I finished my drink and set the glass down, the clink loud in the dead quiet.
When the phone buzzed on the table, Bronc read the message and nodded. “We see the king in thirty minutes.”
“Copy that,” I said again, the words as hollow as a spent shell. I straightened my shirt, ran fingers through my hair, and checked the mirror one more time for tells. The man who looked back was good at hiding things, but his jaw was clenched so tight the tendons stood out like cables. I forced a breath through my nose and let it out slow, practiced, the way Doc taught us. Then I followed Bronc down the hall, each step echoing like a countdown in my skull.
If the king wanted a war, he was about to see what it looked like up close.
The king’s office was a gunmetal cage at the top of the third floor, all slab glass and uncarpeted concrete, fluorescent lights burning white holes into the dusk outside. Gone were the antebellum ghosts and the sweet rot of magnolia—this was a war room, with floor-to-ceiling monitors, scrolling news feeds, security camera grids, and biometric logs I could read from fifteen feet. Even the air tasted sterile, like something you’d use to clean a crime scene.
Rafe Mayfield was taller in person than any photograph could convey—an inch or two on Bronc, shoulders wide enough to block the morning sun, and a beard as black as the suit he wore. He didn’t rise when we entered, just angled his chair and motioned to the two seats across from the desk. Next to him stood his beta, Stetson, who looked more like a wolf than a man: square jaw, stare that could strip paint, hands folded so tight the knuckles were bone white. His gaze raked us up and down, twice.
“Evenin’boys,” Rafe said, his voice a bourbon slow pour. “Glad to see y’all made it in one piece.” He flicked his eyes to the clock. “Let’s not waste time. You got something for me?”
I laid the file folders on the glass—one for Harrison, one for the missing shifters, and one marked “Private.” Bronc opened the top folder and spread the photos across the desk: Juliet’s hospital records, the before-and-after shots of her mother, the chemical analysis of the serum. Rafe’s face didn’t change, but Stetson’s jaw clenched, sharp and fast.
“We know the Council’s been briefed,” Bronc began, “but this is what you haven’t seen. Juliet’s mother was taken when he couldn’t find Juliet. He wanted a hybrid. All the others were the known missing from packs generally in the Midwest. Juliet went in to rescue her mother and got taken herself. That’s when Harrison realized what he had—omega blood from a fated mate.”
Rafe picked up one of the photos and held it to the light. “She’s your mate?”
Bronc nodded. “Hastings used her mother to make the first stable batch.”
“Council says there’s only one dose left.” Stetson’s voice was flat, dead. “You got it?”
Bronc shot me a look. I answered for us both. “Destroyed it. There was no way to guarantee it wouldn’t be used again. We also scuttled the entire underground lab, burned it beyond recognition with everyone in it. Removed all hard drives. And Hastings is dead. Juliet killed him herself.”
Rafe looked duly impressed with our Luna. Then gestured to the next folder. “And this is…?”
“Cross-reference of every missing shifter on the east side of the Rockies.” I watched Rafe’s eyes as he paged through—he didn’t flinch at the autopsy photos, but the list of names seemed to slow him.
Stetson finally broke his poker face. “That’s a lotta bodies.”
“We hope that’s all there was.” I leaned forward. “The Council doesn’t want this getting out, but I think it’s important for anyone with missing loved ones. They need closure. But most of all, I care about my pack. And right now, they are in the crosshairs. We didn’t cause this. My mate didn’t cause this. She didn’t have the slightest idea about her shifter heritage when she came to Iron Valor. That was fate, plain and simple. It might be old-fashioned thinking, but I don’t give two fucks. The Goddess brought Juliet to me. Can’t make me believe otherwise. There is no other explanation for how a wealthy New York socialite, with no ties or knowledge of her shifter heritage, made her way to fucking Dairyville, Texas, to work for the Alpha of a shifter pack. Not her fault those shifters lost their lives. Not Iron Valor’s fault.”
Rafe set the folder down and laced his fingers together. “I’m inclined to agree, Bronc. So why come to me? You want me to be the shield between the Council and your pack when it comes to any of them pointing fingers your way over the missing shifters?”
“I think it’d go a long way in terms of Iron Valor’s credibility as far as our word goes. Some already see us as some kind of vigilantes after Greenbriar.” Bronc stood his ground.
Rafe raised a dark eyebrow and looked my way. “What happened with Greenbriar was one hundred percent justified. I dare anyone to say otherwise. Anyone who has anything bad to say about Iron Valor or you or Bridger Hardin over that can discuss it with me.”
That took me completely off guard as I made eye contact with him. “Thank you, sir,” I told him.
The king stilled for a moment, then continued. “Now, that brings us to our next order of business. The reason I think you are actually here. I understand there is an issue with the power-hungry King of the East, Declan Calloway?”
Bronc answered, voice low and deliberate. “When we took down the Hastings lab rescuing my mate, Juliet, there was another woman there. Bridger is the one who freed her from her chains.In doing so, he also discovered, amazingly enough, she is also his fated mate.”
Rafe’s beard twitched, maybe the ghost of a smile. “Oh, come on. This is something out of Disney.”
I didn’t blink. “It’s pretty unfucking believable, but no less true. Speaking of Disney. My fated mate happens to be Princess Savannah Calloway.”
Rafe shook his head. “You are shitting me.”
Stetson whistled a low note. “She’s with you now?”
“Sheismy mate.” My voice was as cold as the office.
Rafe stared for a long second. “You’re sure about that.”
“We’re bonded.” The words came out in a growl as Bronc put his hand on my arm and Stetson took a step toward me.
