The sound froze her blood.
Not now.
But even as the thought formed, she knew she had to look. Anything Bracken said could provide intelligence, could give them an advantage. With trembling fingers, she picked up the phone.
The text was short.You need to see this.
Below it was a video attachment.
Her chest constricted instinctively. Something deep in her gut screamed that whatever was on that video would shatter the fragile sense of safety she’d found here.
She tapped the video with a finger that shook despite her efforts to stay calm.
The screen flickered to life, revealing a dimly lit warehouse. Concrete walls. Harsh fluorescent lighting that cast everything in sickly yellow tones. And there, bound to chairs in the center of the frame, were her parents.
Her mother, Anastasia, looked smaller than Winslet remembered, her dark hair disheveled and her eyes wide with terror above the gag that cut across her mouth. Her father, Dmitri, struggled against his bonds, his face bruised and bloodied but his eyes blazing with fury.
And nearby, slumped unconscious against a support beam, was her Uncle Sergei. Blood matted his graying hair, and his face was so swollen she almost didn’t recognize him.
“No.” The word escaped her lips as a broken whisper.
The camera moved slightly, and she caught a glimpse of massive shoulders, the suggestion of a presence just out of frame. Bracken. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt him there—the patient confidence of a hunter who knew his prey was trapped.
Her hands shook so violently she had to brace the phone against the dresser. Sweat prickled at the base of her neck as the full weight of the threat crashed over her. This wasn’t posturing or empty intimidation. Bracken had her family. The three people in the world she loved most were at his mercy.
And he wanted her to know it.
The video ended abruptly, leaving her staring at a black screen that reflected her own pale, terrified face.
Immediately, the phone rang.
Bracken’s name flashed on the caller ID like a curse. Her thumb hovered over the decline button, but she forced herself to answer. She needed to hear what he wanted, needed to understand the terms of this nightmare.
“Winslet, sweetheart.” His voice filled the room, silky and dangerous, carrying that familiar edge of possession that had once made her feel special and now made her skin crawl. “You’ve made some very bad choices lately.”
Korrak appeared in the bedroom doorway, drawn by the sound. His eyes locked on her face, reading the terror there, and his expression went arctic cold.
“But I’m a reasonable man,” Bracken continued, his tone conversational despite the underlying threat. “I can forget about your little rebellion. Forget about your new... friend. All you have to do is come home where you belong. Marry me like we planned. Do what you’re supposed to do, and your family lives.”
The words hit like arrows to her heart. Her throat constricted, making it hard to breathe.
“Choose your polar bear,” Bracken’s voice dropped to a whisper that carried across the phone like a blade, “and they die slowly.”
The line went dead.
Winslet stared at the phone, her entire body trembling with a mixture of rage and terror. This wasn’t about love or even possession anymore. This was about winning. Bracken couldn’t tolerate that she’d chosen someone else, that she’d found happiness beyond his control.
“Winslet.” Korrak’s voice sliced through her spiraling panic. “Show me.”
She turned to him, her fingers quivering as she held out the phone. “He has them. My parents. My uncle. He’ll kill them if I don’t?—“
“Show me the video.”
His tone brooked no argument, and she found herself obeying automatically, playing the footage again. Korrak studied the screen with the focused intensity of a predator analyzing prey, his ice-blue eyes cataloging every detail.
“Northern warehouse sector,” he said after a moment, his voice deadly calm. “Not southern territory like the patrol reports suggested.”
The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. “It’s a trap. The bear movements to the south?—“
