“Shifter metabolism shows predictable addiction pathway,” Brie read from Brennan’s notes, her stomach turning. “Metabolic acceleration ensures physiological dependency within three doses.”
“This would destroy our community,” Ivy said, her professional composure cracking. “Drug-addicted shifters with superhumanstrength, no impulse control, willing to do anything for their next dose? The violence would be catastrophic. People would die...”
“He was weaponizing drugs against our own kind,” Brie whispered.
“This isn’t drug dealing,” Hunter said grimly. “This is biological warfare.”
Chapter
Nineteen
Hunter heldthe door for Brie; a manila folder of photocopies tucked under his arm. The flash drive Ivy had given them sat heavy in his pocket. Late afternoon sun slanted through Steel Protection’s windows, casting long shadows across the conference room where Dom already stood at the tactical board.
“The rest are on their way,” Dom said without turning around. He’d been briefed over the phone during their drive back, but seeing the evidence in person was different.
Hunter set the folder on the table as the pack filed in. Axel from his computer station, Siren from the armory, Ryder bouncing in with nervous energy. Blaze arrived last with Valeria, his hand protective on her elbow as she navigated around chairs with her pregnant belly.
Brie looked exhausted. Two days of revelations had taken their toll, leaving shadows under her honey eyes. Hunter fought the urge to send everyone away and just take her home to rest. But the pack needed to understand what they were facing.
“Show them,” Dom said simply.
Hunter opened the folder, spreading the photocopied pages across the table. Brie inserted Ivy’s flash drive into Dom’s laptop. The pack’s expressions changed as formulas designed to target shifter DNA filled the wall screen.
“The scale of this...” Blaze moved closer, studying the chemical structures. “They could enslave every shifter in the community.”
Siren picked up one of the photocopies, her expression calculating. Axel pulled out his tablet, fingers flying across the screen. “Based on these distribution targets and shifter population density...” He paused, face paling. “We’re talking about potentially hundreds of thousands affected.”
Valeria’s hand moved to her pregnant belly. “What kind of world would our child grow up in if this succeeds?”
“One where shifters are chemically enslaved,” Dom said bluntly. He turned from the board to face them fully. “The cartel lost millions in product and infrastructure when that lab was abandoned.”
Dom nodded. “The question is why they’ve gone dark. No surveillance on Brie for almost a week.”
Siren set down the photocopy she’d been studying. “This goes to Federal Shifter Protection. Today.”
“Agreed,” Dom said. “I’ll make the call. They’ll want everything we have about the biological weapon.”
“What about me?” Brie asked. “I have to go back to work. The Winter Festival is in three weeks.”
“Business as usual,” Dom said, pulling out his phone. “I need to call the Special Agent in Charge for this region. Siren, prepare copies of everything for them. Axel, compile what we foundat the warehouse. Full transparency on the biological weapons aspect.”
The pack moved into action. Dom stepped away to make the call, his voice low and professional as he spoke to whoever answered. Hunter caught phrases like “immediate threat” and “biological weapons” and “shifter-specific targeting.”
“ETA on federal response is tomorrow morning, eight AM,” Dom announced, ending his call. “They want us to email everything tonight, then meet in person tomorrow. They’ll set up their own task force.”
Chapter
Twenty
Monday morning arrivedwith its familiar rhythm. At four AM, Brie mixed a batch of gingerbread. The spiced dough came together perfectly, filling the kitchen with the scent of molasses and ginger. She wrapped each disc tightly in plastic before labeling it with the date and stacking it in the freezer. Three weeks until Winter Festival meant she could prepare and freeze the dough now, then thaw and bake everything fresh in the final days.
Through the kitchen door, she could see Hunter at his corner table, laptop open, coffee mug within reach. He’d become as much a fixture of the bakery as the vintage mixers and copper molds her mother had collected over the years.
She started another batch, creaming butter and brown sugar in the industrial mixer. Twenty more batches to go this week. Each batch would make enough for two large gingerbread houses or dozens of cookies. The freezer was already half full, but she’d learned from previous years that you could never have too much backup dough.
Tuesday brought Sophie’s determination to master laminated dough. They stood side by side at the stainless-steel table, Brie demonstrating the precise folding technique her mother had learned in Paris.
“See how the butter stays in distinct layers?” Brie guided Sophie’s hands through the fold. “That’s what creates the flake. Too warm and it melts together. Too cold and it shatters.”
