Chapter 16
Nadia
“Move. Now.” Viktor’s voice cuts through the ringing in my ears. I follow him out of the motel room on legs that don’t feel entirely steady. Jericho walks beside me.
We don’t look at each other.
Can’t.
Because if I look at him, I’ll see what Viktor saw: hair disheveled from my hands, his shirt half tucked, the evidence of what we were seconds away from doing before reality intruded with brutal timing.
“We… uh… didn’t expect you so soon,” I stutter.
“Clearly not.” Viktor glances at me. “Storm front dissipated. You’d said it was urgent, so we pulled in.” He pauses. “Was it? Urgent?”
“Of course!” I blurt, wishing I could find my composure. “If you’d been a few minutes earlier, you’d have intercepted a Syndicate team.”
And maybe stopped me from making the worst decision of my life.
“We did,” he says briskly. “They spotted us on the outskirts of town. Saw the chopper and figured we’d be carrying higher firepower. They got out before we touched down.”
“That’s… that’s good, great,” I respond stupidly. “You don’t know how close we came to getting caught.”
“Oh, I think I do,” he replies, staring straight ahead.
My face burns so hot, I’m certain there’s a haze over my head. I say nothing more.
The parking lot is full of Aurora operatives. Six of them, heavily armed in black tactical gear. Weapons ready. They’re here for extraction, but their eyes track us like we’re threats.
Maybe we are.
A helicopter waits on the street, rotors already spinning. Utilitarian. Aurora insignia on the side.
“Get in,” Viktor says to me. Then to an operative: “Restrain the prisoner.”
Prisoner?
Not defector. Not intelligence asset. Prisoner.
The operative moves toward Jericho with suppression cuffs. Standard field restraints, like I used on him before. Not the heavier ones used for long-term holding, but the word “prisoner” echoes wrong in my head.
Three days ago, the Council voted to grant him sanctuary. Now Viktor calls him prisoner like that decision was never made.
Jericho offers his wrists without protest. The cuffs lock with a metallic click. His expression stays neutral, but I see the tension in his shoulders.
“Far side,” an operative tells me, gesturing to the helicopter.
I climb in and strap into the seat. The interior is loud—engines, rotors, mechanical noise that makes conversation nearly impossible.
Viktor sits directly across from me. Jericho is three seats away on the opposite side, flanked by operatives. Deliberate separation.
My wolf doesn’t like it.
The aircraft lifts off. My stomach drops as we gain altitude. I keep my eyes on the window. Watch the town shrink below us. Watch mountains rise up around us as we fly deeper into the Cascades.
Viktor pulls out a comm unit. Speaks into it with clipped syllables. “Detention. Prepare level three for intake. Long-term hostile holding.”
Long-term hostile holding.
That’s maximum security. Reserved for war criminals awaiting trial. For enemies who’ll never see release. Not for defectors seeking sanctuary.
My chest tightens. I risk a glance at Viktor, but his expression is unreadable. Cold. Professional.
Just days ago, I was furious that the Council granted Jericho sanctuary. Walked out of that meeting ready to hunt him myself because the thought of him safe inside Aurora’s walls was unbearable.
Now I’m terrified they’ve changed their minds.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I walked away from Aurora. Resigned my position. Told Mara I was done, that I couldn’t watch them protect the man who killed Chance.
Then I went hunting.
Not as an Aurora operative. As a widow. As a wolf who’d built grief into rage and finally had a target.
I was going to kill him. That was the plan. Simple. Clear. Righteous.
Except—
I didn’t. Faced with a man I couldn’t kill in cold blood, my wolf chose a different path for us. And it was the exact opposite of killing him.
How do I explain that?
I can’t tell Viktor about the heat cycle. That’s private. Biology that I won’t discuss with Aurora leadership. And I can’t tell him about what my wolf keeps insisting about a mate. That’s acknowledging something I’m not ready to look at too closely.
So what do I say?
The truth, minus the parts that are none of his business: I went rogue. Found Jericho. Syndicate attacked. We survived together. I brought him back to Aurora as originally intended.
Simple.
Except for the part where Viktor walked in on us seconds before I would have—
I shove the memory away. It doesn’t help. Because now I’ve brought him back alive but compromised—and I have no doubt that everyone in this helicopter knows exactly how compromised I am.
Will they take me back?
Do I want them to?
Aurora was home. The pack I chose when my birth pack felt too small. The purpose I built after Chance died. The identity that filled the void his death left.
But I walked away from it. Chose personal vengeance over duty.
Viktor hasn’t said a word to me since we boarded. Just sits there watching with those cold, calculating eyes. Letting me stew. Letting me imagine all the ways this interrogation will go.
He’s good at this. Stoic silence that makes operatives confess before questions are even asked.
I won’t.
The flight stretches. Mountains pass below. Thirty minutes. Maybe forty. Each one feeling longer than the last.
I risk a glance at Jericho. He’s staring out the window. Profile hard and controlled. Jaw tight. Not looking at me.
Does he know what “hostile holding” means? Does he understand that Viktor didn’t say “process the defector” or “prepare guest quarters”?
Does he realize they might have changed their minds about sanctuary?
My wolf whines. Wanting him. Wanting to be near him. Wanting—
I lock her down. This isn’t the time.
The helicopter banks. Descending. The complex comes into view below—fortress built into mountainside, multiple levels carved into rock, landing pad jutting out from the main structure.
Home. Or what used to be.
We touch down. The pilot cuts engines. The sudden relative quiet is jarring.
Viktor unbuckles and stands. “Out. Now.”
I unbuckle. Stand too. My legs are steadier than they were leaving the motel.
The door opens. Cold mountain air rushes in—sharp and clean and familiar.
I step out onto the landing pad. Aurora headquarters rises around me.
Guards at every checkpoint. Security everywhere.
Operatives moving with purpose. Several turn to watch as we disembark.
News travels fast. They know. By now, everyone knows that Nadia Frost went rogue and then returned with Jericho Allon.
What they’re also probably learning right now: exactly how screwed up things got.
Viktor steps past me. Turns. “Frost, I want you back in your quarters. An operative will escort you. Stay there.” Then to the guards waiting nearby: “Get the commander to a holding cell, level three. Full restraints. Standard hostile intake protocol.”
My throat goes dry.
Guards move toward Jericho. He stands without resistance as they pull his arms roughly behind his back with more force than necessary. One guard’s hand is too tight on his shoulder, fingers digging in.
“Hands behind your back,” the lead guard says. Flat. Cold. “Don’t resist.”
It’s unnecessary. Jericho doesn’t fight. Doesn’t protest. Just stands there with that controlled expressionless mask while they bind him like he’s not a defector who risked everything but a war criminal being processed for detention.
This isn’t right. This isn’t how you treat someone seeking sanctuary.
“Move.” The guard shoves Jericho’s shoulder.
My wolf surges. Not subtle. Violent protest that slams against my ribs.
No. Wrong. Protect.
“He was promised sanctuary.” The words escape before I can stop them.
Viktor’s gaze cuts to me. “The Council is reconsidering, given recent developments.” His tone is stony.
“Recent developments?” I stare at him.
Reconsidering.
They’re reconsidering sanctuary. Questioning whether he can be trusted. But why? He hasn’t done anything wrong.
“We lost good men in that convoy attack, Nadia.” His expression is grim.
“I know,” I reply. “But that wasn’t Jericho’s fault, Viktor. That was Syndicate.”
“He’s Syndicate, too.” Viktor’s jaw tenses. “How do we know he wasn’t in on it?”
I stare at him for a second. “Why would he do that? Ask for sanctuary just so he could get some guards killed?”
“They weren’t just guards, Nadia. Those were our people. Men with ties to our community. Family. We lost them.”
I ease out a breath, feeling chastised. “I realize that. I’m sorry. I never intended to…” I exhale again. “It wasn’t Jericho’s fault. He’s just as much a victim as they were. If I hadn’t been there, he would have died with the others.” The thought makes my wolf flinch.
“I appreciate your reasoning.” Viktor remains unmoved. “But the fact remains that things have changed. And until we know exactly what we’re dealing with, he will be treated as a hostile.”
My hands clench into fists. The wrongness intensifies with every step the guards take, walking Jericho across the courtyard toward the detention block. Two flanking him. One behind. The lead guard’s grip on his arm is unforgiving.
My wolf throws herself against my control. Snarling. Demanding I move. Demanding that I stop them. Demanding that I shift and fight these guards who are treating him like—
Like an enemy. Not a defector. Not someone seeking protection. An enemy being contained.
They’re twenty feet away now. Then further. Moving toward the entrance to the detention level. Taking him underground, where I won’t see him. Won’t know if he’s okay. Won’t be able to—
Pain cuts through my chest. Sharp and sudden. Not injury. Something worse.
This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong.
I should follow. Should stay with him. Should make sure they honor the sanctuary they promised. My feet move before I can stop them. One step toward him.
Viktor’s hand closes around my upper arm. “Frost.” There’s warning in the single word.
I freeze. Jericho glances back. Just once. Our eyes meet across the courtyard. His expression is carefully neutral, but I see the tension in his shoulders. See the way his jaw tightens. Then he’s through the door. Gone. Disappeared into Aurora’s detention system.
And I’m standing here shaking with the effort of not following. Of not shifting and fighting my way through guards to get to him. Of not doing something catastrophically stupid because my wolf is convinced—
Convinced of what?
Not the heat cycle. Not proximity. Not biology that I can rationalize away.
My wolf recognizes him. Has recognized him since the moment I set eyes on him. Since the first moment he touched me, something changed.
Now, watching them take him feels like losing Chance all over again. That rope snapping. Falling with nothing to catch me.
And I intended to kill him. Planned his death. Turned grief into hate. Made his execution the cornerstone of my healing.
Now the thought of him hurt makes my wolf claw inside me. The thought of him alone in that cell makes my chest ache. The thought of never seeing him again—
“Nadia.” Viktor’s voice pulls me out of the spiral. Firm. Patient. I know he’s seeing the indecision in my face.
I turn to look at him. Try to school my expression into something professional. Something that doesn’t scream the confusion swirling within me.
His eyes narrow slightly. Reading me. Drawing conclusions I don’t want him to draw.
“Your escort is waiting,” he says. “Go now.” Not a request.
I obey because I have no other choice. Because my legs won’t carry me toward detention even though that’s where every instinct says I should go. Because I’m not Aurora anymore, and I have no authority here, and following Jericho would just get me restrained, too.
So I walk with the operative through familiar halls while my wolf howls in loss and my chest aches, and the truth settles heavy and inescapable.
Before, I was furious they’d grant him sanctuary.
Now I’m terrified they won’t.
Mate, my wolf growls, prowling beneath my skin.
Mate.
The word takes hold as she strains to break free. And I’m left reeling as I start to understand my reaction.
Oh no.
Oh God, no.
Not him.
Anyone but him.