Chapter 16 - Rafael
The northern perimeter stretches before me like a wound cutting into the darkness, snow ghosting down in thick curtains that blur the boundary between earth and sky. Out here, alone in the gathering storm, the world narrows to simple elements: the crunch of snow beneath my boots, the bite of wind through my coat, the steady rhythm of my breath freezing in the air before me.
I've been at this for hours—checking and rechecking security measures, running calculations in my head, trying to focus on anything except the haunting memories of last night.
But they come anyway, unbidden and merciless. Thalia's skin under my hands, honey-gold in the candlelight. Her breath catching when I kissed that spot beneath her ear. The way she looked at me in those unguarded moments, like she was memorizing something she knew she couldn't keep. Like she was already saying goodbye.
The memory tangles with newer ones: her rigid posture in this morning's meeting, the barely concealed panic in her eyes when Byron talked about that gang. The way she disappeared to the bathroom and came back looking like she'd seen a ghost. Every detail I noticed but couldn't quite piece together, now circling like wolves in my mind.
I pause at the edge of the tree line, where our territory meets unclaimed wilderness. The motion sensors we installed last week blink steadily through the snow—red lights in the gathering dark, marking our boundaries like fallen stars. Beyond them, the forest stretches vast and unknowable, full of shadows that could hide any number of threats.
My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, torn between the urge to protect and a growing certainty that something is terribly wrong. The snow seems to mock me, erasing my footprints as quickly as I make them, like Thalia erases every trace of vulnerability the moment it appears.
"Get it together," I mutter, kneeling to adjust another sensor. My fingers are stiff with cold despite my gloves, and the device takes three tries to sync with our network. When it finally beeps its confirmation, the sound seems too loud in the muffled quiet of the storm. One more point of light in the growing darkness.
A branch snaps somewhere in the woods—probably just snow-weight, but I spin toward the sound anyway, every sense alert. The falling has picked up, reducing visibility to about twenty feet. Perfect conditions for an ambush.
For a moment, I consider shifting, letting my wolf's senses take over, but something holds me back. Some instinct tells me to stay human, stay sharp.
Sound cuts the quiet. My phone pings in my pocket—not the expected check-in from Aris or Keira, but an unknown number.
I almost ignore it, but something makes me answer.
"Hello?"
Static crackles across the line, then…
A young woman's voice, breathless and urgent.
"Rafael Diaz?"
I go still, every instinct suddenly on alert. Through the phone, I hear the echo of footsteps, the sound of someone moving quickly through what might be a concrete hallway. "Who is this?"
“Oh, thank God, it’s you. You have no idea how hard it was to track down your number—”
“I’m going to hang up—”
“No!” Her voice is so forceful it brings me pause. “It’s about Thalia."
Her voice is low, rushed, threaded with the kind of fear I recognize from combat situations. The sound of Thalia’s name in this stranger’s mouth makes my heart begin to race, though I’m not sure why.
“What—” I begin.
"I don't have much time. I stole a phone from one of the guards, but they'll notice soon—please, you have to listen to me. My name is Maia."
The name means nothing to me. Still, I take an involuntary step back, boots crunching in the fresh snow. "What about Thalia?"
"She's my best friend." Maia's words tumble out in a rush, tripping over each other in their urgency. "I don’t have much time, so you need to listen to me, and not ask questions. We grew up together in Illinois. She’s not who you think she is, but it’s not her choice—she’s being forced. They killed our fathers, forced us into their program when we were still kids. She gave in—I didn’t. They've been holding me hostage for years to keep her in line. Every time she tries to leave, they—" Her voice breaks, and the raw pain in it makes my chest tight. "They make sure I regret it. So she’s stopped trying.”
Understanding crashes over me like an avalanche. Suddenly, everything slots into place—Thalia's nightmares, her careful distance, the guilt that haunts her eyes. The way she holds herself like someone carrying an impossible weight.
She's not a willing traitor, not a violent, two-faced criminal. She's a prisoner.
“The Smoke,” I find myself saying before I can stop it. “She’s with the Smoke. You’re with them.”
"They have a compound," Maia continues, her voice dropping even lower. She sounds almost frantic. She knows she’s running out of time. "Outside Rockford. Concrete walls, underground cells. They train their operatives there, break them down until there's nothing left but what the Smoke wants. Thalia—she was always stronger than me. Better at playing their games, at surviving. She’s a prized infiltrator for them. She’s been doing this for years to keep me safe. But it's killing her, piece by piece."
"Why are you telling me this?" I ask, though I think I already know. Snow settles on my shoulders, in my hair, but I barely feel it.
"Because she'll never tell you herself. She'll let them destroy her—destroy everything—before she risks my life." Something metal clangs in the background, making Maia's breath catch. "But there's a way out. The Smoke has this rule—they release female operatives if they mate with someone from their target pack. It’s happened before. Something about ownership—the Smoke’s messed up like that. We’ve seen it happen. But it has to look real, look like she had no choice. If they suspect she arranged it..."
"They'll kill you," I finish. The pieces are falling into place with sickening clarity. In the distance, a wolf howls—one of ours, patrolling the western border. The sound carries strangely through the storm, lonely and wild.
"Yes." Maia's voice hardens with a steel I recognize—the same steel I've seen in Thalia's eyes. "And she’ll never forgive herself for that, Rafael. She’ll never get over it.”
“God,” I murmur. I can’t think of another word to say, overwhelmed, full of a cold that has nothing to do with the snow.
Maia clears her throat, voice dropping even lower. “Listen, I don't have much time. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about your pack. For all I know, you could already have a mate. But you’re her partner out there, right? I found your number in our leader’s desk drawer, and it almost got me killed. But I had to try. Thalia will never agree to this willingly—she won't leave me here. But if you force the issue, make it look like you’re giving her no choice..."
"She'll hate me," I say softly. The words disappear into the falling snow, swallowed by the storm.
"Better than dead. Or worse." There's something ancient in Maia's voice now, which speaks of years spent in darkness. "You don't know what they do to failed operatives. What they've done to others who tried to run. I've seen—" She cuts off suddenly. When she speaks again, her voice is barely a whisper. "They're coming. Please, Rafael. Save her, even if she fights you every step of the way. She deserves so much better than what they made her, she deserves—"
The line goes dead.
I stand in the snow for a long moment, letting the implications of what I've just learned settle over me like frost. Every interaction with Thalia replays in my mind, recontextualized by this new understanding. Her fierce independence. Her careful distance. The way she flinched from kindness like it was a weapon that could be used against her.
The way she looked at me this morning like she was already mourning something she couldn't have.
The drive back to the safehouse passes in a blur of swirling snow and racing thoughts. The storm has turned the familiar road into something alien and treacherous, but I barely notice, my mind spinning with possibilities, with plans, with the weight of what I have to do.
By the time I pull up to the dark building, my resolve has crystallized into something hard and sharp as ice. The lights are on in the kitchen, casting warm rectangles onto the snow outside. Through the window, I can see Thalia at the table, methodically cleaning her weapons. The sight is so familiar it makes my chest ache—how many nights have I watched her do this, never understanding the true weight she carried?
She looks up when I enter, and something in my expression makes her go still. A cloth daubed with dark oil dangles forgotten from her fingers, and I catch the faintest tremor in her hand before she sets it down.
"We need to talk," I say, my voice carefully controlled. Snow melts from my coat, forming a small puddle on the floor, but neither of us looks at it.
Thalia straightens slowly, like a deer scenting danger. "About last night? I told you—"
"About the Smoke."
The name drops between us like a stone in still water. All color drains from her face, and for a moment, I see past her careful masks to the terrified girl beneath—the one who watched her father die, who's spent years trying to protect her friend, who's carried this burden alone for so long.
"I don't know what you're—"
"Don't." I move closer, watching her tense like a cornered animal. The kitchen suddenly feels too small, too warm after the bitter cold outside. "I saw you this morning. I know.”
She rises slowly, her hands steady despite the fear I can smell rolling off her in waves. Her eyes dart to the door behind me, calculating escape routes. Always planning, always ready to run. "You’re jumping to conclusions here—”
I have to sell this. Have to make her believe she has no choice. It’s this, or she lives in this nightmare forever, I tell myself. I laugh, the sound harsh even to my own ears.
“We’re going to come to a compromise,” I tell her, approaching slowly. I try to appear authoritative, cold. Like someone she can’t disagree with.
"What are you talking about?"
I take another step forward, forcing her back against the counter. Thalia doesn't retreat further, lifting her chin in that defiant way that first drew me to her. Even now, even terrified, she won't back down.
"Marry me."
The words fall like the crack of a hammer in the quiet kitchen. For a moment, all I hear is the hum of the refrigerator, the distant howl of wind against the windows.
Thalia stares at me, shock warring with something like terror on her face.
"Have you lost your mind?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"Probably." I plant my hands on either side of her, caging her in against the table. Her scent fills my nose, but it doesn’t smell like her anymore, just fear. "But here's how this goes: either you marry me—properly, legally, with witnesses—or I tell Aris everything. Your choice."
Thalia looks like her world is falling apart in her hands. Almost as much as she looks afraid, she looks confused—God, she looks so confused.
"That's not a choice," she whispers, and fuck, the pain in her voice nearly breaks me. "That's blackmail."
"Call it whatever you want." I lean closer, letting her see the steel in my eyes. Let her think I'm the monster here; it's the only way this works. "But you're out of options.”
She flinches. "You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." My voice softens despite myself. The urge to touch her, to comfort her, is almost overwhelming. But I can't. Not yet. "Marry me. Become my mate. Become mine.”
Tears gather in Thalia’s eyes, but she blinks them back furiously. This close, I can see the gold flecks in her irises, the slight tremble in her lower lip.
"I can't," she says, but there's a waver in her voice now. "Please, Rafael. Don't ask me to—"
"I'm not asking." I catch her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her skin is soft under my fingers, and the contact sends electricity through my arm. "I'm telling you. Tomorrow morning, we go to Aris and make it official. Or you leave the state, and I tell the pack who you were.”
The fight drains out of her all at once. She slumps against the counter, looking smaller than I've ever seen her. Outside, the storm rages harder, rattling the windows in their frames.
"Why are you doing this?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper.
I want so desperately to tell her everything—about Maia's call, about how my heart breaks for everything she's endured, about how I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for forcing her hand like this. About how the thought of her trapped in the Smoke's web makes my wolf howl with rage. Instead, I step back, letting my expression harden into something cold and unyielding.
"I want you," I say, injecting ice into my tone. "Despite your betrayal, I still do.”
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you leave tonight. No weapons, no supplies, no warning to the pack." I force myself to meet her devastated gaze. "And I tell Aris everything."
Thalia wraps her arms around herself, a gesture so vulnerable it makes my chest ache. "You'd do that? After last night—after everything—"
"Last night was a mistake." The lie tastes like ash on my tongue. "This is about pack security. Nothing more. I’m asking you to either change your allegiance, or leave forever. That seems fair, doesn’t it?”
For a long moment, she just stares at me, and I see a dozen emotions flash across her face—grief, betrayal, confusion, and something else, something that looks terrifyingly like understanding. She knows she has no other options. Finally, she straightens, squaring her shoulders like a soldier accepting a difficult mission.
"Fine," she says, her voice hollow. "Tomorrow morning."
I nod once, sharply, then turn to leave. My hands are shaking, and I can't let her see.
"Rafael?" Her voice stops me at the door. When I glance back, she's still standing by the counter, illuminated by the warm kitchen lights, looking like everything I've ever wanted and can't have. Not yet. Not until she's free.
"What?"
"Whatever game you're playing..." She swallows hard. "I hope it's worth it."
I say nothing, just step out into the dark hallway. My footsteps echo through the quiet house as I retreat toward my room. Outside, snow continues to fall, obscuring my tracks just like I'm obscuring my true motives. It has to be this way, I tell myself. She has to believe I'm doing this out of duty, not love.
In my room, I sit heavily on the bed, head in my hands. Somewhere in Illinois, Maia, a stranger to me, sits in a cell, probably praying I'll keep my end of this bargain. And down the hall, the woman I love thinks I'm betraying her.
But I'll make it right. Somehow, when this is all over, I'll make her understand.
It's the only way to save them both.