Rafe put a hand up as if to push his man back and shook his head no.
“No offense, Bridger. I needed to know. I believe you.”
Bronc spoke next. “Declan wants Savannah back. He set her up for an arranged mating/marriage with King Dominic Madison. But she ran, and the son of a bitch is losing face by the day. He’ll do anything to get her back—he’s already sent several bounty hunters after her. They’ve all failed. Part of that reason is that she was taken by Hastings. She spent weeks being tortured in his lab.”
I waited for Stetson to weigh in, but he just watched me, gaze sharp as broken glass. I stared right back.
Rafe finally broke the silence. “You said Savannah was being hunted.”
“She’s safe in Dairyville, but we’re not stupid enough to think that’ll last. Declan’s got eyes everywhere, and if he figures out where she is, he’ll come himself. She’s being guarded, but it’s a matter of time.”
Stetson snorted. “And you want us to run interference?”
“No.” I met his eyes, let him see the steel. “I want you to tell us what Declan’s next move is, and how many hitters he’s got on payroll. After that, we’ll handle it.”
Rafe uncapped a pen and tapped it against the desk. “You trust your mate?”
“With my life,” I said.
He scribbled a note, then leaned forward, voice dropping. “If Savannah is what you say, the Calloways and the Madisons won’t stop at killing. They’ll try to break you. Maybe use the Council to void your bond. You need to be ready.”
“Already am,” I said. I could feel Bronc’s silent approval at my back. “If the Council could void a bond, could they uphold a bond? If it can be proven that our bond is fated, would that carry any extra weight? I know it’s rare these days. For fuck’s sake, it’s Goddess-blessed. There are still people who hold that sacred, right?” I knew I could be grasping at straws. But I was willing to grab at anything.
The king of the South watched us for a long moment, then smiled—a flash of teeth, nothing soft about it. “I know many people still hold the tradition sacred, myself included.” He snapped the folder shut and slid it to the edge of the desk. “It might be the very thing that at least will give you time. But there’s a price. If you’re wrong about the bond, the Council will strip you both. Mate marks, rank, everything. So don’t fuck this up.”
I smiled, tight as piano wire. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
As we left, Stetson followed us to the elevator, silent and wolf-eyed. I glanced back at the king, who was already dialed into another call. Business as usual.
In the end, it was just like Bronc said. The king had more to lose than we did. He needed his strongest packs intact and at the ready at all times. He couldn’t afford for Iron Valor to bedecimated.
Morning came with a thick mist hugging the fields outside the window, blurring the edge of the world. I’d slept three hours, maybe less, and spent most of the night cycling through every potential betrayal, every angle that could fuck us before we saw it coming. Bronc’s light snoring in the next room was steady, untroubled; I envied him, but not enough to wish for ignorance. I spoke briefly with Savannah. She sounded tired. I tried to encourage her and told her I was doing everything I could to get her out of her engagement to Dominic. We weren’t out of the woods yet.
I was dressed before sunrise, black shirt tucked in and cufflinks with our Iron Valor crest secured at the wrists, ready to meet the day like it might punch first. At exactly 0700, the intercom buzzed. “King Mayfield requests your presence, gentlemen.”
We took the back stairs this time, led by a silent butler in a navy suit. The war room was brighter now, windows open to a washed-out sky, and the cold light made everything look even more surgical. Rafe stood at the far end of the room, sleeves rolled, tie gone. Stetson waited behind him, and another man—older, white-haired, with the kind of stillness that meant he’d been in worse rooms than this—stood off to the side. Probably security chief, or Council liaison.
Rafe motioned us to the same seats. His eyes were bloodshot, but there was nothing soft about them. “Gentlemen,” he said, voice all business. “Last night, I put out feelers on the Madison situation. My people came back with a new wrinkle: I was told that Declan could appeal to the Council to void your mate bond, Bridger. He could say it’s not to be recognized because it wasn’t approved by her family.”
Bronc’s lips tightened, but he stayed silent. I let the words settle, then asked, “So what could he do?”
“He could demand Savannah be stripped of her mate mark and returned to Martha’s Vinyard. Preferably in pieces, I’m sure.” Rafe didn’t sugarcoat it. “Then he could try to sanction you for breaking protocol.”
I felt the old anger light up behind my ribs. “And the Council would buy this shit?”
Rafe held up a hand, forestalling me. “No. But they have to be seen as neutral. Which means they’d require an outside party to confirm the fated bond. They’d send someone—witch, angel, maybe even a vampire—to do it. If you passed, you’re good. If not…” He let the thought hang.
Stetson spoke, voice even. “It’s rare, but it happens. You just need to prove the bond is real.”
“Savannah’s not a pawn,” I growled. “She chose me. The Goddess chose us.”
Rafe nodded. “Doesn’t matter. The Council doesn’t give a damn about the Goddess. They care about precedent. And if you can’t play by their rules, they’ll burn you both.”
Bronc jumped in. “If we were to get ahead of this, what would be the Council’s timeline?”
“Three days. Maybe four.” Rafe’s eyes were flat as slate. “You can stay here until then, or go back and prep your case. But you’ll need evidence. The Council likes documentation—bloodwork, testimony, physical proof.”
I laughed, bitter. “Want me to fuck her on the witness stand?”
