Chapter 22 - Rafael
The bond feels wrong.
That's my first thought as consciousness returns, before I even open my eyes. Where Thalia's presence should be—warm, alive, a constant pulse of emotion and connection—there's only silence. A wall. She's shut me out completely.
My eyes snap open.
The space beside me is empty, sheets cold where her body should be warm. Dawn hasn't quite broken; the room is painted in shades of deep blue-grey, snow still falling beyond the windows. The indent where she slept beside me just hours ago is already fading, like she was never here at all.
I sit up and call out. "Thalia?"
No answer. Just the hollow echo of my voice in the too-quiet room. I reach for the bond again, pressing against that wall she's built between us, but it's like trying to grasp smoke. She’s shut me out.
My heart begins to race as I throw off the covers. Her scent still lingers in the air, but it's stale, hours old. The clothes we shed last night still lie scattered across the floor, but her side is empty when I wrench open the closet door. Hangers swing forlornly where her tactical gear should be.
"No," I breathe, panic rising like bile in my throat. "No, no, no."
I follow her scent through the safehouse room by room, reconstructing her movements with growing dread. The study—drawers pulled open and rifled through, documents missing. The weapons locker—her favorite guns gone, along with extra ammunition.
My car keys are missing from their hook by the door.
"Thalia!" I shout her name now, desperate, though I know she won't answer. Can't answer. She's long gone.
Back upstairs, I tear through her room, looking for any clue, any hint of where she might have gone. But she's been thorough—everything personal is gone, every trace of her presence erased.
My hands shake as I pull out my phone, dialing her number. It rings a few times; I grow impatient, knowing she won’t pick up. Still, I try again. And again. Each unanswered call feels like another nail in my chest.
"Please," I whisper to the empty room. "Please don't do this."
But I know exactly what she's doing. Know with bone-deep certainty where she's gone. She's running back to them—back to the Smoke, back to that concrete hell, thinking she can save us all by sacrificing herself.
Thinking she can save me.
I call Aris next, barely waiting for him to answer before the words pour out:
"Thalia's gone. She took my car; she's blocked the bond completely. I think she's going back to them. To the Smoke. She's trying to protect us, she thinks if she offers herself—"
"Slow down," Aris cuts in, his voice sharp with Alpha authority even as it’s rough with sleep. "When?"
"Hours ago. The bed was cold when I woke up." I run a hand through my hair, pacing the length of her empty room. "She's shut me out completely. I can't feel anything through the bond. She must have been planning this, must have known how to—"
My phone buzzes with an incoming message. A pack informant I’ve spoken with a few times on previous cases.
"Hold on," I tell Aris, switching to the text.
A single image: a printed bounty notice, dated yesterday. Thalia's face stares back at me, the word TRAITOR stamped across her in red. The price on her head makes my blood run cold.
They’re going to kill her.
"Oh god." My voice sounds strange in my own ears. "They knew. They were waiting for her. There's a bounty—they're going to kill them both."
"Rafael." Aris's voice sharpens through the phone. "Listen to me. We'll handle this. But we need to be smart. Strategic. If we go in half-cocked—"
"You don't understand." I can barely force the words out past the fear choking me. "This is the Smoke. They don't just kill traitors. They make examples of them. They'll—" I break off, bile rising in my throat as I remember everything Maia told me about them. Everything I've learned since. “Fuck!”
I slam my fist into the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster. Pain shoots up my arm, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is Thalia walking willingly into that trap, thinking she's saving us all, having no idea they've already condemned her.
"Stay where you are," Aris orders. "That's an order, Rafael. I'm sending Keira and Ado. We'll coordinate with our contacts in Illinois, figure out where exactly—"
"There's no time!" The words tear from my throat. "By the time we organize, by the time we plan—They'll have already—"
I can't finish the sentence. Can't bear to imagine what they might be doing to her even now.
Something snaps inside me.
"I'm going after her."
"Rafael, don't you dare—"
"I did this," I cut him off, already moving to the gun safe in my room. "I pushed her into this corner. Made her think she had no choice but to run back to them. This is my fault, and I'm going to fix it."
"You'll be walking into a trap," Aris says sharply. "They'll be expecting someone to come for her. The compound will be heavily guarded—"
"Good." I check my primary sidearm, slam in a fresh magazine. "Then I’ll know exactly where to go."
"Damn it, Rafael, think! You're no good to her dead. We need to—"
I end the call, turning off my phone entirely. They'll try to stop me—of course they will. They'll say it's too dangerous, too reckless. That we need a plan, need backup, need time.
But Thalia doesn't have that kind of time.
The emergency gun safe yields everything I need—extra magazines, tactical gear, the modified weapons Thalia herself helped design. I dress quickly, efficiently, muscle memory taking over. The vampire in me stirs, sensing violence to come, making my teeth ache with anticipation.
In the kitchen, I pause just long enough to grab her dead phone from the counter. The screen is cracked—she must have dropped it in her hurry to leave. When I press the power button, nothing happens. Dead, like our bond might soon be, if I don't reach her in time.
I try one last time to reach through that wall she's built between us, to send some message, some warning. But there's only silence. She's locked me out completely, determined to face this alone.
Not alone, I think fiercely. Never alone again.
Snow falls harder as I burst out of the safehouse, coating everything in fresh white. Her tracks are long gone, erased by the storm, but I don't need them. I know exactly where she's going.
I jog back to Rosecreek. Zane's truck sits parked up in its usual spot on the outskirts of town. I only feel a little guilty. The keys are under the front wheel well, where he always keeps them. I send him a silent apology as I slide behind the wheel.
The engine roars to life, loud in the predawn quiet. As I peel out onto the road, snow spraying from the tires, my hands shake slightly on the wheel. Not from fear—from rage. From the knowledge that every minute I waste is another minute they have her.
Time blurs as I drive, pushing the truck well past safe speeds on the snow-slick roads. The sun rises somewhere behind the storm clouds, painting everything in shades of steel and silver. Towns flash past like ghosts—I barely notice them, too focused on the road ahead, on the growing certainty that I might already be too late.