Chapter 190
Blake
The abandoned cold storage facility on the outskirts of Fairbanks was exactly the kind of place you brought someone when you wanted answers and didn't care about the screaming. Concrete walls, temperature hovering just above freezing, rusted hooks hanging from ceiling chains.
I hauled Viktor out of the car and slammed him against a steel support column, silver handcuffs—courtesy of Dmitri's extensive "emergency supplies"—locking his wrists behind him. Silver burned werewolves on contact, weakened us, made shifting nearly impossible. Viktor hissed as the metal touched his skin, his collar still pulsing that sickly purple-red.
Cole moved in immediately, examining Viktor's neck. "Fresh needle marks," he said, fingers gentle despite the fury I could feel through our bond. "Multiple injection sites. Recent bruising consistent with restraints."
"They drugged him," Asher said, studying Viktor's dilated pupils. "Probably to make him more compliant. The collar's blood magic, but the drugs are conventional."
Through our bond, I felt Cole's horror—he was thinking of Kara, wondering if they'd done the same to her. If our pregnant mate was somewhere cold and drugged and alone.
Viktor's eyes rolled, trying to focus. His silver gaze landed on me, and I saw the moment recognition fully returned. Fear flooded his scent.
Good. He should be afraid.
"You have one chance," I said, crouching in front of him so we were eye level. My eyes were gold, had been since the fighting ring, my wolf too close to the surface to hide. "One chance to tell us everything you know about our mate. About where she is. About what your people did to her."
Viktor's throat worked, but no sound came out. His eyes darted to Asher, to Cole, to Dmitri standing in the shadows like an avenging ghost.
"I..." His voice cracked. "I have nothing left to lose."
"Wrong," I said, letting my claws extend, pressing them against his throat just hard enough to dimple skin. "You have your life. And depending on what you tell us, you might get to keep it."
Dmitri stepped forward. "I know you," the old wolf said, his voice carrying the weight of decades. "Viktor Morozov. You worked for Konstantin five years ago. Ran his drug operations in Anchorage until your mate died."
Viktor's entire body went rigid. His scent spiked with grief so strong it made my wolf whine in sympathy.
"Don't," he whispered. "Don't talk about her."
"Then talk about Kara," Dmitri said, unmoved. "Talk about what you did to my granddaughter."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop another ten degrees. Viktor's eyes widened, flicking between Dmitri and me.
"Granddaughter?" he repeated. "You're... Celeste's father?"
"And you," Dmitri said, his voice deadly quiet, "put your hands on her daughter. On the last piece of my bloodline left in this world. So yes, Viktor. Let's talk about what you did."
---
Viktor stared at the concrete floor, his shoulders shaking. For a moment I thought he was laughing, but then I caught the scent—salt, grief, self-loathing so thick it coated my tongue.
He was crying.
"I didn't want to," he said, voice breaking. "I didn't want to touch her. Didn't want to be part of any of this. But they... they promised me..."
"Promised you what?" Cole asked, his voice carrying unexpected gentleness.
"That I could have her back." The words came out raw, stripped bare. "My mate. They said if I cooperated, if I did what they asked, they could bring her back."
Through our bond, I felt Asher's sharp focus, Cole's medical mind clicking through implications. Dmitri's expression didn't change, but his scent carried grim understanding.
"Court can't resurrect the dead," Asher said flatly.
"Not resurrect." Viktor's laugh was bitter, broken. "Transfer. They call it Soul Anchoring. Blood magic can move consciousness from one body to another. They just need... the right vessel."
Cole's breath caught. "You mean possession. They take over someone else's body."
Viktor nodded, and my world tilted on its axis.
"Kara," I said, my voice barely recognizable. "They want to use Kara as a vessel. For your dead mate."
"No!" Viktor's denial came sharp and immediate. "Not for my mate. My mate needs... someone who looks like her. Someone young, healthy, beautiful." His eyes met mine, and I saw the self-loathing there. "They told me Kara was for someone else. Someone important to the Boss."
I was moving before conscious thought, my fist connecting with Viktor's face with enough force to snap his head back. Blood sprayed from his shattered nose, and through our bond I felt Asher and Cole grabbing my shoulders, hauling me back.
"Blake, stop!" Cole's voice cut through the red haze. "We need him conscious!"
"He just admitted they want to steal our mate's body!" I roared, fighting against their hold. "Put some other bitch's soul in her skin and send us back a fucking puppet!"
"Which is exactly why we need him alive to tell us how to stop it," Asher said, his Alpha command slamming through our bond hard enough to make my knees buckle.
I forced myself to breathe. To think. To remember that Kara needed us functional, not feral.
Viktor spat blood, his nose already starting to heal despite the silver cuffs. "You don't understand," he said. "It's not just about Kara. It's about all of them."
"All of who?" Dmitri demanded.
"Everyone Court takes," Viktor said. "Everyone they disappear. Scarlett Reeves. Connor and Celeste. Dozens of others over the years. They don't just kill them. They use them."
Through our bond, I felt Cole's medical mind racing, Asher's tactical calculations shifting. Dmitri's scent carried the sharp edge of personal stakes—his daughter, missing for ten years, might still be alive somewhere.
"Explain," Asher commanded. "Everything. Now."
---
Viktor took a shuddering breath, and the story that spilled out was worse than anything I'd imagined.
"Court's been doing this for decades," he said. "Longer, maybe. They find wolves with special bloodlines—rare pheromones, blood magic compatibility, unusual strength or beauty. They take them, study them, and when they find someone Court's elite want..." He swallowed hard. "They perform the transfer. Put the elite's consciousness in the new body. The original soul gets... displaced."
"Displaced where?" Cole asked, though from his scent, I could tell he already knew the answer would be horrifying.
"Moon serpents," Viktor said quietly. "Their nervous systems are simple enough to control, and they're resistant to blood magic degradation. Court keeps the displaced souls in serpent bodies while they search for the next suitable host for them. Sometimes for years."
The implications hit me like a physical blow. Through our bond, I felt Cole's nausea, Asher's cold fury, Dmitri's dawning horror.
"Scarlett Reeves," Dmitri said, his voice hollow. "The actress who disappeared. You're saying her consciousness is trapped in a serpent somewhere while someone else wears her face."
"Yes," Viktor confirmed. "And she's not alone. There are three moon serpents in Boss's private collection. Three souls that have been waiting years for new bodies."
My wolf knew before my human brain caught up. Three serpents. Three missing people.
"Connor," I said. "Celeste. And Scarlett."
Viktor's silence was confirmation enough.
Through our bond, I felt Cole's medical horror—imagining what it would be like to be trapped in an animal's body, unable to speak, unable to shift, watching years pass while waiting for rescue that never came. Asher's rage was crystallizing into something colder, more focused, more deadly than anything I'd ever felt from him.
And Dmitri... Dmitri's scent carried a grief so profound it made my chest ache.
"My daughter," he whispered. "Celeste has been alive this whole time. Conscious. Aware. Trapped."
"For ten years," Viktor confirmed quietly. "Along with Connor. They were Court's first successful long-term transfers. The Boss keeps them as... proof of concept. Trophies."
"How long?" Cole asked, his voice shaking. "How long can a consciousness survive in a moon serpent's body?"
Viktor's hesitation told me everything.