Page 82 of Brandon’s Mate

He slammed his hand on the side of the truck.

Brandon tried to shove the gut-churning anxiety to the back of his mind. He had to think, had to figure out what was the best thing to do for Kitty and Remy.

His cat was beginning to rumble in his chest. Help them.

Yeah, but how? Whichever way they went, it felt like sacrificing one or the other of them. But this was on him. If he was ever going to be alpha, he had to make the tough choices.

And live with the consequences.

“We wait here,” he said finally. “We might hear back from Remy. And if Raines has him—or Kitty—then if we don’t show on time he’ll contact us, use them as bait to draw us into his trap.”

Colt’s leopard was starting in, making low angry sounds. “He’s got to have them. Nothing else makes sense. I say we go in now.”

No, Brandon realized. That was wrong. He could feel it.

He took a deep breath. “Seven more minutes,” he said. “Until we’re overdue for the meet. If we haven’t heard from Remy or Raines before then, we go in.”

He could sense Colt wanting to go off in all directions, wanting to tell Brandon to go to hell and decide on his own.

Brandon’s panther snarled, Make him submit.

No. That wasn’t the way. Brandon reached past the gut feeling of dread over Kitty, and tried to send a strong, powerful, confident vibe to Colt. Trust me.

He gazed steadily at his friend. “Seven minutes,” he said quietly.

Colt took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “Okay,” he said.

They both watched the minutes tick by on the phone, each one seeming like an eternity.

At minute five, Brandon’s phone vibrated. A text.

Not from Raines, or Kitty or Remy.

Caleb.

It was a photo—Kitty and Callie lying on the floor of a tiny room. There was blood on both their faces, and their eyes were closed. For a second Brandon couldn’t think, couldn’t even read the words that went with it. A red haze came over his vision.

Not dead. She couldn’t be dead.

Not dead, his cat said. Help her.

That cleared his mind. That, and Colt’s swearing. “He’s got her,” Colt said. “Read it.”

The text said, Better come save your girl before she’s toast, and your cub zygote with her. Love, Caleb.

And a fucking heart emoji.

Colt cursed. “He doesn’t say where they are.”

Brandon tapped the picture to enlarge it. There were shelves of food in the background—a storage room? No, it was fresh food. A walk-in fridge.

“The bar,” he said. “He’s locked them in the cooler.”

“How did that fucker Caleb get Kitty over to the Crows’ Nest?” Colt exploded. “And where the hell is Remy? Why haven’t we heard from him?”

He swiped at the phone, but there were no more pictures.

Brandon’s brain had started working again.