dmitri rose suddenly, his fist slamming into the wall hard enough to crack the wood. "Jasper, I hope you're right. But I need to tell you something that'll make you question every assumption you've had for three months."
His silver eyes blazed. "Three months ago—exactly when you got that letter—the Alaska black market lit up with orders. Big money for blood samples from a specific wolf. Silver-haired female, approximately forty, pheromone signature described as 'snow-silver.'"
The description hit like a physical blow.
"Celeste," Dmitri confirmed, his voice breaking. "My daughter had that exact signature. Kara inherited part of it, refined it into something even rarer."
He moved to Jasper's wall, stabbing a finger at Scarlett's photo. "You were right about body-snatchers. But you underestimated Court's cruelty. They don't just steal bodies. They use blood magic to create living puppets that can fool even the people who loved the original."
His voice dropped. "If Court was buying Celeste's blood signature three months ago..."
"Then that letter might not be from Connor at all," Jasper finished weakly. "Court might have captured them. Used blood magic to create a puppet that could write in his hand, use his codes."
"And if they did that to Connor and Celeste," Cole said quietly, "they might be doing it to Kara right now."
I was on my feet before I decided to move, the chair flying backward. My pheromones exploded—gunpowder so intense the floorboards wept oil. My eyes shifted gold, nails lengthening.
"If Kara is being—" I couldn't finish. Her on a table being drained. Screaming as they extracted memories. Our child—
My voice broke into an animal sound.
Then they were on me. Asher from behind, Cole from the side, crashing into me hard enough to drive me against the wall. Asher's arms locked around my chest, his ebony scent trying to smother my gunpowder.
Blake, listen. His command crashed through our bond with full Alpha force. We will find her. She's alive. The replacement theory is one possibility. We don't spiral before we have evidence. Kara needs us functional, not feral.
Cole pressed against my other side, his mint washing over me like ice water. "I can still feel her through the bond. Her heartbeat's there—faint but steady. If she'd been turned into a puppet, that connection would be severed. But it's there."
The logic penetrated slowly. They were right. The bond was still present. As long as we could feel even the faintest echo of her heartbeat, she was still herself.
I forced myself to breathe. My eyes shifted back to pale blue, claws retracting.
We stood locked together, sharing our fear and rage through the bond. Through that connection, we made a silent pact—no matter where Kara was, we'd find her. Bring her home. Protect her and our child.
And anyone who stood in our way would learn why you don't fuck with Alphas and their pregnant mate.
I wiped blood from my split lip. "Tell me the next step, Asher. But make it fast. Every second we waste is another second Kara's in hell."
---
Dmitri moved to the investigation wall, his movements purposeful. He stopped at Scarlett's section, tapping a surveillance photo.
"The body-snatcher theory was directionally correct. But you underestimated Court's sophistication. They create living puppets through blood magic—biological constructs that can pass every test, fool everyone."
He began pacing. "The process has five stages. I know because I've seen the aftermath, heard survivor testimonies."
Through our bond, I felt Asher cataloging details, Cole analyzing biological implications. But all I could think about was Kara facing people who saw her as raw material.
"Stage One: Capture. Court identifies a target—rare bloodlines, unique abilities, valuable connections. They set elaborate traps using trusted people. Specialized toxins or pheromones to subdue without visible injury. Always clean, always professional."
"Like what they did to Kara," I said flatly. "Used Crystal, waited until we were distracted, struck when she was alone."
Dmitri nodded. "Stage Two: Extraction. Transport to a 'blood farm'—specialized facilities for long-term imprisonment and systematic harvesting. They extract blood, bone marrow, cerebrospinal fluid. Regular schedule, calibrated to keep victims alive but weak, unable to fight or escape."
Cole made a choked sound, his mint going acrid. Through our bond, I felt him imagining Kara in such a facility, his medical mind cataloging the toll—especially on a pregnant wolf.
"Stage Three: Forging. Using extracted material, Court's blood mages cultivate a replacement body. Two to four weeks depending on genetic complexity. Grown in vats with alchemical solutions, fed with the victim's own blood, shaped by magic."
"But it's not just a clone," Asher said. "That's where Stage Four comes in—Infusion."
Dmitri's expression darkened. "Correct. Forcible memory extraction through drugs, torture, blood magic. Then infused into the replacement along with pheromone samples. Creates a construct that mimics behavior patterns, speech, emotional responses."
"But it's not perfect," I said desperately. "There has to be some tell."
"There is," Dmitri confirmed. "The replacement's pheromones have a subtle 'hollow' quality. Like diluted perfume. If you're intimately familiar with the original's scent, you'll notice something off. A discordance, like the soul is missing. But you have to be close enough that the replacement could kill you if it realized you'd caught on."
He faced us fully. "Stage Five: Release. Court places the replacement back into the original's life. It continues daily activities, maintains relationships, gathers intelligence. Meanwhile, the real person remains imprisoned as a 'biological battery,' kept alive only as long as they're useful."
The room fell silent as we processed the full horror.
Jasper had collapsed in his chair, examining Connor's handwriting with desperate intensity. "The pressure variations... I thought he was just tired. But if he was forced to write under supervision..."
"Then he was already a prisoner three months ago," Asher finished coldly. "Which means Court had time to execute their plan. Create replacements, position pieces, prepare for Kara's abduction."
Through our bond, synchronized rage and terror spiked. Kara was pregnant. In Court's hands. And Court had a history of draining prisoners until nothing remained but empty husks.
We were running out of time.
---
A phone rang, making everyone jump. Asher pulled his cell, expression shifting when he saw the ID.
"Ethan. Tell me you have something."
"Something big." Ethan's voice carried unusual urgency. "Can you receive visual data?"
"We're at Jasper's. Send it."
Asher shoved papers aside, yanking open an ancient laptop. We crowded around as the email opened—satellite images and financial documents.
The first image made my breath catch. An aerial view of a sprawling complex, buildings in decay, surrounded by chain-link fencing. Middle of nowhere.
"What am I looking at?" Asher demanded.
"Abandoned military base, fifteen miles outside Fairbanks. Officially decommissioned after World War II. But five years ago, purchased by a shell company—Moonstone Holdings. Took me three days to trace ownership."
"Eclipse Court," Dmitri said.
"Eclipse Court," Ethan confirmed. "More specifically, an anonymous trust fund—Court's primary laundering vehicle. Past three months, they've funneled over five million into renovations and equipment. Far more than needed for a simple hideout."
He clicked to a thermal scan. "Surface buildings are deliberately maintained in decay. But underground..." He highlighted clustered heat signatures. "At least three levels of reinforced structures. Significant wolf activity. And this area—" He zoomed on an abnormally high heat signature. "Could be a ritual chamber or laboratory. Temperature's consistent with blood magic workings."
Through our bond, Asher's tactical mind calculated distances. Cole's medical concern for Kara's condition. My focus narrowed to one fact:
We knew where she was.
"There's more," Ethan continued. "Vehicle traffic suggests facility preparing for major transfer. Multiple vehicles using counter-surveillance. Black SUVs, unmarked vans, even a medical transport from a clinic that doesn't exist."
"They're moving people," Cole said. "If they're using medical transport..."
"Someone needs medical supervision," I finished. "Someone pregnant or injured."
"Kara," Asher said simply.
Dmitri was already on his feet. "Fairbanks is under two hundred miles. Three hours by road, less if we push it."
"Fuck the police," I snarled, already moving. "Kara's pregnant and imprisoned. Every second we waste—"
"Blake," Asher said quietly, gripping my shoulder. "We can't wreck this vehicle and strand ourselves. We maintain speed, arrive in one piece, execute properly. That's the only way we get her back alive."