“If they’d left on their own, they would’ve taken their phones. If someone grabbed them locally, there would’ve been signs. A struggle, broken dishes, something.” Wade gestured at the pristine kitchen, aside from the normal mess of snacking. “This was clean. Professional. And the only being we know who’s actively hunting one of our mates is—”
“Valcore,” Zeppelin finished, the name coming out like a curse.
He clenched his jaw then made another call. Wade didn’t have to ask who was on the other end.
Within seconds, Panahasi answered. The demon leader’s voice rumbled through the phone, low and smooth. “Yes?”
Zeppelin didn’t waste time. “Five mates are missing, vanished in an instant. No signs of struggle. I think a demon got to them. I need a ride into the demon realm.”
A pause. Then, “Give me ten seconds. Shut off the kitchen lights.”
The pack hit the lights around the room, plunging them into darkness. Then a set of floating eyes appeared, the irises appearing like fire in a fireplace. The lights instantly turned on without anyone moving.
Panahasi’s gaze took in the kitchen, eyes narrowed. “Those who aren’t going, leave the room.”
The unmated wolves filed out without argument, though Bayne shot Wade a look that promised hell if they didn’t bring everyone back safely.
“We’re ready to hunt,” Zeppelin said, jaw clenched.
Darkness swallowed Wade whole. Not the comfortable dark of a bedroom at night but an absolute absence of everything. No sight, no sound, just the sensation of falling through nothing. His stomach lurched. Vertigo spun his inner ear. Every instinct screamed that he was dying, suffocating, drowning in ink.
Then he slammed into solid ground.
“Fuck,” he groaned, fighting a wave of nausea. When Wade opened his eyes, he saw Panahasi and Zeppelin standing, while the rest of them were splayed on the ground, everyone either moaning or cursing.
Around him, the pack hauled themselves upright, some faster than others. Quinn swore under his breath, wiping grass off his jeans. Vaughn looked ready to tear something apart, his jaw working as he scanned their surroundings.
Rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks from the landing, Wade pushed himself up and took stock of where Panahasi had dumped them.
The demon realm looked disturbingly normal at first glance—paved streets, brick buildings, people walking around like they were heading to their day jobs instead of plotting someone’s demise.
But the wrongness crawled over Wade’s skin like static electricity, making every hair stand at attention.
No cars, no engines, just the eerie quiet of foot traffic and muffled conversations drifting from open doorways.
Panahasi gestured toward a brick building across the street, its blue neon sign reading Jake’s Java in cursive letters that seemed too cheerful for this place.
“There,” the demon said, his tone flat and certain.
Following Panahasi’s gaze, Wade squinted through the large glass windows fronting the shop. His vision sharpened, focusing past the glare of interior lights.
Every muscle in his body locked up when he spotted them.
All five mates huddled near the counter, pressed so close together they looked like they were trying to merge into one person. Even from here, Wade could read the fear in their postures—shoulders hunched, heads down, Newt practically climbing into Preston’s back pocket. Alex stood slightly in front of the others, his small frame rigid with tension, hands clenched into fists.
Baring his canines, Wade took a step forward. His mate was right there, close enough that Wade could probably reach him in thirty seconds if he sprinted.
Except for the dozen men scattered throughout the shop.
Not customers. Wade’s gut twisted with certainty as he catalogued them—positioned too strategically, eyes too alert, movements too coordinated. Some leaned against walls near the exits. Others sat at tables with untouched drinks.
All of them watching the mates with the focused attention of predators circling prey.
Ambush didn’t begin to cover it.
“How many?” Zeppelin asked, already assessing angles and weak points.
“Twelve, maybe fifteen,” Wade replied, forcing himself to think tactically instead of just charging in like an idiot. “Spread out. Blocking the doors.”
