Chapter 44
Drake
The sharp knock pierces through my sleep. My eyes snap open to darkness, my mind immediately alert. I reach for my cellphone on the bedside table, the screen’s glow cutting through the blackness of my room.
My first thought is of Harlow. I sit up, the sheets pooling at my hips. Is she here? Now? Surely not. She wouldn’t come here. Not now. Not with the risk of being seen, of questions being asked. Unless…
Unless it’s an emergency.
Shit.
I’m out of bed in an instant, my feet hitting the floor. I grab a pair of boxers and pull them on just as the second knock sounds, louder and more urgent than the first.
I stride to the door and yank it open.
Reed stands on my doorstep, her expression carved from stone.
My heart sinks.
“What has happened? What are you doing here?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” Her voice is grim, her jaw tight. “We need to talk.”
My pulse quickens. “What happened?”
“There was an anonymous tip-off. About one of the trainee riders.”
My mind races through possibilities, none of them good.
“What kind of a tip-off?”
Reed glances past me into my bungalow, then back to my face. “Can I come inside?”
I step aside, letting her pass. She moves into my small living space, turning to face me.
I close the door. “Reed, what’s going on?”
Her shoulders are set. There are worry lines around her eyes and mouth.
“We’ve been informed that one of the trainees has a cellphone. And they’ve been using it to send information to the Mainland.” She pauses, letting that sink in. “They’ve been labeled as a spy for the Mainland government.”
“You say the tip is completely anonymous?”
She nods once.
“I received a phone call, not even two hours ago. The voice was distorted. The number untraceable. I acted immediately. The information was completely plausible, given what we know.”
“Who did they implicate? What kind of information are we talking about here?”
“We’re still working to establish that. The tip needs to be verified first.” Reed’s eyes are steady on my face. “I tried to call you, but your phone was on silent. So, I came straight here as soon as we landed.”
I glance at my phone, still clutched in my hand. Sure enough, the silent mode icon stares back at me.
“I didn’t hear you land. Didn’t hear anything at all.”
“We landed about a ten-minute walk from the training grounds. We didn’t want to alert anyone, least of all the suspect.” Her voice drops lower. “We have no idea who else might be involved, Drake.”
My stomach twists. “What’s happening now?”
“I came to tell you that they’re raiding the trainee’s bungalow as we speak.” She glances at her watch. “Or will, soon enough. I gave the order to search it from top to bottom. To tear the place apart.” She meets my gaze directly. “If we find a cellphone, we’ll conduct further investigations.”
I open my mouth, a dozen questions fighting for dominance, but Reed holds up her hand.
“Get dressed. Hurry. They’re probably already carrying out the raid by now.”
I nod and turn toward my bedroom, my mind spinning.
Of course, I knew there was a possibility of one or more of them being spies, but after getting to know the ladies, after hearing Harlow talk about them, I started to let my guard down.
None of them comes across as a potential spy.
There has been no indication whatsoever.
I grab my uniform from the chair where I’d draped it the night before, pulling on the pants. My hands move automatically, zipping, reaching for my leather tank. I shrug it on.
The face that stares back at me from the mirror looks harder than I feel. I grab my toothbrush, running it quickly over my teeth while my mind continues to race.
I splash water on my face.
Three minutes. That’s all it takes.
I emerge from my bedroom to find Reed already outside, visible through the window. She’s pacing, her arms crossed, her face turned toward the direction of the training grounds.
I step outside, joining her.
Reed turns at the sound of the door. Her face is drawn.
We start walking, our pace brisk but controlled. “Who is it? You haven’t told me.”
Reed’s jaw tightens. “Drake—”
“Who, Reed?”
She draws in a breath, and I can see her weighing her words.
“The tip-off could be false. It could be someone trying to cause trouble, to—”
“Who?”
Shit! Worry eats at me.
No.
Surely not.
It never entered my mind. Not for a single second.
Reed stops walking and turns to face me fully. “Don’t freak out.”
Too fucking late.
“Harlow Santos.”
It feels like the ground drops out from under me, even though I knew she would name my rider…my future mate. My fucking world. At least, that’s how I’ve come to see her.
“No. No way. Not Harlow.” I shake my head, keeping my voice controlled instead of snarling, which would be more in line with how I feel.
“I’m sorry, Drake.”
“It’s impossible. A mistake or a lie, or both. I would know. I would have seen something, sensed something. We’ve been—”
“It was a tip-off. Doesn’t mean it’s a fact,” Reed says.
I nod once.
I force my face to remain neutral, force my breathing to stay even. Outwardly, I give nothing away. No shock, or anger.
But inside, everything is screaming.
“Still,” I shrug. “I don’t believe it.” My voice is steady, controlled. “Not Harlow. No damned way.”
Reed’s expression softens, and I can see genuine sympathy there.
“Drake, I know you’ve been working closely with her.
I know you—” She pauses, choosing her words carefully.
“I know this is hard. But we’ll have answers soon.
We’re searching her bungalow along with all the other trainee riders’ bungalows. Just to be thorough.”
All the bungalows. Not just Harlow’s. That’s something, at least. They’re not singling her out entirely, even if she’s been named specifically.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I force my feet to move, to maintain a steady, measured pace. Even when every instinct in my body is howling at me to run, to get to Harlow’s bungalow, to—
There’s a scream. Sharp and sudden, cutting through the morning quiet. Then another from behind us.
The sound of doors being bashed in, wood splintering under force.
Boots on hard ground, moving fast and with purpose.
The raid has begun.
My pace falters for just a fraction of a second before I catch myself. My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I fear they might break.
I know her. I trust her. I fucking love her. She wouldn’t. There is no way. With that knowledge, I force myself to calm down.
It’s going to be okay.
Harlow
A thunderous crack jolts me awake, the sound is so violent it reverberates through me. My eyes snap open to darkness, my heart already hammering before my brain catches up.
What was that?
Before I can process anything, my bedroom floods with a harsh, blinding light, and suddenly, there are people everywhere. Imposing figures in black leather uniforms materialize around my bed like shadows given form. Three, four, five of them. Maybe more. Too many to count in my panic-frozen state.
They have to be dragon shifters, given that they’re muscular and crazy tall.
“W-what…what is this?” My voice is hoarse from sleep.
“Get up.” The command comes from my right; a male voice, rough as gravel.
I clutch my sheet to my chin, pulling it tight against my chest. I’m in my pajamas.
“What…? Why are you—?”
“Up. Now.” Another voice, this one from the foot of my bed. A big guy with narrowed eyes. He looks angry. I’m not sure why.
Do they know about Drake and me?
Oh, crap! That might be it.
“There’s been a mistake,” I stammer, pressing my back against the headboard. My fingers twist in the sheet. “You have the wrong bungalow. The wrong person. I haven’t—”
“No mistake.” The shifter closest to me crosses his arms, his expression carved from stone.
“Get up, Harlow.” A female voice this time, and then hands are on my sheet, yanking it away before I can tighten my grip.
She called me by my name. There has been no mistake made.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
Drake and I have been so careful. Surely it’s not that?
I instinctively try to cover myself, but the female shifter repeats, “Get your ass up before I make you.”
“Why are you here?” My voice cracks. “What do you want?” I put a foot over the side of my bed and then the other. My legs feel like they’re made of lead.
“Remain calm.” The female shifter’s tone is harsh. “Comply, and all will be well.”
But nothing about this is giving me “well” vibes. Nothing about shifters breaking into my bungalow in the middle of the night is remotely okay.
My bare feet touch the floor. Is this a drill? Some kind of test? Maybe they want to see how I handle stress, how I respond to unexpected situations. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.
Except nothing about this feels like a test.
I stand, acutely aware of how short my sleeping shorts are, how I’m not wearing a bra under this T-shirt. I want to ask them to allow me to change, but I can tell that my request will be denied. I cross my arms over my chest, but the female shifter grabs my elbow and marches me out of the bedroom.
My living room is already full of more shifters in black uniforms. They’re different from ours. The sleeves are long. The boots are short.
“Put your back against the wall.” The female shifter positions me near the kitchenette. “Hands flat against the surface. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything.”
I comply because what choice do I have? The female shifter takes up position next to me, her gaze never leaving my face.
I feel like a criminal, even though I haven’t done anything wrong.
Two male shifters move to my small living area, their movements systematic. One yanks open the drawer of my side table, dumping the contents onto the floor. The other moves to the kitchenette, pulling open cabinets, sweeping aside my meager collection of dishes and mugs.
This isn’t a drill.
What are they looking for?
Whatever they think I have, they are not going to find it.
From my position against the wall, I have a clear view into my bedroom. A shifter heads straight for my closet. He pulls out my clothes, tossing them onto the floor in careless heaps. Jordyn’s borrowed jacket lands in a crumpled pile. The few outfits I actually own get the same treatment.
In the bathroom, I hear drawers opening, the rattle of toiletries being moved, the clatter of something falling into the sink.
Back in the living room, one of the male shifters grabs the cushions from my sofa, pulling them off one by one. He tosses them aside.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, unable to hold back.
The female shifter doesn’t acknowledge that I even spoke.
Another shifter, who is built like a mountain, pulls out a knife.
He drives the knife into the first sofa cushion, dragging it through the fabric with a sound that makes my teeth clench. Stuffing explodes outward, white fluff drifting to the floor like snow. He moves to the second cushion. Then the third.
My mouth falls open. They’re destroying my bungalow. Tearing it apart, piece by piece.
In the bedroom, another shifter produces his own knife. I watch, frozen, as he approaches my bed and plunges the blade into the mattress. The ripping sound fills the bungalow. He drags the knife along the length of it, creating a gash that runs from headboard to footboard.
“Stop!” The word comes out strangled. “Please, what are you—?”
The female shifter’s hand lands on my shoulder, pressing me back against the wall. A warning.
They continue their systematic destruction. Every drawer is opened and emptied. Every cabinet searched. Every cushion sliced open.
What could they possibly be looking for? What do they think I have?
There is a triumphant shout from the bedroom, and my heart stops.
Did they find what they were looking for?
But how?
Footsteps sound in the doorway, and Drake walks in with Councilor Reed. She has a grave expression on her face.
My heart is racing.
Drake’s eyes sweep the destroyed living room before landing on me. I try to read his face, searching for some hint of what’s happening, but his expression is blank.
The shifter from my bedroom emerges, his large hand clenched around something. He strides directly to the woman with Drake, his bearing formal, almost ceremonial.
“I found it, Councilor Reed.”
Drake’s mentor takes the object from his outstretched palm, holding it up to examine it.
It’s a cellphone.
Horror crashes over me in waves, stealing my breath, turning my legs to water. The wall is the only thing keeping me upright.
“No.” The word tears from my throat. I shake my head. “What is that? Where did you find it? It isn’t mine.” I turn to Drake, pleading with my eyes, with every fiber of my being. “It isn’t mine. Please, Drake. You have to believe me.”
But he’s not looking at me. His gaze is fixed on the cellphone in Councilor Reed’s hand, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.
“That’s not mine,” I tell them.
I want to tell them I’ve never seen that device before. I want to swear on everything I hold sacred.
But I can’t.
Because I have seen it before.
It can’t be, though. No. I refuse to believe it.