“Before I take my ring back, I need to see them released,” she said, framing it not as a demand but as a condition. “My family needs medical attention and water. I’ll do whatever you want, but I have to know they’re safe first.”
She paused, adding the perfect manipulation.
“You can’t make this work if they’re dead. People will ask questions, and that could damage your reputation. Your image.”
For the first time, Bracken hesitated.
That hesitation was the first real crack in his armor—and Winslet knew she had him exactly where she wanted him.
Then Bracken’s hand moved with calculated precision, three fingers lifting in a silent command that sent his associates into immediate action. Winslet watched through carefully controlled peripheral vision as the thick-set men approached her family with the efficiency of seasoned criminals.
The first man’s gloved hands worked at the ropes binding her mother’s wrists and ankles, the fibers falling away like shed skin. Her mother’s legs buckled the moment she tried to stand, muscles cramped from days of forced stillness. The associate caught her elbow as she swayed on unsteady feet.
Her father fared no better. Blood had crusted around the gag’s edges, and when the cloth fell away, he gasped like a drowning man finding air. His knees nearly gave out as he rose, the associate’s grip the only thing preventing a complete collapse.
Her uncle required different handling altogether. Two men lifted him from the concrete floor, his barely conscious form limp between them as they half-carried, half-dragged him toward the exit. His head lolled at an angle that made Winslet’s chest tighten.
Don’t react. Don’t give anything away,she reminded herself.
She maintained her mask of defeated compliance while tracking every movement, every exit route, every potential weapon within reach. Through the mate bond, she felt Korrak’s presence like a steady flame in the darkness—alert, furious, but controlled.
Family moving out,she projected through their telepathic link.Signal Kol now.
Received. Give me the second signal when he’s vulnerable.
Copy that.
The warehouse’s side door groaned open, revealing a black SUV idling in the frozen wasteland beyond. Exhaust plumes rose like ghosts in the Arctic air as her family was loaded inside. The vehicle’s tinted windows prevented her from seeing their faces one final time, but knowing they were moving toward safety—toward Kol’s waiting hands—steadied her racing pulse.
Almost there. Almost safe. Almost over.
Bracken’s arm snaked around her waist without warning, hauling her against his chest with possessive force. The contact felt like ice water flooding her veins, but she forced herself to soften into his embrace rather than stiffen with revulsion.
“I knew you’d remember where you belong,” he murmured against her temple, his breath hot and invasive.
Then his mouth crashed against hers with brutal ownership, his lips demanding submission rather than requesting affection. She tasted coffee and something wild. Every instinct screamed to bite, to fight, to tear herself away from his claiming kiss.
Instead, she yielded. Forced her lips to part, her body to melt against his, her hands to rest against his chest rather than claw at his eyes. The performance nearly shattered her composure, but she held the mask in place through sheer will.
When he finally pulled back, his dark eyes glittered with satisfaction and something deeper—triumph.
“You belong to me forever now,” he said firmly. “Not to that Arctic pretender. Korrak will be dead soon, and he’ll never bother you again.”
The words hit like a dagger straight to her heart.
Korrak. Dead. Soon.
Terror flooded her system before she could stop it, washing away her carefully constructed facade like a tide erasing sand. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught. Her hands trembled against his chest as images of Korrak’s broken body flashed through her mind.
No, not him.
Bracken’s grip on her waist tightened instantly, his predator’s instincts recognizing the shift in her scent, her posture, and her heartbeat. His eyes sharpened to laser focus, reading her face like an open book.
“Interesting reaction,” he said softly, his voice carrying deadly curiosity. “Tell me something, sweetheart. Do you love me?”
The question hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall. Winslet opened her mouth to lie, to feed him the words he wanted to hear, to maintain the charade just a little longer.
But the hesitation—barely a heartbeat’s worth—was already too much.
