Chapter 15
Arsenal
I’d barely gotten the door shut before I smelled blood.
Not the metallic tang of violence, but the thinner, more caustic scent of fresh humiliation.
It rode the air from the common room, thick as smoke after a house fire.
Underneath was the cheap cloy of vanilla-sugar body spray—an assault of synthetic sweetness that made my teeth ache—and beneath that, Harper’s clean, lemon-and-linen scent, wound tight as a wire.
I let the door click behind me, every sense sharpening.
The pack house was built for maximum openness: a sweeping entrance with a cathedral ceiling, glossy wood floors, thick throw rugs and a pair of fireplaces at opposite ends of the great room.
Juliet had gone full Southern Gothic when she decorated, so the place was crowded with battered armchairs, velvet settees, and floral prints on every available wall.
The air tonight vibrated with a different kind of drama.
I followed the hum of voices—female, high and hungry—until the sight line opened up.
Harper stood alone, arms wrapped around herself, facing a semicircle of pack women arrayed by the leather sectional like a goddamn tribunal.
They had her boxed in against the credenza, between the chipped paint of a plant stand and the cold marble of the coffee table.
The ringleader was a bottle-blonde in athleisure, her nails weaponized into pale pink daggers. The others flanked her: a brittle-faced redhead in Ugg boots, a puffy-faced brunette yoga wannabe queen, and a mousy little thing whose eyes darted between them, feral and eager.
They hadn’t seen me yet. Harper’s eyes had, though. I caught them for a split second—blue and glassy, pupils wide with animal panic. Her lips barely moved, but I read them like a prayer:
Help.
“I just think,” the blonde was saying, voice pitched to carry, “that you might not be up to the standard of pack material.”
The redhead snorted. “Arsenal is a pack official after all.”
“Yeah,” said the brunette. “You may be off the pole now, but…” The laughter that followed was brittle, sharp enough to cut.
I saw Harper flinch, just a tremor through her shoulders, but she didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at them.
The blonde leaned in, lips peeled off her teeth in a smile. “Is it true what they say? The more money they give the more you give out?”
The wolf in me went incandescent. My vision rimmed out.
I saw everything: the heat rising up Harper’s neck, the twist of her hands in the hem of her shirt, the way her nails pressed hard enough to leave half-moons in her skin.
I saw the smugness in the pack women, the absolute certainty that they were untouchable.
I stepped into the space; ice-cold and clinical. A growl preceded my words.
“Is there a problem here?” I asked, letting the words knife through the air.
The blonde barely flinched. “Not at all, Arsenal.” She drew out the name like it was a joke. “We were just welcoming your guest to the pack.”
I ignored her, looking only at Harper. She stared at the floor, jaw locked. The tremble in her left hand had migrated to her knee, and I recognized the signs of collapse.
I closed the distance. “You want to come upstairs?”
She started to answer, but the blonde cut in. “She’s fine, Arsenal. We’re just having girl talk. You know, about pack traditions.”
“Let me make something clear,” I said, voice low enough that every syllable was freighted with promise.
“You do not speak to my mate. Ever. Not unless it’s with the respect owed to a member of this pack—especially a pack officer’s mate.
If I hear so much as a whisper about her past, I will drag each of you in front of Juliet and let her decide what to do with you.
” I let the threat dangle, then added, “And if that doesn’t get through your skulls, I’ll have a chat with your fathers.
And then your mates. You will not like how that ends. ”
The redhead’s face went white. The brunette shrank into herself. Only the blonde held her ground.
“Are you threatening us, Jess?” she asked, voice brittle.
I stepped in, chest to chest. “You forget yourself. Jeanette.” I growled through clenched teeth, my wolf coming forth.
These bitches seemed to forget that every pack officer in Iron Valor was an alpha in our own right.
We chose to bow to Bronc. “You should expect a visit from the Luna, you little insignificant piece of shit. And it’s best you remember, I don’t threaten,” I snarled.
“I promise.” She shrank almost to her knees.
I held her gaze until she looked away, then turned to Harper and took her hand. Her skin was clammy, the pulse in her wrist fluttering like a trapped bird.
“Go,” I said, not a question.
Harper didn’t speak. She just nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. I led her toward the staircase, feeling the weight of the room shift, every head tracking our progress.
As we climbed, I glanced back. The redhead was already in tears. The blonde was staring at her hands, nails digging into her own palm.
I didn’t enjoy it. I wanted to, but all I felt was rage: at them, at myself, at the entire fucked-up hierarchy of the world that made a girl like Harper the target of so much hate.
On the landing, I paused. Harper was shaking harder now, not with fear, but with the effort of keeping it all contained.
“I’m sorry,” I said, voice breaking a little. “I should have been here.”
She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is. I’m Sergeant at Arms. I protect the pack. That means you, too. Especially you.”
She smiled, just a ghost of one, but it was enough to make my chest ache.
We reached my door. I unlocked it, pushed inside, and closed the world out behind us. For a minute, neither of us moved.
Then Harper let out a breath, long and shaky. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I could still feel the adrenaline in my blood, the edge of violence fizzing just below the surface. But when I looked at her, at the way her hands had gone slack, all I wanted was to fix her. To hold her together until the world stopped tearing at her seams.
I reached for her, slow this time. She let me pull her in, let me guide her to the couch, let me tuck her in beside me like she belonged there.
The wolf inside me howled for blood. But the man just held her, as gently as I could, until the shaking stopped.
And for once, I didn’t want to let go.
After I’d pulled her into my lap, she’d relaxed against my body.
“You can ask,” she said, voice so low I almost missed it.
I kept her head tucked under my chin. “Ask what?”
She shrugged. “Whatever it is you want to know. I’d rather you heard it from me.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want the story unless you want to give it.”
She let out a short defeated laugh as she pulled back so she could look at me. “It’s going to be the elephant in the room forever if I don’t tell you.”
I nodded. “Alright, Prima. Tell only what you’re comfortable telling.”
“Okay,” she said, moving from my lap to the spot next to me. She pulled her knees up to her chest, sitting sideways facing me. “Here’s the short version.”
I placed some pillows in the corner of the sectional so she could get more comfortable, then I pulled her feet into my lap. Pulling her boots off, I gently started to massage her feet as she began.
She took a breath and started, slow and steady.
“You know how I wound up in that awful place. I had no choice. The first week I was at Eyrie, Steiner took me to a witch in River Oaks. Her name was Lilah. She ran a kind of spa for ‘special clients.’ I was told it was to ‘prepare’ me for what was coming. I didn’t want to go, but my dad’s debt was hanging over my head like a noose, and the more I fought, the more Steiner reminded me he could take Brie instead.
My baby sister, Jess. She was only seventeen. Still in high school.”
My hands stilled. I forced myself to breathe. I angled my body to face hers.
Harper kept talking.
“Lilah made me drink a blue liquid. I don’t know what was in it, but it hit me like a sedative.
For three hours, I was awake but not. She made me recite mantras, over and over: ‘I am valuable. I am wanted. I bring pleasure. I obey.’ She said they were—affirmations, but with a kick.
” She paused, wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“After three sessions, I couldn’t say no to anything.
I realized later they were powerful spells.
Not that it mattered. Steiner always got what he wanted no matter what. ”
I tried to keep my face neutral, but my teeth ached from clenching.
“The day of my first show, Lilah came to the club and dosed me with something else. This one made my skin feel electric. Every touch, every breath, was like—” She broke off, searching for the word.
“Like being tickled from the inside out. When I went on stage, I couldn’t stop myself.
I danced my heart out.” She looked up at me, almost apologetic.
“After the first month, I was attacked in the hallway. Someone went for my knee. They bashed it. Steiner had the club doctor look at it. He said I tore a meniscus. While it was healing, he had the doctor wrap the outside of my knee in thin strips of silver. Steiner wanted to be sure that it didn’t heal as well as it could.
I’d never dance ballet again. It was effective.
My knee healed eventually, but I still have pain when I make some moves. And I can’t do some steps at all.”
A sob worked its way up her throat, but she swallowed it down.
I wanted to kill. I wanted to rip out every vein in Steiner’s body and spell out the word MONSTER with the pieces. I reached for her hands.