4. Chapter 4
Riley
The dark concrete hallway closed in around me.
I stood, lost and shivering, as a brutally cold wind swirled through the corridor.
Slowly, I reached up to feel the rough stubble on my shaved head.
My other hand found the red, angry brand burned into my collarbone.
I looked around, recognizing the Roswell facility.
My father’s voice called me, echoing through the halls, but I was too ashamed to answer. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I started walking on trembling legs, then ran and stumbled as heavy footsteps sounded behind me.
A frigid blast hit my system, and I sat up, gasping and shivering in sweat-soaked sheets. It was early morning, and I didn’t bother trying to go back to sleep.
Morning light filtered through the pines outside the bungalow when I walked out to the kitchen. I’d spent the last hour reading through my father’s journal, and it was tucked in my coat pocket.
We ate a quick breakfast, then headed outside to go to the lake where Viggo’s truck was still parked.
Gunnar grunted next to me. “Company.” His hand dropped to his sidearm, and Freda and Bennion stepped in front of me as three black SUVs with tinted windows and gold government decals rolled into view.
The vehicles formed a half-circle around ours, trapping us. “They look like FBCI agents,” Freda murmured. Her stance shifted subtly, shoulders squared, body angled to shield me. Bennion’s energy went hot.
The doors of the lead SUV opened, and two agents stepped out. They wore crisp suits, earpieces, and blank expressions. One was a woman with copper-red hair pulled into a severe bun. The other was a shorter man whose broad shoulders strained against his jacket.
“Investigator Blackthorne,” the woman called, her voice carrying across the clearing. “I’m Agent Mercer with the Federal Bureau of Cognizant Investigations. This is Agent Foster. We need you to come with us.”
Freda stepped forward. “On whose authority?”
“Area Director Langston,” Agent Foster replied. “This is a matter of national security regarding the Roswell facility.”
My stomach bottomed out before the implant quelled my emotions and ran an analysis. Three vehicles, no warrant, multiple agents. High risk of complications and injury. I tucked my father’s journal deeper into my jacket pocket and lifted my chin.
“I’m in the middle of an active investigation. Contact my supervisor at the ISB to schedule an interview.”
Agent Mercer stared at me. “This takes precedence, Ms. Blackthorne. And we’re not asking.”
Bennion stepped in front of me. “She’s the Alpha Mate of the Northwestern Mountain States Pack. You have no jurisdiction over us.”
“The Federal Central Government has jurisdiction over everyone. Her relationship status doesn’t exempt her,” Foster countered, “especially given her involvement with a restricted facility.”
Freda scoffed. “Her involvement with a restricted facility? You mean when she was kidnapped, taken to a Federal government site, and tortured? Is that the facility you’re referring to?”
The back door of the middle SUV opened, and a figure emerged. The man wore an expensive charcoal suit and had thick, iron-gray hair and jowls that hung like melted wax off his stern face.
“Agent Blackthorne,” he greeted me, his voice pleasant and cultured. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’m Area Director George Langston.”
What the hell was the Director doing here? Langston walked toward us, smoothing his tie, his energy humming with ruthless anticipation. The unnatural coldness inside me throbbed as I sensed Langston’s deep resentment and excitement.
Sawyer had found Langston’s contact information on one of the ApGen executives’ cellphones.
He and Conall suspected the Director was connected to the Pack children’s kidnappings, but the contact alone didn’t prove it.
Those kids had been tortured and experimented on, and this bastard was somehow involved.
The urge to send a bolt of electricity at his head hit me, but I clenched my fists.
“We need to bring you in for analysis and evaluation,” he stated, as if ordering coffee. “The incident at the Roswell facility raised questions, and I have direct authorization from General Wilson.”
Gunnar hawked up a good chunk of phlegm and spat near the Director’s polished leather shoes. “Ya know what I haven’t seen? A warrant.”
Both agents shifted uncomfortably as Langston’s face went blotchy.
Freda folded her arms. “This is really about intimidating her and trying to keep her quiet. She’s not going. If you want an interview with our Alpha’s Mate, you need to go through the proper channels and contact Alpha Segerson.”
Langston’s thin lips curved. “He’s one of my agents, and Federal law supersedes Pack law when it comes to matters of national security. Both the FBCI and Apex Mentis have authorization to take her.”
“She belongs to the Pack,” Bennion snarled, his eyes flashing amber as his wolf rose closer to the surface. The Beta didn’t particularly care about me, but like most wolves, he was possessive and territorial.
Langston slowly smiled. “If you interfere, I can authorize lethal force.”
He raised his hand, and four more agents stepped out of the SUVs.
These agents weren’t Normals. They moved like trained supernaturals, and the two at the back were ogres, well over seven feet tall.
Their blue-tinged skin reminded me of a feral, uglier version of Otis, our bar cook and Parker’s Marine buddy.
One had long, dark hair braided down his back, and the other sported a buzz cut.
Aside from that, they looked almost identical.
Otis told me that most of the stories and folklore about ogres were propaganda from wars fought over four centuries ago. But he admitted some of the older ogres did eat Homo sapiens, and thought burying or cremating good human flesh was a waste of natural resources.
The two agents in front appeared to be feline shifters. The woman on the right had old scars running diagonally down the right side of her face, and they both carried semi-automatic weapons.
“You’ve brought quite the arsenal.” I jerked my chin toward the guns. “Is this standard protocol for a routine debriefing?”
“For someone who escaped Roswell? Yes.” Langston studied me as if trying to solve an annoying puzzle. “Nothing about you stands out, Agent Blackthorne. Why are you suddenly in the middle of two major investigations?”
The FBCI agents had spread out in a containment pattern as Gunnar’s huge frame shifted behind me. Tension radiated from him as Freda and Bennion positioned themselves to form a protective triangle, but we were outnumbered and outgunned.
“Let’s not make this messy,” Langston continued. “Your companions will stand down, and you’ll come with us voluntarily. Or they’ll be neutralized, and you’ll come anyway.”
The frozen void inside me expanded, numbing my fear and sharpening my thoughts. Through the mate bond, I felt a surprising tug. Conall sensed my distress, but he was hundreds of miles away.
“I’m a federal agent conducting an active investigation into a missing person, and you don’t have a warrant to detain me. You’re making a mistake.”
“And I’m the Area Director for the FBCI, with jurisdiction over all Cognizant matters in this Region.” He checked his watch, as if bored by the whole exchange. “You have thirty seconds to comply before my agents take action.”
Freda’s jaw clenched tight, and Bennion stood stiff with fury next to me. Behind me, Gunnar’s breathing had slowed.
The ogre with the braids grinned. “Please resist,” he murmured just loud enough for us to hear. “It’s been fucking boring lately.”
For a breathless moment, we stood at an impasse, the morning air charged with the promise of violence. Langston’s expression was impassive, but dark humor gleamed in his eyes. He wanted an excuse.
This wasn’t just about Roswell. Langston’s energy reeked of envy and determination. Was this also about Viggo and my father?
The frozen void inside me expanded until it dulled my fear as I analyzed the current situation in milliseconds. I needed to defuse and delay because if this turned into a firefight, we would lose.
I placed a hand on Freda’s arm, her hard muscles coiled with tension. “I need you to stand down.”
Freda’s head snapped to me. “Riley, I can’t let you go with them alone.”
“As Alpha Mate, I'm telling you to stand down.” I infused my voice with authority, surprise coursing through me as power rippled along the bond. “This isn’t worth dying over.”
Bennion growled low in his throat, his hands still curled into claws. “The Alpha would expect us to–”
“The Alpha would expect you to use your brain, Beta,” I cut him off. “Look around. They’ve got us surrounded, and they want an excuse. When you’re dead, they can tell everyone that we were the aggressors.” My voice was emotionless.
I turned to Langston. “I need to speak with Agent Alfson about the investigation before I come with you.” Grabbing Gunnar’s huge bicep, I pulled him away.
Langston motioned for Agent Foster to follow us as he spoke. “Your thirty seconds expired ten seconds ago, Agent Blackthorne.”
I ignored him, keeping my back to them as I faced my partner. Foster stood right behind me, blatantly listening. “Contact Parker. Tell him I’m sorry I have to miss poker night with his buddies.” I stared hard into his craggy face, willing him to understand.
Foster grunted. “I’m not sure what poker night has to do with your investigation.”
“What did she tell him?” Langston called.
When Foster turned to answer, I quickly handed my father’s journal to Gunnar. “Keep it safe.” His bushy eyebrows drew together as he deftly slid it inside his coat.
Parker and I didn’t have a poker night. It was our code for trouble, and his buddies meant I needed backup. My uncle would know right away that something was wrong.
I turned and stared at Langston. “I have conditions.”
Langston scoffed. “You’re not in a position to ask for conditions.”
“I’m offering a compromise that prevents bloodshed and a potential war, so I think I am.” I nodded toward Freda and Bennion. “They report directly to Alpha Segerson. If something happens to me, or them, you’ll have the Pack Council breathing down your neck, and Conall gunning for you.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Gunnar pull out his phone.
“You have an inflated sense of self-importance,” Langston replied, but I caught his slight hesitation.
“Are you willing to risk it? I’ll come voluntarily, but the shifters and my partner walk away unharmed, and I call my supervisor at ISB to let him know what’s going on.”
Langston considered me, then checked his watch again. “Your supervisor has already been informed of your temporary reassignment. As for your bodyguards and partner,” he glanced at them. “They’re free to go once you’re in our vehicle.”
“Then we have an agreement.”
“No, we don’t.” Freda stepped in front of me. “The Alpha will—”
“Conall isn’t here,” I interrupted. “And I'm making a judgment call. That’s what Alpha Mates do.” I turned to her, lowering my voice. “Tell Conall I’ll be fine. Make sure Gunnar has everything he needs.”
Freda’s eyes searched mine. She clenched her jaw and nodded stiffly.
“This way, Agent Blackthorne.” Langston gestured toward the middle SUV. The agents formed a loose cordon around me. The coldness inside me deepened, spreading through my limbs until I felt almost numb—a blessing, really, as Agent Mercer patted me down, removing my service weapon and cellphone.
I slid into the backseat of the SUV, my mind already racing.
Parker would get the message and contact his Marine buddies.
Freda would call Conall. I just needed to stall until then.
I fervently hoped they weren’t planning to torture or shock me because I’d had enough of that to last a thousand lifetimes.
The door closed behind me with a solid thunk, and I met Langston's satisfied gaze as the SUVs moved out.
I stared at him impassively. “You’re going to regret this.”
His smile held no humor. “No, I won’t. But you probably will.”