When the rescue came—and it would come—I would be ready.
Let them try to break me.
I was Iron Valor now.
And I wasn’t going down easy.
Chapter 24
Gunner
Ididn’t know how many times I could replay the abduction in my head before it burned itself out, but I knew I’d never forget a single second of it. Wrecker had pulled the security cam files from every angle in the gallery, then triple-encrypted them on a hard drive locked in the Iron Valor safe. We’d all watched it—once, twice, a dozen times—until even the new kids who’d never seen a demon king in action understood just how outmatched we were.
It had barely been two hours since Brie had been ripped away from me. I was in the basement meeting room with the other officers and Ms. Pearl, waiting for the Supreme Council session to start. Wrecker’s laptop was already bristling with cables, the big screens on the walls waiting for the video conference meeting to blink to life. Bronc paced the length of the conference table, boots thudding on hardwood. Arsenal and Big Papa flanked the door, arms crossed and faces stone-set. Doc leaned against the wall like he were holding it up. Ms. Pearl moved like a ghost between us, a coffee mug in each hand, making sure nobody bled out from lack of caffeine.
I sat at the end, hands wrapped around the biggest mug she had, waiting for the signal. Every muscle in my body twitched like it was waiting to pounce. My fingernails pressed into the ceramic so hard, the knucklesached. I could feel my wolf just behind my ribs, howling and clawing to break free.
“Easy, Gunner,” Bronc said. He slid into the chair beside me, closer than usual, a steady hand anchoring my shoulder. “We need your head, not your teeth. Let the Council see we’re in control.”
I nodded, jaw locked, and took a breath so deep it rattled the mug. “I’m good,” I lied.
He grunted. “You will be.”
Wrecker finished wiring the screens, then called over his shoulder. “Sixty seconds, boys. Everyone ready to meet these fuckers?”
A collective exhale from the room. Even Big Papa let out a grunt, flexing his hands like he’d just split a log. The tension was a living thing, crawling up the walls and hiding in every corner.
Ms. Pearl put a hand on my forearm, her touch cool and soft. “They’re rattled too, sugar,” she murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Don’t let them see anything but fire.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”
The video conference tone echoed through the room, and the screen flickered to life.
First up was Rafe Mayfield—King of the Southern Wolves, seated in a leather chair that barely fit his frame. His black hair was slicked back, full beard trimmed sharp, but it was the eyes that killed. They pinned the camera with a predator’s focus, like he was about to reach through and wring a confession out of whoever looked back.
Next to him, the king of the Midwest; our own Menace, who looked more like a hitman than a king, with his mate Savannah on his lap, one hand stroking her hair and the other flicking a knife open and closed. We’d set him up in Juliet’s office just off the meeting room. Menace was deadly. Guess he’d put Savannah on his lap to make him less threatening. The knife ruined the effect.
The East wolves were represented by the newest king, Savannah’s youngest brother Griffin, pressed into duty when her father was executed for stabbing (and killing) Menace after the battle to keep her as a mate. Of course, Archon saw to it that Menace was still alive. And the Southwest shifter king Slade Stewart looked alert and tuned in.
Three witch covens were also represented. Shahsta Tierney was dressed in fiery reds as her role as High Flame Caller must demand, her hair in tight braids around her head. Starweaver Fallon of the Astral Spire Coven was draped in purple and black lace with a silver shawl draped over her shoulders. Her blonde hair was in a high ponytail that highlighted her washed-out face and plum-colored lips. The oddest by far was the Mistress of Shadows from the Gloamreach Coven. I always wondered whether they wore their clothing as a costume or if it gave them power. Her hair was a tangle of curls and feathers; her pale face was pretty but made to look so fucking weird with one eye lined with thick black eyeliner and the other with no makeup at all. She wore some kind of loose black robe and sat in a feathered chair.
On the other screens were non-wolf delegates: Otero, Vampire King of the West, beautiful but with a weasel-like air that made you want to punch him in his face. His silver hair spilled over his collar, eyes like black oil, and his mouth never lost the little hint of a smile. Next to him, Archon looked radiant and almost holy. He radiated light even in digital form; his golden gaze somehow made the whole room smell like light and lilies. I’d never seen anyone make Bronc nervous before, but Archon did it with a tilt of his head and a gentle blink. We’d set him up in an empty apartment next to Arsenal’s on the second floor.
Rounding out the group was Kazimir Kozlov, the Eastern Vampire King; the most ancient of all the supernaturals. His black hair hung like a satin curtain over his shoulder. He sat relaxed on a large golden throne and wore what looked like a red and black satin smoking jacket. Next to him sat his beautiful daughter, Lucia. Black curls framed her delicate face;large dark eyes and full red lips held a slight smile. Lucia always looked like she knew a secret she could share but kept to herself.
Wrecker turned the camera on us, and I felt the weight of every gaze. Rafe nodded once, slow and deliberate.
The Council Chairwoman called the meeting to order and handed it over to Rafe. He got right to it, his voice low but carrying. “We are here in the matter of The Demon Maltraz’s many violations of Supernatural Law. The evidence submitted by Iron Valor is… significant. But I want to hear it from you, Bronc. No theatrics. Just the truth.”
Bronc didn’t stand, didn’t shift his weight. He just leaned in, hands folded, and spoke in the voice he used for deployments and funerals.
“Earlier this evening,” he began, “Brie Lawson—fated mate of Finn ‘Gunner’ Walsh—was abducted by Maltraz, demon king, in the presence of no fewer than fifty witnesses; including humans. He was using an assumed identity: Lysander Hale, a Boston art rep, and had established a relationship with Brie over several weeks. The abduction occurred during her gallery opening. He took her from our territory and left no trace.”
He nodded at Wrecker, who piped up. “We have video evidence. Maltraz’s disguise drops at the moment of abduction. There’s a visible shift—horns, skin, eyes, the whole thing. I can play the file at your request.”
Rafe grunted. “We’ll get to that.” He glanced at the top row of screens. “King Menace, you’ve been tracking Maltraz for months. Did you suspect this?”
Menace’s face flickered with a smile. “I’d heard he was back in the trafficking game, but no, I didn’t think he’d get bold enough to snatch a mated wolf within sight of a standing-room only crowd. I was there at the time. He deliberately put our world in jeopardy. This is beyond breaking human law.”
