Consciousness returns like a bad hangover—the kind where you question every life choice that led to this moment while your head tries to split itself in half.
I'm lying on concrete. The air smells like dust and old metal, and when I try to move, my wrists scream in protest against rough bindings that dig into already raw skin.
My eyes flutter open to nothing encouraging: no windows, a single door, concrete walls designed to absorb hope and replace it with existential dread. I have no idea how much time has passed since the cottage.
Since they dragged me away from my father while he fought to reach me.
Dad.
The memory hits me like a physical blow—his face bloodied but still fighting, still reaching for me even as they overwhelmed him.
Is he alive? Is he hurt? Is he gonna find me?
The questions spiral through my pounding head with no answers in sight.
The door opens with a screech, and a man enters. Middle-aged, forgettable, except for his eyes. Those light blue eyes are cold enough to give frostbite, regarding me with unconcealed disgust.
The kind you'd reserve for something rotting in a garbage disposal.
"Finally awake." His voice is flat, clinical. "Your kind recovers quickly, apparently. Fascinating, if you weren't such an abomination."
The words don't compute. "What are you talking about? Where's my father? What do you want with me?"
He laughs, and the sound contains zero warmth—just hollow mockery echoing off concrete.
"Hybrid. Half-blood. Freak. Abomination. Pick your favorite term. They all mean the same thing: you're a mistake of nature. An offense against the natural order that my organization exists to correct."
"I'm just a human…" The protest sounds weak even to my own ears. "I don't know what you think I am, but you've got the wrong person. I'm just Richard Winters' daughter, that's it."
"Richard Winters' daughter." He says it like a punchline. "Yes, you certainly are. And Savannah's daughter too, which is where the problem lies."
He steps closer, and I shrink back against the wall. "Your kind shouldn't exist. Nature never intended for wolves to breed with humans—it's perversion, corruption of bloodlines that have remained pure for millennia."
"I don't understand what you're…"
"You don't need to understand." He cuts me off with dismissive finality. "You just need to cease existing. Which you will, very soon." He turns toward the door. "Enjoy your remaining time. It won't be too long though."
The door slams shut.
Hybrid. Half-blood. Savannah's daughter.
None of it makes sense, but his certainty sends ice through my veins.
Minutes crawl past like wounded animals. I work at my bindings, feeling the rope dig deeper with every twist, but desperation is a hell of a motivator. The fibers loosen fractionally—not enough to escape but enough to feel like progress.
Then the door opens again, and my heart surges with relief so intense it makes me dizzy. Theo.
He's here. He found me!
Everything's going to be okay because Theo is standing in the doorway with that familiar easy smile.
Tears prick my eyes as he crosses the room, crouching in front of me.
"Theo!" My voice cracks with tears and joy. "Oh god, you found me. Is Hugh okay? Is he coming? Please tell me everyone's alright—"
"Hugh isn't coming." His smile doesn't waver, but something shifts behind his eyes—coldness seeping through like ink spreading through water. "No one is, princess. It's just you and me now."
I don't understand and the words refuse to arrange themselves into meaning.
"What? What do you mean? Theo, we need to get out of here before they come back. And there was that man that…"
He laughs softly, and the sound is nothing like the warm chuckle I've grown accustomed to. This is something darker.
"You really didn't figure it out, did you? All those car rides, all those conversations, all that time I spent getting close to you… And you never once suspected."
His voice turns almost gentle if only not the mocking and cruel pity underneath.
"The attacks. The leak that kept feeding them your location, your schedules, your routes. That was me, Claire. It's been me the whole time."
My relief curdles into horror so complete it steals my breath.
Theo. The man who made me laugh, who charmed my best friend, who I trusted because Hugh trusted him.
The betrayal cuts deeper than any physical wound.
"Why?" The word comes out strangled. "Hugh trusts you. He made you his Gamma. How could you…!"
"Business." He tilts my chin up with fingers that feel like ice. "Nothing personal, princess. You're worth a lot to the right people, and loyalty only goes so far when the price is high enough. Hugh's a good Alpha, but he's blinded by the mate bond. Made him sloppy. Made you easy to take."
I spit right in his arrogant face. Fuck him!
The satisfaction is brief but worth it. He wipes it off with deliberate calm, smile never wavering.
"Spirited until the end. Hugh chose well." He stands, brushing off his knees. "Goodbye, Claire. For what it's worth, I did enjoy our talks."
He leaves, and the door closes with finality that sounds like a death sentence.
Time crawls and I work at my bindings with renewed desperation, the rope loosening incrementally. My wrists are raw, probably bleeding, but pain is secondary to the consuming need to escape.
Then—sounds. Distant at first, then closer. Shouts. Gunfire. And then screaming—not controlled sounds of combat, but raw terror. Men yelling about something coming, something fast.
"—rabid—it's fucking rabid—"
The words cut off into screaming and wet, terrible sounds I don't want to identify. Violence beyond anything human, primal brutality that makes my blood run cold.
The door shudders like something massive hit it. I scramble back against the wall, heart hammering, certain whatever's coming through will kill me.
After everything—the kidnapping, the betrayal, the revelation I'm some supernatural hybrid—I'm going to die without understanding why. The door tears off its hinges with a screech of metal.
A massive gray wolf stands in the doorway, muzzle dark with blood, amber eyes blazing with fury and desperation. Those eyes—I know those eyes. I've seen them flash amber in passion, watched them track me across rooms with barely contained hunger.
"Hugh…" His name comes out as barely a whisper.
The wolf shifts—bones cracking and reforming, fur receding—until Hugh stands before me naked and blood-streaked, crossing the room in strides that eat the distance.
Then I'm in his arms, pulled against his chest so hard it almost hurts, and he's shaking as he holds me. His hands move frantically, checking for injuries with trembling fingers.
"Are you hurt? Did they touch you? Claire, sweetheart, talk to me."
"I'm okay. I'm okay, I think." The words come out between gasps as he slices through my bindings with claws that extend and retract in heartbeats. "Hugh, Theo… He's the one who—"
"I know." His voice is rough, wrecked. "I know. He's been dealt with."
He grabs a jacket from a fallen man near the door, wrapping it around my shoulders before pulling me close again. "We're getting out of here. Can you walk?"
"Yes." I'm not actually sure, but I'll crawl if I have to.