9. Sam
Chapter nine
Sam
My mate was in a cage, and I was stuck in a room full of maps.
Three hours. Three hours of strategy sessions and contingency plans and careful logistics, and my wolf had been clawing at my insides since minute one.
He didn’t care about entry points or shift schedules or signal jammers.
He cared about her. The silver burning her skin, the nullstone drinking her magic, the guards who’d—
Don’t. I shut that thought down hard. We’ll get her out. That’s all that matters.
I moved to the window. Back to the table. Checked my phone for the hundredth time—nothing. Nobody was going to call with good news. Nobody was going to tell me Adarcan had mysteriously burned to the ground, and she’d walked out unscathed.
Eight feet to the window. Turn. Eight feet to the table. Turn. Repeat.
Hunt, my wolf demanded. Hunt NOW. Get mate.
Soon, I promised him. Soon.
But it made no difference. He needed our mate. We both did.
“Sam.” Derek’s voice cut through the static in my head. He stood near the door, watching me with his particular intensity. Our twin bond hummed with his concern, picking up everything I was trying to hide. “You’re going to wear a trench in Carlito’s floor.”
“Then Carlito can bill me.”
“For the love of the Moon Goddess,” Carlito’s chair creaked as he turned from his desk, where maps and blueprints spread across every available surface, “stand still for five fucking minutes. You’re making my head pound.”
The door swung open before I could tell him exactly where he could shove his headache.
Ryan walked in carrying Victoria, my one-year-old niece, babbling happily against his shoulder.
Mai followed with Oakley, who was explaining something to his sister in their twin language only they understood—Victoria’s stream of syllables answered by his deeper coos like they were conducting important negotiations.
Victoria spotted me first.
Her whole face transformed, eyes lighting up, mouth forming a perfect O of delight. “Unca Sam!”
She squirmed against Ryan with such determined urgency that he nearly dropped her. “Easy, sweetheart—” But she was already reaching for me with both arms, making grabby hands that brooked no argument.
Something in my chest loosened a fraction.
I crouched as Ryan set her down, and she launched herself at me like a tiny heat-seeking missile. Her small hands fisted in my shirt, grip surprisingly strong.
“Hey, troublemaker.” I caught her before momentum could topple us both. “Did you miss me?”
“Unca Sam, Unca Sam, Unca Sam—” She patted my face with sticky fingers, checking that I was real.
Oakley arrived half a second later. But instead of joining the hug pile, he circled behind me. I felt small hands patting my back, my shoulders, my arms, methodical little touches working their way across my body.
“What’s he doing?”
“He does that.” Ryan’s voice was rough, but I caught the softness underneath it. “Thomas thinks he’s checking you for injuries. Making sure you’re okay.”
Huh. I twisted to look at the kid. “I’m all good, little dude. Not a scratch on me.”
Oakley made a skeptical sound—definitely his father’s son—and continued his inspection anyway.
Victoria tugged at my chin to get my attention back. Then she reached past me toward her brother, making a soft chirping noise that was clearly instruction. Oakley abandoned his patrol and came around to face me, immediately shoving something at my mouth.
A cracker. Half-eaten. Covered in enough drool to qualify as a biohazard.
From the proud look on his face, he’d been saving it.
“He tries to feed anyone he thinks isn’t eating enough,” Ryan said.
“For me?” I took the cracker with the gravity it deserved, holding it like he’d just handed me the crown jewels. “Thank you, Oakley. This is exactly what I needed.”
His whole face lit up. Then he butted his head against my shoulder, a gesture so purely wolf that my own beast settled for the first time in hours.
Pack, my wolf acknowledged. Protect.
Victoria patted my cheek, then reached over to touch Oakley’s face, palm flat against his cheek in some kind of silent communication. He made a small sound in response and settled against my leg, apparently satisfied that his sister had given the all-clear.
“How long have they been like this?” I asked quietly.
“Since they could crawl.” Mai looked tired, but her eyes held fierce protectiveness. “Thomas says their development is… advanced. He thinks—” She glanced at Ryan, something unspoken passing between them.
“He thinks these two aren’t typical,” Ryan finished.
“No shit.” I grinned up at him. “They’re yours. They were never going to be typical.”
Mai’s tension cracked into a real smile. “You may have a point.”
“Wally?” She turned toward the hallway. “Can you come watch the twins?”
Wally materialized in the doorway, immaculate as always in pressed trousers and a shirt so crisp it practically crackled. “You bellowed?”
“Can you take Victoria and Oakley to the next room?”
“Of course, darling.” He scooped up both twins with ease, already chattering to them about the blocks he’d brought. “Come along, little ones. Uncle Wally has plans. We’re building a castle today; a proper one, with turrets and everything.”
Victoria giggled as Oakley grabbed at Wally’s collar. But as they left, Victoria looked back over his shoulder, her eyes finding mine. Something in her gaze made my wolf stir—something old and knowing that had no business in a one-year-old’s face.
They’re the future, I thought. Whatever we’re building, it’s for them.
The door closed. The room felt emptier without them.
“Anyone else thoroughly creeped out by that?” Gideon asked into the silence.
“By my babies?” Mai rounded on Gideon and crossed her arms.
“Yeah. They’re terrifying. In like, twenty years? Those two are going to rule the world.”
“That’s the plan,” Ryan said.
A knock, and then Waylen exploded into the room like a caffeinated hurricane.
“Greetings from civilization!” His tousled brown hair defied gravity in at least three directions, and his crooked lime-green glasses sat askew on his nose.
A red hoodie hung off his frame, messenger bag stuffed with tech bouncing against his hip.
“Traffic was a bitch from the city. Had to improvise.”
“You hacked traffic lights,” Mason said flatly. It wasn’t a question.
“I suggested alternative timing patterns to the city’s traffic management system.” Waylen’s grin was pure manic energy as he dumped his bag on the nearest chair. “Not my fault they took my suggestions. Worked, though. Made it here in half the time. You’re welcome.”
“You’ve all been briefed?” I needed everyone on the same page.
Waylen’s head snapped up, glasses sliding down his nose.
“Breaking into the most secure supernatural prison on the continent? Extracting a high-value target from under the Council’s collective noses?
” His grin widened. “Hell yeah, I’m briefed.
You think I ditched a boring-as-fuck cybersecurity conference—where some pencil-pusher was explaining basic firewall protocols like he invented the internet—and hauled ass back here for shits and giggles? ”
He yanked two laptops from his bag, cables appearing like magic.
“The Kennel’s been on my list since I first heard about it.
Their security architecture is supposedly ‘state-of-the-art.’” Air quotes.
“They call it ‘impenetrable.’” More air quotes, aggressive this time.
“Which is just insulting, honestly. Nobody outruns the Wizard. And sure as hell nobody builds a system the Wizard can’t crack. ”
“You sound excited,” Gideon observed.
“Excited?” Waylen shoved his glasses back up. “Dude, I’m fucking thrilled. This is the kind of challenge that separates the script kiddies from the artists. Prison breaks are ninety percent prep, ten percent execution, and lucky for you,” he spread his arms wide, “you’ve got the best.”
“Right.” Gideon’s tone was desert-dry. “Lucky us.”
Waylen swiveled to face him, grin undiminished.
“I can forge transfer orders. Council seals, digital signatures, routing protocols, the whole fucking package. Did it once for a Council member who needed emergency leave for, uh, let’s call it ‘personal reasons.’” He made more quotation marks in the air. “Never got caught.”
“You forged Council documents?” Gideon’s voice sharpened.
“Can’t prove anything.” Waylen’s grin grew teeth. “And even if you could? Good luck finding the digital trail. I don’t leave breadcrumbs, man.”
Gideon’s eyes narrowed. I could practically see him locking Waylen’s face and scent into his brain for future reference. Waylen just kept grinning, utterly unintimidated.
Then Adarcan’s security grid exploded across his monitors—camera feeds, checkpoint logs, guard rotations updating in real-time like a living organism. The kind of access that should have been impossible.
Derek stepped forward, spreading files across the table.
“Shift schedules for this week,” he said, pointing to charts covered in handwritten annotations. “Guard names. Patrol patterns. Dietary restrictions, family situations, financial problems.” He tapped a particular stack.
I stared at the sheer volume of intelligence. Every guard. Their backgrounds. Their weaknesses. Their routines.
This wasn’t something you assembled in a few days.
“How the hell do you have all this?”
“Shaw Investigations has been tracking Council operations since Kane joined.” Derek’s voice was flat. Unapologetic.
“You’ve been spying on the Council?” Gideon’s voice dropped low, dangerous.
I looked at Carlito. He didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed; just shrugged like he hadn’t taken the company I’d built with Mason and used it to investigate the organization I now worked for.
“Monitoring,” Derek corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Not legally.”