Chapter Four
T he entrance to E.S .E. was nothing like Riley expected.
There was no sign. No insignia. No glass-and-steel tower announcing power or authority. Just an underground access ramp tucked beneath an unremarkable industrial building, the kind of place she would have walked past a hundred times without looking twice.
Rafe guided the car down the ramp with practiced ease, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the console. Dorian sat in the passenger seat, watching the mirrors, the shadows, the blind spots Riley hadn’t even known existed until he shifted his focus there.
She sat in the back, hands folded tightly in her lap, heart hammering.
This was real.
She wasn’t running anymore. She was stepping into something.
The vehicle descended deeper, concrete walls giving way to reinforced steel, then biometric scanners.
Rafe spoke quietly as he slowed the car. “Underground entrance. Keeps civilians and satellites from asking too many questions.”
The scanner flashed green. Heavy doors slid open with a muted hydraulic hiss.
Riley sucked in a breath.
The space beyond was vast—polished floors, clean lines, controlled lighting that felt more military than corporate. It reminded her, oddly, of a hospital crossed with a command bunker. Efficient. Purpose-built.
Her reaction must have shown on her face, because Dorian glanced back at her with a faint, knowing smile.
“Elara had the same look,” he said.
“Elara?”
“She’s with our commanders, Ivan and Victor,” Rafe added. “She’s a scientist and basically brilliant. She was absolutely terrified her first time down here.”
That helped. A little.
They parked and stepped out, the air cooler here, filtered. Riley followed them, acutely aware of how close they stayed—not crowding her, but never more than an arm’s reach away.
They took the lift. Rafe keyed them in without comment, and the doors slid shut with a muted thud. The car moved smoothly upward, stopping at the ninth floor.
“This is our floor,” Dorian said as the doors opened
The wolves’ level was quieter than she expected.
Not empty, but deliberately contained. This wasn’t a work floor, it felt more like a penthouse carved into concrete and steel.
The space opened wide as she stepped in, ceilings higher than she’d anticipated, clean architectural lines softened by lived-in comfort.
Deep couches were arranged toward the city-facing windows that ran the length of the wall, the glass reinforced but perfectly clear to let the skyline bleed in.
A long, solid table sat at the heart of the room, not scarred from use, but polished, deliberate, the kind of place meant for shared meals and late-night conversations.
Doors led off to private rooms, discreet and unobtrusive.
The air carried the faint scent of coffee, clean soap, and something warm and familiar.
Restrained. Controlled. A home designed for two men who needed space, privacy, and quiet after violence.
“It’s ... calm,” she said.
Rafe nodded. “We like it that way.”
She believed him.
She noticed how Rafe and Dorian moved together—synchronized, often communicating without words. A glance. A shift of weight. A subtle change in posture.
Bonded.
The word surfaced unbidden, and heat curled low in her stomach. She shoved it away, unsettled by the flicker of awareness that followed. The tension between them wasn’t overt, but it was there, a current she felt every time one of them came too close.
“We would like to take you upstairs to the Command Center,” he said. “That way we can introduce you to the rest of E.S.E. If you’re okay with that. It means telling your story once to everyone who needs to hear it.”
Dorian stayed quiet, watching her face. Not pushing.
Riley considered it. The idea made her stomach tighten, but the alternative was worse. It would be hard enough to tell the story once, let alone multiple times.
“Yes,” she said finally. “I’d rather do it once.”
Rafe nodded. “Then we’ll take you up.”
They took the lift again, as it was only one floor up, it was a quick trip.
The Command Center was bigger than she expected.
Louder. Alive in a way the Wolves’ floor hadn’t been.
Screens lined the walls in tiers, data scrolling in controlled streams. Voices from news reports showing on the screens overlapped in low, purposeful tones.
People moved with intent, not rushed, not chaotic, but always in motion.
Riley had no idea who was who.
She registered size, posture, energy—not names, not roles. A wall of presence met them as they stepped inside, different weights of attention settled on her at once. Some gazes were sharp and curious, others steady and assessing. No one stared exactly, but no one ignored her either.
She slowed without meaning to, stopping just inside the threshold.
Her shoulders drew in before she could stop herself, her weight shifting back a fraction as her gaze flicked instinctively to exits, corners, cover.
Rafe saw it immediately, the hitch in her step, the way her breathing changed.
He leaned in just enough that only she could hear him. “We’ll keep this controlled. No one crowds you. No one touches you unless you say so.”
She looked at him, jaw tight but eyes steady. “I don’t want to be treated like a problem to manage.”
“You won’t be,” Dorian said without hesitation, his tone absolute.
Rafe straightened and addressed the room, voice carrying without being raised. “She’s here by choice. She speaks for herself.”
That mattered.
The shift was subtle but immediate. Attention recalibrated. Postures eased. Two large men stepped forward first.
“I’m Victor,” one of them said, his voice calm, steady. “My brother Ivan and I are bear shifters, and we are in command of the E.S.E. You’re safe here.”
A blond man followed with a brief nod. “My name is Caleb Holt.” He pointed to the other two blond haired men in the room, obviously related. “These are my brothers Jackson and Wyatt. We’re lion shifters, and if you have questions, ask them. We don’t do secrets.”
A man with dark skin inclined his head. “I’m Malik Ajani and that’s my brother Jamal,” he pointed to another dark skin man who gave her a grin and mock salute. “It is great to meet you. We’re sorry no one believed your truth. You just saw something outside approved normal parameters.”
Something in her chest cracked—not pain, exactly. Release.
Screens flickered as additional faces joined in. Leopards, sharp-eyed and alert. Razorbacks, blunt, direct even through a feed.
Riley took a shaky breath. These men, this group of shifters, were not only able, but they were willing to help her.
So, she told them her story, not every detail, not the worst of it, but enough.
The clinic. The transport reroute. Christian Bidois.
The report that cost her job. The abduction. The escape.
She watched their reactions as she spoke.
No disbelief. No amusement. No impatience.
When she finished, the silence that followed wasn’t dismissive. It was deliberate.
“We believe you,” Ivan said simply. “You reported a breach no one wanted acknowledged. That makes you inconvenient, not wrong.”
“And we’ll make sure he never gets near you again,” another added.
Something in her chest loosened.
Afterward, Rafe and Dorian stayed close as the room shifted back into motion. Plans were made. Tasks assigned. Her name appeared on a secure board—not as a target, but as one of the protected.
Hope stirred. Cautious. Skeptical.
But real.
She caught Rafe watching her, his gaze steady, assessing, and something warmer beneath it. Dorian met her eyes next, a quiet question there.
She wasn’t ready to answer it.
But for the first time in a long time, she felt like she might be.
****
W hen the three of them left a while later, Dorian walked a half step behind her and Rafe as they headed for the lift, keeping his presence deliberately neutral.
Not looming. Not herding. Just there—close enough to anchor, far enough not to crowd.
He’d learned the difference the hard way, back when he’d thought protection meant pressure.
She didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate. Her shoulders were tight, her spine too straight, but her steps were even. Measured. Controlled.
Brave.
The word surfaced unbidden, weighted with instinct. His wolf stirred at it, restless, unsettled by the distance now that it knew what she was.
Mate.
The thought slammed into a wall of discipline and stayed there. This wasn’t the place. Maybe it never would be. If that was the cost of keeping her safe, he’d pay it.
The lift doors closed with a soft seal, muting the world beyond them. The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was almost like a decompression.
Riley leaned back against the wall, eyes closing for just a beat as she let out a slow breath. “That was ... a lot.”
Rafe huffed quietly. “Yeah. They don’t do subtle well.”
A faint, tired smile tugged at her mouth.
Dorian watched her reflection in the brushed steel wall. The way her gaze tracked invisible lines. The flex of her fingers, like she was reminding herself she was solid, present. Trauma response. Processing. Not fracturing.
Good.
The lift chimed at nine.
Their floor opened into the same space and quiet Riley had already seen earlier, familiar now, even if the calm still felt engineered rather than accidental.
The penthouse-level residence wrapped around them, light from the city coming through the glass of the windows, sound dampened to a distant hush. It was a held breath finally released.
Riley paused just inside the threshold, more to reorient than react. Not overwhelmed this time—observant, cataloging what she’d missed the first time through.
Her gaze moved deliberately. The open living area first. Floor to ceiling windows, a mix of different seating options and the long table anchoring the space.
Then the other direction, where the architecture subtly shifted—angles closing in, hallways set back, doors positioned with intention.
A clear divide between shared space and private retreat.
Smart.
“You designed all of this,” she said quietly.
Rafe nodded. “Command stays upstairs, but our home is here.”
“Home,” she said, testing the word.
Something settled deep in Dorian’s chest.
Rafe flicked him a look—brief, sharp. Careful.
Dorian answered with a fractional nod.
They let her move at her own pace. She crossed the room again, fingers brushing the back of a chair, the edge of the counter, the glass of the window she’d stood at earlier. She didn’t rush. Didn’t fill the silence with questions. She was orienting, not stalling.
Finally, she turned back to them. “What happens next?”
No drama. No fear. Just clarity.
Rafe answered, but Dorian watched her face. “Command will start tracking Christian Bidois in earnest. They will look for patterns. Any funding he might have access to. Support structures that he leans into. For now, we’d like to keep you on-site here—if you’re willing.”
“I am.” The answer came without hesitation.
Dorian felt his wolf surge at that—approval, fierce and bright.
“There’s one more thing,” Rafe said. “You won’t be questioned again like that. What you told them stands as truth. If anything else comes up, it comes through us.”
Relief crossed her face before she could mask it. “Thank you.”
It wasn’t gratitude that tightened Dorian’s chest.
It was trust.
Rafe checked the time, then looked back to her. “You should get some sleep. We’ll take first watch.”
Riley frowned faintly. “I don’t need—”
“We know you don’t need it,” Dorian said gently. “Just humor us.”
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay.” She glanced around, looking slightly confused.
Dorian recognized the issue straight away. “Your room is here,” he walked over and opened the door that led to the main suite. “You have your own bathroom. Help yourself to whatever is in there. I placed your bag in there earlier.”
She smiled at him, something that made his stomach flutter a little, then moved into the room, her door closed softly behind her.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It was charged.
Rafe exhaled slowly. “Thank God she said yes to staying here.”
“I know,” Dorian said. “It would have made it more difficult to keep her safe if she wasn’t here.”
Rafe’s phone vibrated on the counter before he could say anything else.
He glanced at the screen and swore softly. “It’s Vincent.”
Dorian straightened as Rafe put the call on speaker.
“We’ve just finished correlating timestamps” Vincent said without preamble, his voice sharp even through the speaker. “Christian Bidois went dark twelve hours before Philly. Clean break. No panic indicators.”
Rafe dragged a hand over his face. “So, he wasn’t running.”
“No,” Vincent replied. “He was positioning himself for a stronger strike.”
Dorian’s jaw set as the word landed. “That’s not a coincidence. If he went dark that clean, it means he had cover—resources, timing, people clearing his path. That puts this squarely in E.S.E. territory ... and it means Riley wasn’t targeted because she was convenient. She was chosen.”
“Exactly.”
In true Vincent style, he hung up immediately, no doubt already planning their next steps.
Dorian leaned against the counter, grounding himself as his wolf paced beneath his skin. There was a lot to think about, and working out what to do next, but now the bond within him tugged—not tearing them apart like it did when it first slammed into place, just letting them know it was there.
“She felt it when it first came into being,” Rafe said quietly. “I saw her confusion.”
Dorian nodded. “And yet she didn’t run.”
The city glowed beyond the windows, vast and indifferent.
Dorian broke the silence. “Command also mentioned unexplained leaks. Something from the civilian side and media-adjacent.”
Rafe’s mouth thinned. “Media? Why am I thinking reputation management.”
“Or prep work,” Dorian said. “Someone testing the ground before they move.”
Rafe glanced down the hallway. “If Christian was assigned a role as part of that work...”
“Then she wasn’t the end goal,” Dorian finished. “Perhaps just convenient or fortuitous.”
That settled like lead.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Dorian said. “You should rest.”
Rafe snorted softly. “You planning to sleep?”
“No.”
Rafe clapped his shoulder once, solid and grounding. “Wake me if anything changes.”
Dorian moved to the window after Rafe disappeared into the other wing, scanning the city by habit. His reflection stared back—eyes darker, wolf close.
Christian Bidois was still out there.
And somewhere beyond him, something bigger was paying attention.
Dorian welcomed the hunt.