I looked down the alley. The Sprinter glimmered in the weird light, a shimmer that bent the edges of reality. Aspen was in the passenger seat, eyes closed, lips moving. Her familiar, Oscar, sat on the roof, head swiveling. You wouldn’t see him if you weren’t looking, but I’d learned to pick out the faint blur of his fur. He was the best spotter we had, rodent or not.
I checked my watch. The sweep team would be back in eighteen minutes, the girls would start lining up for exit around two. That’s when Harper would come out, if she was on tonight. If she were alive.
My brain wanted to spiral, but I forced it down. Focus. Nothing else mattered.
“Status,” I said, more to myself than anyone.
Big Papa shifted, body loose, the way only giants can be. “We’re good, Arsenal. We got you.”
Wrecker flicked his knife back into his belt, flexed his hands. “I got left. Papa’s got right. You move on her, we move with you.”
I nodded once. “Copy.”
We waited.
Minutes crawled. The only sound was the hum of transformers and the far-off pulse of club music. I found myself counting my own breaths, keeping my heart from jumping. Every sense dialed up: I could hear the whisper of Parker’s typing, the rustle of Oscar’s claws on sheet metal, even the faint pulse of blood in the witch’s throat as she checked the alley again, ten minutes later.
I thought about Harper. I thought about what she’d endured, and what it had cost her. I thought about the time I saw her dance, when her body moved like she was making war against the world. I thought about what I would do to the men who tried to break her.
Mostly, I thought about the moment I’d see her again. What I’d say. What I’d do if she said she didn’t want saving.
I ran my thumb over the scar on my palm, grounding myself.
The door opened again at 2:00. The same bouncer, walking a troupe of girls. This time, they were chatting and laughing walking towards the parking lot. I heard a couple of snide remarks about “Steiner’s little princess.” They seemed to be under the impression that Harper lived some kind of life of luxury and not the hell she’d implied to me. That made my stomach twist. That can’t be true. I saw the stress on her face. She was a prisoner, I was certain.
“Two minutes,” I said. “Last sweep.”
Wrecker checked his watch, then the door, then the street. Big Papa rolled his neck, a slow crackle of vertebrae. I felt them at my back, solid, ready.
Parker’s voice again: “Get ready, boss. Aspen said the veil is strongest at 2:17.”
“Copy.”
The waiting was the worst part. Waiting for the op to start. Waiting to see if your best was enough. Waiting to find out if you were going to be the hero, or just another name on the wall.
I kept my eyes on the door, breath steady, gun tucked tight in the holster.
Tonight, I was both wolf and soldier. And nothing on earth or in hell was going to keep me from my mate.
The minutes ticked down, and the world held its breath.
This was it.
At 2:14, the club’s back door stuttered open and Harper stumbled into the alleyway. My pulse spiked, but my hands stayed steady. She was shadowed by the regular bouncer, a slab of meat with a shaved skull and navy suit, the kind that flexed on ex-cons to make sure nobody forgot who ran the world. He held her by the wrist, none too gently.
Even from a distance, I saw she’d been through something awful tonight. Her hair hung loose past her shoulders; the blonde seemed colorless in the poor light. She wore a t-shirt dress that sagged off her frame. Her body was fit as always, but everything else about her screamed she was unwell. Her face was a wreck—mascara streaks, a split at the corner of her mouth, eyes lifeless. It was as though she’d somehow lost her will to go on. That changed tonight.
The bouncer marched her to the waiting Escalade, same as every night. He did a sweep of the alley and didn’t see us. Why would he? He was human. He unlocked the driver door, leaving Harper standing at the passenger side. She wrapped her arms around herself, shoulders hunched against the chill. I counted the steps, readying myself.
Wrecker murmured, “Go.”
I moved.
Six strides, and I was behind her. My hand covered her mouth before she could scream. Her body locked up, and theshock rolled off her in a shudder. I angled my face down, speaking low into her ear. “It’s me. I’ve got you.”
She stilled, pulse going wild against my palm. I felt her inhale, a long, desperate drag of air, and then her whole body went slack. It was almost as though she’d expected me.
“Do you trust me?” I whispered.
