Chapter 2
Min-ho
The iron had reached temperature. I could tell without checking the gauge, the same way I could tell when rain was coming or when a client was about to lowball me. Twelve years at the forge had calibrated my senses to heat and metal until they spoke to me in a language more reliable than words.
I pulled the steel from the coals and laid it against the anvil.
The hammer came down in steady strokes, each impact precise, each angle calculated.
A commission piece for a restaurant in Asheville.
Decorative railings. Simple work, but simple work paid the bills while I waited for the projects that actually mattered.
My phone buzzed on the workbench.
I ignored it. The metal wouldn't wait for notifications. Another thirty seconds of shaping, then into the slack tub. Steam hissed and billowed around my hands as I quenched the piece. Only then did I strip off my gloves and check the screen.
A news alert. Senator Vernon Ashby's name in the headline.
My blood went cold.
I opened the article and read it twice to make sure I understood.
The senator had given a statement that morning, his expression carefully calibrated for the cameras.
His estranged omega, missing for over a year, had been located.
The family was working to facilitate a reunion.
He thanked the public for their concern during this difficult time.
The words were smooth, polished, rehearsed. The words of a man who had practice making threats sound like reassurances.
I set the phone down and braced both hands against the workbench. The wood grain pressed into my palms, rough and real, an anchor against the rage building in my chest.
Dalvin. He was talking about Dalvin.
Eight years I'd been watching Vernon Ashby.
Eight years of tracking rumors and whispers, of paying for information that led nowhere, of lying awake at night wondering if the omega I'd loved since I was eighteen was still breathing.
The senator kept his private life locked down tight, but cracks showed if you knew where to look.
A charity gala where his omega stood three steps behind him, eyes fixed on the floor.
A campaign photo where the smile didn't reach past the surface.
Staff members who left his employ and refused to speak about what they'd seen.
I knew what Vernon Ashby was. I'd never been able to prove it.
And now Dalvin had run, and Vernon was hunting him, and I was standing in my forge in the Blue Ridge Mountains reading about it on my phone like it was happening to a stranger.
The shop door swung open. I didn't turn around.
"You saw the news." Garrett's voice carried across the space, deep and unhurried. He'd known me long enough to read my posture.
"I saw."
"Then you'll want to hear what I found out."
I turned. Garrett Cole filled the doorway, six-foot-four of old money and easy confidence wrapped in a cashmere sweater that cost more than my monthly electric bill.
We'd met at a metalworking conference in Atlanta six years ago, bonded over whiskey and a shared contempt for pretentious art collectors.
He'd become the closest thing I had to a brother.
The only person who knew the full story of what I'd lost.
He crossed to the workbench and leaned against it, arms folded. His blond hair was pushed back from his face, blue eyes sharp with the particular gleam that meant he'd been working his network.
"Vernon's omega didn't just run," he said. "He vanished. A year ago, the night before some big bonding renewal ceremony the senator had planned. Packed nothing, took nothing. Vernon's been tearing the country apart looking for him ever since."
"I know." I picked up a piece of scrap steel and turned it over in my hands. The weight of it steadied me. "I've been tracking the search."
"Which means you've been tracking Vernon for longer than that."
"Eight years." The admission came easier than it should have. Garrett already knew most of it. "Since the bonding announcement hit the society pages. Dalvin Grace, age eighteen, bonded to Senator Vernon Ashby in a private ceremony in Virginia."
"Your step-brother."
"For two years. Before our parents decided that what was between us needed correcting.
" I set the steel down. "I tried to find him after I turned twenty-one.
After I'd built enough of a reputation that my family's money didn't matter anymore.
But Vernon keeps his household locked down.
No outside contact. No social media presence for his omega.
Staff who sign NDAs thicker than phone books. "
"So you watched from a distance."
"I collected information. Hired investigators when I could afford them.
Built a file on every public appearance, every charity event, every campaign photo.
" My hands curled into fists on the workbench.
"Dalvin was never smiling in any of them.
Always standing behind Vernon, eyes down, shoulders curved inward.
The body language of someone bracing for a blow that hadn't landed yet. "
Garrett was quiet for a moment. "You think Vernon was hurting him."
"I know Vernon was hurting him. I just couldn't prove it. Couldn't get close enough to do anything about it." The old frustration rose in my throat, bitter and familiar. "And now he's run, and Vernon's hunting him, and I'm standing in my forge reading about it on my phone."
"Then you'll want to hear what I found out." Garrett pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and handed it to me. "Word came through my cousin's firm this morning. Vernon's omega just registered for The Chase."
The world tilted.
I gripped the edge of the workbench. "Say that again."
"The Chase. Three days from now, in Thornhaven. He's on the registrant list." Garrett pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and handed it to me. "Paid a friend at VeilWatch to pull the roster. Cost me twelve grand, but I figured you'd want to see it yourself."
The list glowed on the screen. Names and numbers, omegas and their registration codes, organized alphabetically.
Grace, Dalvin. Participant 47.
I stared at the letters until they burned into my retinas.
Twelve years since I'd seen him. Twelve years since our parents had ripped him out of my life and sent him to the opposite end of the country.
Twelve years of wondering if he ever thought about me, if he remembered the hallway outside the library, if the almost-kiss haunted him the way it haunted me.
And now he was running into The Chase. The one place where any alpha could claim him, could take him, could make him theirs whether he wanted it or not.
"Min-ho." Garrett's voice cut through the spiral. "There's more."
I looked up.
"Vernon knows. He has to. The registrant list is semi-public for anyone with enough money, and Vernon has plenty. My contact says there's chatter about a proxy entry. Someone Vernon's sending into The Chase to catch his omega and bring him back."
"A retrieval."
"Dressed up as a claiming. Technically legal. Once the proxy bonds him, he transfers custody back to Vernon. The original bond reasserts, and Dalvin's right back where he started." Garrett's expression hardened. "It's a loophole. A nasty one."
I set the phone down with excessive care. My hands wanted to crush it. Wanted to crush Vernon Ashby's skull with the same precise force I used to shape steel.
Control. I needed control.
"I'm going," I said.
"Yeah."
"I'll register today. Money's not an issue."
"I know." Garrett straightened. "Which is why I'm coming with you."
I looked at him.
"You're going to need someone watching your back while you're focused on finding him. Vernon's proxy won't be alone. These retrieval types work in teams." He shrugged, the motion deceptively casual. "Besides, I've never done The Chase. Could be fun."
"This isn't a vacation."
"I'm aware. But you're my friend, and you've been carrying this weight for over a decade. Let me help."
I didn't have words for what that meant. Didn't have the vocabulary for gratitude this large. So I just nodded, and Garrett nodded back, and that was enough.
We arrived in Thornhaven the following evening.
The alpha intake facility was everything the brochures promised and nothing I wanted.
Luxury suites with mountain views, gourmet dining, a full bar stocked with top-shelf liquor.
The architecture dripped with old wealth and older traditions.
Leather chairs, dark wood paneling, antler chandeliers that cast the common areas in warm amber light.
Alphas in tailored suits mingled near the fireplace, comparing investment portfolios and discussing which omegas they'd targeted on the registrant list.
I stood apart from them. My boots were steel-toed, my jeans worn soft from years of work, my flannel shirt streaked with traces of soot that no amount of washing could fully remove.
The other alphas glanced at me with the particular expression of men who couldn't quite place where I fit in their hierarchy.
Good. I didn't want to fit.
Garrett moved through the crowd with ease, shaking hands and trading small talk, playing the role of wealthy dilettante with practiced grace.
He'd agreed to gather intelligence while I handled the administrative side.
The proxy Vernon had sent would be here somewhere, and we needed to identify him before the hunt began.
I thought about the omega side of the facility.
Whether Dalvin was sitting in a room half this size, being processed and prodded and prepared for auction.
Whether he'd eaten dinner or whether fear had stolen his appetite.
Whether he was thinking about me at all, or whether he'd buried the memory of us so deep it no longer surfaced.
My hands curled into fists at my sides.