Chapter 11
King Declan Calloway
The shadows of my office clung thick as burial shrouds, stale air crackling with the static of suppressed violence.
My pen stilled mid-scrawl when the door creaked open.
Another interruption. My assistant’s throat bobbed as she spoke.
“A Principal Karen Day from Texas on the phone for you. It’s about Savannah. ”
Texas. The word detonated in my skull like shrapnel.
Her voice slithered through the receiver, crisp and clinical, each syllable gasoline on the embers in my veins. Teaching music under an alias. “Sawyer Galloway.” Mated to Bridger Hardin. Iron Valor Pack. The leather armrests of my chair split beneath my grip, stuffing bleeding out like entrails.
“Proof,” I snarled, already tasting copper on my tongue. “Send me the proof now.”
The screen flickered—there she was. My daughter’s face, a picture taken from a phone, clearly without her knowledge. Her eyes, my eyes, alight with freedom’s obscene glow. A feral growl tore through clenched teeth; monitors shattered across in a blast of cracked screens.
“You’ve outrun me,” I whispered to her frozen image, thumb tracing the screen hard enough to fracture pixels. “But not outsmarted.”
Ms. Day’s tinny voice returned with details.
Mated to fucking Bridger Hardin, piece of shit Iron Valor pack?
Oh, but he and his trouble making Alpha are now absent, gone for days?
I stared at Savannah’s stolen life unfolding on the screen.
Elementary school music teacher in Dairyville?
Picnics? My heir reduced to teaching musical quarter notes for peasant pups while her power rotted in this backwater filth?
“Forty-eight hours,” I barked into the phone, molten wrath hardening into diamond-edged purpose.
Let her savor these final days of rebellion—let her think she’d won.
When my wolves descended upon that reeking den of mongrels, she’d learn the cost of humiliating a king.
Of betraying blood. I’d have this Ms. Day secure her in a location where she could be extracted without incident. My men would be in and out like smoke.
The phone exploded against the wall in a shower of plastic shards as I rose, a storm given flesh, already barking orders for Callum to get his ass here now. Made commands for jet fuel and silver chains. Her little game ended now.
“Sawyer Galloway,” I muttered the name, the alias turning sour on my tongue. A bastardized version of our name. Her music degree, once a source of tension between us, was now the key to finding her. Her audacity infuriated me. Running from me was one thing, but mating with that trash?
I looked at her picture again. Her wild auburn hair and green eyes unmistakable, surrounded by children, the mark on her neck declared her defiance.
It taunted me, that brand. She was mated and mated by choice, it seemed.
A calculated move on her part, but one that would cost her.
I would see to it personally. The more I thought of it, the more certain I was that this mating was a temporary convenience for her.
An excuse to hide from my influence and the arranged marriage to King Dominic Madison, the new Midwestern King.
Foolish girl. She thought she could rewrite her destiny by scribbling her name over my carefully laid plans. She was wrong.
Savannah was far more valuable to me than she could ever imagine.
I watched her from birth, growing into a striking, determined young woman.
I molded her, groomed her for the role I required.
Now, she’d come back to me as nothing more than damaged goods.
I sneered at the thought, my teeth grinding in my jaw.
No matter. Once she was within my grasp, Dominic could do with her as he pleased.
A less virtuous wife would be his price for more power and influence.
He’d take what I offered. My pulse quickened as I imagined her locked in the icy grasp of a life she never wanted.
The thought of that cage around her was sweet. Very sweet.
The office felt colder as my plans solidified.
Ms. Day’s information was valuable, but I wouldn’t underestimate Savannah’s resourcefulness again.
I’d thought her broken, but she had the gall of a thousand wild wolves.
She ran when I thought her too weak to walk.
I turned my thoughts back to Karen Day. The woman wanted Savannah gone for some reason.
I could use that to my advantage. It’s obvious she would secure Savannah for me until my men could get to her.
Even if she sensed something wasn’t quite right, Savannah wouldn’t see us coming.
I would move fast, exploiting the gap in their defenses.
With Bronc and Bridger on the road, she’d have nowhere to turn.
Her capture would be a mere formality. I grinned at the thought, my eyes dark with anticipation.
I imagined how Savannah would react when she realized how hopeless her situation was.
How futile any attempts at escape were. I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction, letting the certainty of her capture wash over me like an incoming tide.
Then, my mind churned with logistics. My team of mercenaries and a few of Callum’s most brutal men were more than capable of seeing this through.
There’d be no negotiation, no second chances.
In fewer than forty-eight hours, she’d not be returning to her nice comfortable family home, but she’d be in the home of her future husband.
The phone felt like lead in my hand as I dialed Karen Day.
Her voice was brisk, tinged with expectation.
“Ms. Day,” I said, my words sharp as blades.
“We’ll do this my way.” I heard her breath catch, her compliance immediate.
She would secure Savannah at the school, unaware of what awaited.
“If she’s not there…” my voice trailed off, letting the implied threat hang like a noose.
She assured me that she wouldn’t fail. The desperation in her tone was music to my ears.
We agreed on a time, a place, the details etched in the cold steel of my intentions.
Two days. That was all the time Savannah had left.
As I ended the call, I allowed myself a dark, triumphant smile.
“Two days,” I repeated to the empty room. “In two days, she’s mine.”
I summoned Callum to my office immediately after ending the call with Karen Day.
He entered with military precision, standing at attention before my massive oak desk like a blade unsheathed, posture rigid beneath his tailored suit.
When I told him Savannah had been found, his face twisted into something feral.
Good. Let him burn with rage; it would sharpen him for what came next.
As he paced like a caged wolf, spewing fantasies of tearing Iron Valor apart limb by limb, I leaned back in my chair and let myself taste the sweetness of inevitability.
We discussed logistics, talked about assembling that team of mercenaries, arranging our private jet to Amarillo, and infiltrating Iron Valor territory.
I noted Callum’s particular eagerness for violence against his sister, even more extreme than my own tendencies.
The room grew darker as evening approached, but neither of us moved to turn on more lights; our planning continued in growing shadows.
By sunset, we’d finalized our extraction plan.
“In hours, Savannah will be in the hands of her future husband, and there’s not a goddamn thing she nor anyone else can do to stop it. ”
Callum’s eyes blazed with hatred. He wanted nothing more than to crush the Iron Valor Pack under his boot heel.
His rage was a living thing, snarling and hungry, eager to sink its teeth into any threat to our power.
“We go in hot,” he insisted, his voice cutting through the darkening room like a blade.
“Hit them hard, fast, and leave nothing standing.”
I considered his proposal, knowing the kind of brute force he loved.
But I had always preferred precision over chaos, even if the result was the same.
“The goal is her extraction, remember?” I reminded him, my tone icy and detached.
“Do not let your eagerness destroy our prize. Your sister’s suffering belongs to Dominic first.” His jaw twitched at that—not out of mercy for Savannah, but frustration at delaying his sport with her.
His jaw clenched, muscles tight with barely suppressed fury, but he nodded.
He understood that our family’s legacy, our future, depended on Savannah’s return and her marriage to Dominic.
He would not fail me, though I had no doubt he’d want to leave a trail of destruction in his wake.
I didn’t think this was in our best interest, either.
“Callum, we need to be forward-thinking here. We’ll have our day against Iron Valor.
But an unprovoked attack against their men will cause us grief with the Council.
They will come for us. We’ll exact our revenge in good time, son.
Taking Savannah out from under their noses will be sweet enough for now. ”
He nodded in agreement. Despite his penchant for violence, Callum was a strategist and understood the game. “Yes, father. You’re right. I just want to punish them for taking what is ours.”
“In good time, son.”
We refined our strategy until it gleamed like a scalpel: swift infiltration during Iron Valor’s leadership void, minimal engagement…
but maximum humiliation for those who’d dared harbor her.
Callum grinned when I emphasized stealth over slaughter—not because he cared for subtlety, but because he knew what awaited Savannah once she was shackled in our jet’s cargo hold en route to Dominic’s estate.
His fingers drummed against my desk as we spoke, already itching to leave bruises on her arms when he hauled her away from whatever pathetic rebellion she’d built there among those fools who called themselves wolves.
We moved through each step of the plan; the timing of arrival, the moment of their strike.
My office felt like a war room, every detail calculated and deliberate.
The shadows deepened as the sun sank lower, and I could see the violent gleam in Callum’s eyes as he imagined the delicious victory of finally capturing his sister.
“She’ll regret running,” he said, a savage promise in his voice.
“We’ll make sure of it.” He spat the words out like they burned his tongue, the contempt in his voice almost palpable.
“Once you have her, we move quickly.” My voice was as dark as the room around us, each word precise and exacting.
“A quick departure will leave Iron Valor reeling. The Alpha and her mate being away will make it so much easier. But the other members of his pack will be there. His enforcers. So stealth is still paramount.”
The strategy appealed to Callum’s ruthless nature, the efficiency of it satisfying him as much as the violence would.
“We’ll be ghosts,” he said, a grin stretching across his face.
“In and out before they know what hit them.” He was eager, ready to unleash the kind of brutality that I’d seen him hone over years of training and expectation. It was his gift, cruel and unyielding.
The room grew colder as evening stretched on, but I hardly noticed.
My focus was singular; the certainty of success a warm glow in the back of my mind.
Savannah’s defiance would be her undoing, and Callum and I would see it through.
The Iron Valor Pack was formidable, but they would never expect this.
Callum left to gather the men and prepare the jet.
His exit was swift, full of the promise of blood and victory.
I sat alone in the darkened office, the pieces of the plan clicking into place like the final stages of a long, complex game.
I had a call to make. Dominic would be happy to know that his bride was only hours from being secured.
I considered inviting him to ride along.
I relished the idea of seeing her face when she realized all the months of running still resulted in her falling into the hands of the man I had chosen for her.
Dominic and I would be waiting on the plane when tomorrow, she’d see the futility of her choices, the inevitability of her fate.
And tomorrow, she’d learn what happens when a Calloway tries to run.
The cold bite of night meant nothing compared to the warmth blooming behind my ribs as I sat alone afterward—a king already tasting victory on his tongue while plotting which pieces of Iron Valor to burn next…once their precious stolen princess was gone.