Chapter 25
Rafael
They’re not sending me back.
I don’t care what Viktor decides. I don’t care what Creed offers. I don’t care if Faith walks through that door again with her gentle voice and her veiled threats. They are not putting me back in that place.
I’ll die first.
My wolf is circling. Wanting to break free and fight, the way he’s always done. The restraints hold my wrists, my chest, my ankles. The wards pulse around me, and beyond the door, I know there’s a full security facility surrounding me.
None of that matters.
What matters is this: the hum in my chest is mine.
I’ve been testing it. Small pushes. Quiet ones. The monitors are ten feet away on the other side of the cracked glass, and the readouts spike when the output crosses a certain threshold. I’ve been staying under it. Careful. Controlled.
The light over me flickers as I focus on it.
Three, two, one.
It flits out, then back again.
I try once more, longer this time.
It goes out for a second, then flicks back on.
Yes!
I know I can control it now. That my magic can disrupt the frequencies of the electronic equipment around me.
The lock on the containment door runs current through a solenoid.
I can feel it from where I’m lying, a faint magnetic pulse.
I haven’t pushed it yet. Too obvious. But I can feel the frequency it runs on, the way I could feel the stream in the mountains before I could hear it.
Faith’s lab equipment used to do this. Target specific frequencies. Isolate a mechanism, a circuit, a nerve pathway, and push until it broke or obeyed. That was the whole point—to turn me into something that could do what her machines did. A targeted weapon. Self-directing. Portable.
She succeeded. She just didn’t plan on me doing it without her direction.
There’d been signs.
Not just in those moments with the bear, when I’d reached inside and found a sound wave that was soothing.
But also in the clearing, when Aurora’s people came for us.
My wolf was in control, the magic was pouring out in waves, but twice—maybe three times—I’d aimed it.
Not random. Chosen. The wolf chose, or the man underneath chose, but someone chose, and the power went where it was told.
I can do that again. Bigger. Harder.
My wolf is pressed forward in my chest, coiled tight, running hot.
He hasn’t settled since Faith stood in this room.
The conditioning wants me flat, compliant, waiting for the needle.
The wolf always fought back, but not in a way I could manage.
But for the past hours, I’ve let the shift come and go…
I’ve held it, and he’s let me. Somewhere along the way, something shifted, and he’s not going back.
Good.
I need him exactly where he is. But I need more than teeth and claws. I need the hum. The frequency that cracks glass, drops guards, and opens things that were built to stay closed.
The ward cycles pulse through the walls. I can’t count them cleanly, but I can feel the peaks and troughs. The gaps.
I wait for the next gap. When it comes, I push.
A low burst of sound, directed at the sensor panel on the far wall. Focused. The panel flickers. One of the indicator lights dies. The others hold. The monitors on the other side of the glass don’t react.
I release. Breathe. The effort leaves a dull ache in my torso, a fresh trickle of blood from my nose that I wipe on my shoulder. But the panel light stays dead. I killed it. Just that one. Left the others alone.
That’s new.
The next ward gap comes. I reach for the overhead light again. I push…harder this time. The light doesn’t just stop buzzing. It dims. Flickers. I hold it for a count of three, then let it snap back to full brightness.
My heart is hammering. Blood on my upper lip. The shift is pulling at my jaw, my hands, trying to take what the wards are barely holding back. But the hum in my chest is steady. Controlled. Mine.
Faith built the weapon. She doesn’t get to decide where I aim it.
I lie back on the cot. Close my eyes. Slow my breathing until the monitors settle. My wolf watches the containment door through closed eyelids, ears tracking every sound in the corridor. We wait.
Hours pass. Or minutes. Time moves wrong in white rooms.
The wards pulse. Pause. Pulse.
Then the hum stops.
Not a gap. A full stop. The suppression cuts out. My ears ring with the silence. My body responds: the shift lurches, spine tries to bow, jaw extends. But I hold it. Ride the wave instead of letting it ride me.
Sounds in the corridor. Footsteps. Quick. Light. Not guard boots. A badge beeps on a lock mechanism. The containment door clicks.
The cell door opens.
I go completely rigid until I see her.
She’s backlit by amber emergency light. She slips inside and pulls the door behind her, leaving it cracked. Hair tied back. Face set. Breathing hard.
“Rafael.” Low. Steady. But I can sense her heart pounding. “I’m getting you out of here.”
Her hands find the first buckle. Right wrist. Quick fingers. The strap gives. My arm comes free.
“Sable —”
“Don’t talk yet. We don’t have much time before the next shift.” Left wrist. Buckle. Free. She reaches across me for the chest strap. Her hair brushes my jaw. Under the soap: warmth. Something alive. “I need you thinking, not reacting. Can you do that?”
The chest strap releases. I push up. The cell swings. I grip the edge of the cot, metal groaning under my hands.
She goes for the ankles. I’m upright, half-free, the shift rolling through me. My shoulders widen. My shirt tears at the seam.
The last strap gives.
I’m off the cot. Bare feet on cold tile. The floor sways, and I catch myself against the wall, claws scoring paint. Every instinct is screaming run.
Sable is right there. Two feet away.
My hand moves. Toward her face. The claws are out…all the way, curved, thick. My fingers reach for her jaw.
I stop.
The points rest against her cheekbone. One twitch and I’d open her skin. I can feel her pulse under my fingertips. Fast. Steady.
I pull the claws back. One by one. Tendon by tendon. Until the points retract and my palm is flat against her cheek.
Her eyes are wide. Her lips part, breath whispering out.
The warmth of her skin floods through my hand.
Up my wrist. Into my chest. Into the place where the wolf has been coiled and burning since Faith touched me.
It reaches him, and he goes quiet. Not flat or suppressed.
Something I’ve never felt from him before.
A low, steady sound that vibrates through my ribs.
She’s here.
My wolf knows what she is. Has known since the mountain. Since the cabin. Since her fingers found my pulse back at Ravenclaw, the warmth went all the way down.
“Mate.”
The word fills the cell. Low. Hoarse. Barely shaped by a jaw that’s caught between wolf and man.
It doesn’t come from my mouth. It comes from underneath.
Underneath the years of cold hands and pain, and you’re mine, you were always mine.
It comes from the place Faith Fell couldn’t reach.
The place she spent five years trying to burn out of me.
She failed.
Sable’s hand comes up and covers mine, where it rests against her cheek. Her fingers press my palm harder against her skin. Her eyes close.
One breath.
Her lips move against the heel of my hand. I feel the word before I hear it.
“Mate,” she says. “Yes.” Her voice cracks on it. Just once.
Then she opens her eyes, and the crack is gone. The healer is back. I want to stay in this moment—her hand on mine, my palm on her face, the word between—but we don’t have time. We don’t have time for any of the things I want to say to her.
“I need you with me,” she says. “Your power. Can you use it?”
“Yes.” I’ve been practicing all night, pushing at the edges of what I could do without breaking anything. “Yes, I can.”
“Don’t bring down the building.” She takes my hand off her face. Holds it. “Service corridor to sublevel two. Loading bay. There’s a vehicle there that we can use.”
I frown. “How do you—?”
“There’s no time for that now. We need to move.” She pulls me toward the door.
The corridor is dim. Cold tile under my bare feet. I’m holding the wolf at bay, and somehow, it’s not so hard anymore.
She moves fast, taking the first turn without hesitating. She knows the way. “Wards are down for another sixty seconds. After that, the backup kicks in.”
First door. Locked. Electronic keypad, red light.
“Shit,” she mutters, glancing around.
“I’ve got this.” I put my hand flat against the metal. Find the solenoid. Push. Clean. Targeted. The keypad sparks. The bolt retracts. Quieter than I expected.
Sable blinks in surprise, but doesn’t question me. She pushes through. I follow. My vision flickers at the edges, but the ache in my chest is manageable. The practice helped.
“Are you okay?”
“Keep going.”
Second corridor. She takes the left fork. “Two more doors. Then stairs.”
There’s a camera at the junction, red light blinking. I reach for the wiring and push my focus toward it. The camera sparks, goes dark. The next one follows. Blood drips from my nose.
“Rafael.” She’s alarmed.
“I’m fine. Move.”
Voices ahead.
Sable stops against the wall. I stop beside her. Two sets of footsteps. Heavy. Even. Security.
“Guards,” she whispers. “Two.”
“Get behind me.” I move ahead.
“Rafael, don’t —”
“Behind me.”
She steps back. I step forward.
They round the corner. Tactical vests. Holstered weapons. They see me—half-shifted, blood on my face—and their hands drop to their sidearms.
I hit them with a low-frequency pulse. Below hearing. Inner ear. Balance centers. Both stagger. One drops to a knee. The other gets his weapon half-drawn before his eyes roll and he goes down flat, sidearm clattering across tile.
I hit the wall, vision fogging. My knees buckle.
Sable’s hands catch my arm. “Rafael!”
“A moment. Just need a moment.” My heart is pounding.
“I’ve got you. Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“Then walk.”
We step over the guards. Sable grabs the fallen sidearm, checks it, and tucks it in her waistband.
“You shouldn’t have to carry that.”
“Worry about yourself.” She takes my arm. “Next door.”
We reach it. Reinforced. Heavy. Deadbolt and electronic fail-safe.
“Can you do it?”
I put both hands against the steel. The power answers harder than before, too much at once.
Pipes tremble overhead. Dust sifts from the ceiling.
The deadbolt screams as metal grates against metal.
The fail-safe overloads. I push through the backup before the secondary lock catches. The door bows. The bolt gives.
My arms shake. Nose bleeding freely. My wolf strengthens, and the shift threatens, spine curving, jaw pushing out.
“Sable.” Rough. “I can do one more. Maybe two.”
“One more. That’s it.” She pulls me through. “Stairwell. Two flights.”
We take the stairs. She goes fast. I go slower, one hand on the railing, the metal bending under my grip. Each step jars my ribs.
“Stay with me,” she says from two steps ahead. “Talk to me.”
“I’m here.”
“Keep talking.”
“What do you want me to say?” My breath is coming hard.
“Anything. Keep your voice going so I know you’re still you.”
I almost laugh. It comes out as a cough. “I’m still me.”
Ground level. The bottom door is unlocked. She pushes through.
We reach the loading bay. Concrete floor. High ceiling. Three vans in numbered bays. The air is laden with exhaust, motor oil, mountain cold leaking through door seals.
“Bay three,” she says.
We track the numbers, then stop when we reach it. A white van is parked there. Sable circles to the driver’s side, opens the door, and flips the visor. Keys drop out, and then she’s sliding into the front seat and firing the ignition. The engine turns over.
“In!” she urges. “Quick.”
I’m in the passenger seat, and she pulls off before I’ve slammed the door shut, the tires squealing on the smooth floor.
A rolling door looms ahead. Chain drive. Electric motor.
“Last one,” she says, eyes focused ahead.
I reach. Find the motor’s frequency. Push. The chain groans. The door climbs. Cold air floods in. Pine. Wet earth. Open sky. My lungs fill with air that hasn’t come through a vent, and for a heartbeat, I can take all of it in.
“Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah.” I wipe my face and find blood dripping off my chin.
Hold it together.
Sable pulls through the loading door. Headlights off. Gravel under the tires. The compound lights slide past as we move through an empty yard.
We pass through, the towering security fences shrinking in the mirror.
I lean against the window, glass cold on my skin, blood drying on my skin. My power is spent. If another door appeared, I couldn’t open a jar.
“You’re still bleeding,” Sable says. Driving by wolf-sight, the van winding through dark trees.
“I know.”
“How bad is it?”
“I’ll be fine. The wolf is carrying it.” I look at my hands. My nails are clawed.
“Being away from the wards should help with healing. Give your body time.” She takes a curve. “We’re heading north. Past the border territories.”
“How far?”
“Few hours. Maybe more.”
“Okay,” I say. My teeth chatter as I say it. Shock. Exertion. Maybe both.
She glances at me. Quick. Then back to the road. “There’s a blanket behind your seat.”
I reach back and feel rough wool. I pull it over my shoulders. My body takes it like a gift.
“The doctor,” I say. “From the facility. She’s at Aurora.”
“I know. I met her.” Sable’s jaw tightens. “She told Viktor I’m the reason you’re unstable.”
“She’s wrong.”
“I know she’s wrong.”
Trees pass in the dark. Tires hiss over wet asphalt.
“She said she built you,” Sable says. Quieter. “That nobody else can manage what’s inside you.”
“She didn’t build me,” I mutter. “I was always there. She just used what I had.”
Sable’s hand leaves the gear shift. I take it. My fingers are too thick, the joints swollen. I close them around her hand as carefully as I can.
She holds on.
“Get some sleep,” she says. “It’ll rebuild your strength.”
“Yeah,” I say, staring out the window.
Dark mountains. Sky lightening at the edge. No headlights behind us.
We’re out. Not safe. But out.
Right now, that feels like everything.