Chapter 3 - Cade
I told myself I was just going to run reconnaissance, but as I watched the trucks roll in, saw the security, and the established nature of the setup, I just felt my rage boiling over.
I replay the meeting with the alliance in my head.
I respect my fellow alphas; goddess knows most of them have been through enough with the hunters already, and I know we’re all committed to stopping them.
But I can’t sit back and let this group carry on like this.
Parking over the ridge, I photograph everything I can see, zeroing in on the men getting out of the trucks.
We might be near the city, but you don’t get many suits in areas like this, and when you do, it’s because they're the ones in charge. I zoom in on their faces but don’t recognize any of them from our research.
I think about what Rowan said at the meeting.
I think about what all of them said. But my mind is already made up as I watch the men disappear inside the bar.
I know I can’t take down the whole operation single-handed, but I can weaken them, set some fires, maybe learn something…
at the very least, I can burn off some of this overwhelming frustration at the alliance's lack of action.
This might not make me popular with the other alphas, but deep down, I have a feeling they’ll understand. And if they don’t, that’s on them.
I get back in my truck and hit the gates before the compound even realizes it’s under attack.
The first guard is still fumbling with his safety when I drag him over the barbed wire, snapping his neck with one hand and dropping him just as fast. The air smells like diesel and the sharp tang of human fear, and my wolf thrives on it, because I’d rather these assholes be afraid than my pack.
I drop low, moving between the lines of shipping containers toward the heart of the compound as I hear the alarm blare out.
I let my wolf out, just a little, as I take on the second guard.
This one’s just a kid, and I don’t kill him, just knock him cold and leave him propped behind the tire of a black SUV.
I’m not here for a massacre, not really.
Mostly, I want names and faces, and a little destruction.
I want to know what’s going on and leave with a clear path.
That’s what Rowan would want, and it’s what the alliance needs.
But the more I move through the yard, the less sure I am that I’m here for anyone but myself.
The first volley of bullets misses by a mile.
They ricochet off the metal siding and clatter down at my feet, two or three getting buried in the dirt.
I know they’ll be laced with cheap silver fragments designed to stay buried beneath the skin rather than pushed out by my healing mechanisms. We’ve come across enough of this shit by now, but they also can’t afford the proper stuff, so the bullets end up being a nuisance rather than deadly.
I haven’t seen any magic here, apart from the wards that triggered the alarms, but I don’t sense anything darker.
I move quickly across the yard, ignoring the bullets flying.
Human soldiers always aim for the body mass, always expect the monster to charge straight at them.
I vault the nearest rail, land behind a forklift, and wait for the next round.
My hands shake, but only a little, and not with fear.
My wolf is pissed, but he’ll settle as soon as we find a real target.
I’m halfway through the lot when I realize none of these guards are like the hunters we’ve faced before; they’re untrained and look terrified.
They seem to flinch before even pulling the trigger, and the guy who tries to shoulder-tackle me bounces off and lands in a heap.
Either they’re running a skeleton crew, or they never expected a shifter to come at them so soon and so loud.
I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.
The bar is at the center of the compound, a bunker with blackout windows and a flat roof.
I see the men in suits standing back but barking orders at the men on the deck, a flurry of frantic movement behind the glass.
I recognize the type: middle management, not real killers, just the kind that sign off on the killing.
The men in the bar aren’t even armed, not really, just a couple of pistols waved around with trembling hands, and I almost laugh at the way they try to look brave for each other.
I advance, slow and purposeful. I want them to see me coming.
I want them to feel the same kind of dread our packs have been dealing with.
One of the suits comes barreling out of nowhere, obviously trying to reach one of the vehicles parked over by the fence.
I let my wolf loose just a little more and take him down easily, grabbing him by the throat as he struggles, grasping at my shirt until my claws tighten.
“Don’t,” I say as he attempts to pull a gun from his waistband with hands that don’t quite work. I grab his wrist, twist, and hear the tendons stretch until he drops the weapon. I hold him there, letting the moment stretch, then turn my gaze on the others, who have frozen in place outside the bar.
“I want names,” I tell them, keeping my grip tight. “I want to know what you’re doing here. And you’re going to tell me before I start breaking bones.”
The man closest to me nearly trips over his own feet as he backs away. He tries to talk, but the words die in his throat. Behind him, a woman with sharp eyes and a mouth built for bad news lifts her chin and stares me down.
“You’re Cade,” she says. “Alpha of the Wilder pack. I know about you.”
“Then you know what happens if you don’t talk,” I growl, feeling the rage building again.
She glances at the other two, then shrugs. “You’re not here to kill us. If you were, you’d have done it.” That almost gets a smile out of me.
“You sure about that?” I say, squeezing the man’s neck a little more.
She nods, and I see something like calculation in her eyes. “You want information. I’m not sure I can give you what you want.” She glances around, shrugging lightly. “We just do storage here, so not much to say.”
I don’t believe her. “Well, that’s a shame for you, and this guy,” I say, and go to snap his neck, but she steps forward, her hands up.
“I-I have something to trade, though,” she says quickly.
I feel a hush fall over the yard, and even the terrified man I’m holding seems to freeze.
A few exchange glances, and I suspect at least a few of them have no idea what she’s talking about.
I’m not sure they care, though. They look like they’d trade their own moms to get out of this fight.
She signals to someone behind her, and two of the city lackeys drag a figure out from the shadows behind the bar’s loading dock.
I almost miss her at first, the way she folds in on herself, the way she’s dressed like she’s part of the scenery—drab, shapeless hoodie, dark jeans, hair hidden under a beanie.
What draws my eyes, and my wolf’s focus, is the shock of scent that hits me from thirty paces out.
It’s so strong my body nearly doubles over from the punch of it.
She’s human, definitely not a shifter, but something's not right; her scent is too strong, but human. My wolf feels instantly confused.
The men haul her into the open, one on each arm.
She keeps her head down, walking as if she’s practiced the motion of being dragged and doesn’t want to break the rhythm.
The woman at the front, who is clearly running the show, steps aside so the group can see the girl and me at the same time, her eyes flicking between us with the same interest you give a bomb you’re pretty sure is going to go off.
The closer the girl gets, the stronger the scent.
I try to keep my face blank, but my jaw tightens, and I have to dig my claws into the man’s neck just to keep control.
My wolf is climbing me from the inside, every hair standing up, every nerve turned to a livewire.
I’ve never felt anything like this, nothing this intense.
The men push her forward until she’s nearly at my feet.
The hood slips back, and I see her gray eyes, wide and furious, set in a face so heartbreakingly young and beautiful that I almost recoil.
She glares straight at me, and for a second, I think she’s about to spit in my face, but instead, she just straightens out her arms and yanks free from the goons.
I look at the woman who’s been doing the talking. “What is this?” I say, and my voice sounds raw.
“You want her; you can have her. Hell, you can take her and leave. Or you can stand here and watch as we put a bullet in her head.” She nods to the man at her side, and he draws a gun, leveling it at the girl without a flicker of hesitation.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” the girl says, voice shaking for the first time.
She whips around to face the hunters, betrayal scrawled across her face.
“I work for you. I’m one of you. Why would you turn me over to him?
” Her voice breaks on the last word, and something about that makes my wolf rear up again, desperate and wild.
None of this makes sense. She’s human, but not. She’s a hunter, but not. I don’t know what she is, only that if that man pulls the trigger, I will rip him apart before the bullet leaves the chamber.
I clench my hands, claws pushing through the skin. “What’s the play here?” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “You think I’ll just take her and leave? Why would I want her?”
The woman’s mouth twists in a smirk. “I think you’ll do exactly that. You’re one of those hero types, and you’ll regret it if you let him kill her.” She gestures, and the man cocks the gun, pressing it to the girl’s temple.
The girl goes deathly still, her voice flat. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s a mistake. I haven’t done anything wrong.” She looks at me then, and I swear I see something in her eyes. It’s fear, but also genuine confusion. She really doesn’t know why they’re offering her up like this.
I have about five seconds to mull the situation over before that guy pulls the trigger, and I know my wolf will lose his shit.
Would that be the end of the world? These hunters seem completely disorganized, and I could put them down here and now.
But somewhere at the back of my mind, the thought nags that killing them all like this wouldn’t feel preemptive; it would feel wrong.
Without proof that they’re part of the group that’s been attacking us, is it wrong to kill them just because they’re bigoted toward shifters?
Do I really have proof that these are the hunters that are working with the Order and the European faction? They seem too weak for that.
I’m starting to sound like Rowan and the others. Far too much thinking time.
And then there’s the girl. I look at her for the first time, really look.
She’s not what I’d expect to find in a place like this.
I clock the soft, red-auburn hair escaping her beanie.
Her clothes are tatty and oversized, the type a woman might wear to avoid being looked at too closely.
Her eyes are steel gray, like a winter sky that will never break for sunlight.
She’s young, so much younger than anyone has a right to be in a shithole like this.
Her skin is porcelain and seems like the perfect canvas for the raw defiance I see in her expression.
I suspect she tends to run her mouth and gets herself into trouble often enough, given the way she’s tilting her chin, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
Her lips are full and pink, and even with her whole body shaking, she’s holding herself up like she’s not going to let anyone see her break.
She’s too young for this. Too young for any of it, but especially too young to be offered up as a bargaining chip by people she obviously knows. Is she really one of them? Her face doesn’t fit, but I’m old enough to know that doesn’t always mean shit.
I let the man I’m holding drop, and as soon as he’s on the ground, I take a step forward.
The guy with the gun tightens his grip on her arm, flinches back, but she just stands there, eyes locked on me.
The others circle, waiting to see what I’m going to do.
I can smell their fear; that much is genuine.
The woman who seems to be in charge of this keeps her hands in sight, a little too casual. She’s smart enough to know I’m probably about to do something unpredictable, but not smart enough to know what.
“You want her, you take her,” she repeats, voice soft now, almost reasonable. “Or we end it right here. Either way, our hands are clean, and this is on you.”
The girl’s eyes bounce from the barrel to my face.
There’s fear there, yeah, but also calculation, like she’s already running through scenarios.
Like how fast I could move, if I could get to her before the trigger pulls.
Am I worse than facing the bullet anyway?
All I know is that I can’t let this happen.
I take another step, slow and deliberate, hands up, claws in, wolf held back by a thread. “Let her go,” I say, and I can feel the growl in my chest, vibrating all the way to my teeth. “She’s not your problem anymore.”
The woman in charge laughs, a short, sharp sound. “None of this is my problem, wolf. I just don’t want to die tonight. Take her and go. You can do what you want with her.”
I watch the young girl’s eyes go wide, and she freezes as I grab her. The look in her eyes tells me she might be more afraid of me than she was of the gun. But there’s something else there, too, and it looks a lot like rage.