My heart stutters in my chest. "Where?"
His eyes meet mine, cold and determined. "Berlin, Germany."
"Berlin?" My voice sounds distant to my own ears, the word echoing in the sudden hollow space inside my chest. No. No. No.
"A whole outpost in the Black Forest." Hayes' expression hardens. "Slaughtered. A very good friend of mine was in command."
Ice floods my veins. "Wilson's team was stationed there." The words escape before I can stop them. Wilson had been my academy roommate for three years. We'd gone through hell week together, celebrated graduation side by side. "Are there any survivors?"
Hayes' silence is answer enough. I see the confirmation in his eyes before he speaks.
"When?" I manage to ask, my throat constricting around the word.
"Six hours ago. I have a plane waiting at the airport." Hayes steps closer, his voice dropping to ensure only I can hear him. "I've authorized full tactical discretion, Mathieson. No more red tape, no more bureaucratic bullshit." His eyes burn with something I've never seen before… Not just anger, but a cold, calculated fury. "You take those creatures down. I don't care how you do it. You're the best and I want them dead."
My chest tightens as Wilson’s face flashes through my mind. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die. And now I finally have what I've always wanted—carte blanche to hunt the beast that killed my father.
"I'll bring them down, sir."
“We will,” Sherlock echoes from behind me.
As I walk with my team toward the waiting transport vehicle, my hand unconsciously presses against my chest where that inexplicable ache has become a constant companion. The beast that killed my father is within my grasp. I should feel nothing but determination, relief, even anticipation.
Instead, beneath the resolve, a single question pulses with each heartbeat…
What if everything I've believed my entire life is wrong?
CHAPTER 32
Hurry back, Fen
* * *
Fenrir Thorsson
The scent of fear lingers in the air—stale sweat, blood, and the acrid tang of terror clings to each rescued prisoner. I watch from the edge of the ranch's southern pasture as Maven's people sort them into groups, murmuring quiet reassurances.
My fingers twitch, claws threatening to emerge without my permission. I flex my hand, forcing them back. Only hours since I've seen Astrid, and already my control slips like water through fingers.
I uncap my flask, downing a mouthful of ambrosia. The thick, honey-sweet liquid burns down my throat, momentarily silencing the wolf's persistent growl. It dampens the rage, but leaves a hollow ache where satisfaction should be. Nothing but Astrid's presence would truly quiet the beast now.
"Twenty-three survivors," Cormac says, coming to stand beside me. His eyes flick to the flask, concern evident. "From three different planets, though technically the Valkyrie was grabbed while she was on Earth."
My jaw tightens. "And how many didn't make it?"
"Tharin said there were nearly double those numbers a week ago." His voice is carefully controlled, but I catch the undertone of rage.
My jaw clenches tight enough to ache. A cold anger settles in my gut, different from the wolf's hot rage but no less deadly. "So many lost," I mutter, flexing my fingers to keep the claws at bay. "We need to find who's behind this. All of them."
“We will,” Cormac says.
Arik approaches from the main house, his usual swagger subdued. "They’ll have them all home before the end of the night."
“Good. That’s good.” I glance at Arik. “How were they stealing their magick?”
Arik growls and his fangs show. “Regeant crystals from Vanir. Several of the victims all described the same thing.”
“Wait. Regeant crystals. The stones we use to–”
