The word hit me like a physical blow. Mate. That was what Theron had been trying to tell me. Was that what I was to him?
“I can see you’re processing,” Odin said, standing up. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to think about it where we’re going.”
The plane began its descent, and I felt my stomach drop with it. I tried to think, tried to plan, but my head was still fuzzy from whatever they’d drugged me with. All I could focus on was the fact that I was zip-tied on a plane about to land in Chicago, and Theron had no idea where I was.
We landed smoothly. Through the small window, I could see we were at a private airfield—no commercial terminals, just a handful of hangars.
Two men boarded the plane as soon as we stopped. Both were large, professional-looking, and carrying themselves in a way that suggested either military or security backgrounds. They didn’t look at me like I was a person. They looked at me like I was cargo.
“Get him ready,” Odin said, and one of the men pulled out a black hood.
“No—” I tried to pull away, but with my hands zip-tied and my body still weak from the drugs, I didn’t stand a chance. The hood went over my head, plunging me into darkness, and I felt hands gripping my arms as they hauled me to my feet.
We got off the plane and into what I assumed was a vehicle based on the sound of a door sliding open. I was pushed into a seat, heard the door close, and then we were moving.
I tried to track the turns, tried to count the minutes, tried to do anything that would help me figure out where they were taking me. But between the hood and the lingering effects of the drugs,I kept losing track. Time became meaningless—could have been twenty minutes or two hours before the vehicle finally stopped.
Hands grabbed me again, pulling me out and marching me forward. I heard a heavy door open, then close behind us with a finality that made my chest tight. The air changed—cooler, with the echo of a large, enclosed space.
They removed the hood, and I blinked against sudden bright lights.
We were in some kind of warehouse. High ceilings with exposed ductwork, concrete floors, the smell of metal and chemicals. But unlike the place in Denver, this place was clearly operational. I could hear machinery humming somewhere in the distance, could see computer monitors and equipment I didn’t recognize lining the walls.
“Welcome home,” Odin said, and the bitterness in his voice made it clear he meant more than just the city.
They led me through a corridor and into a smaller room. Concrete walls, a single chair bolted to the floor in the center, cameras mounted in each corner. The two men pushed me down into the chair and secured my hands and feet. I didn’t fight them. What was the point? They secured my wrists to the chair arms with more zip ties, then my ankles to the legs.
One of the men pulled out a phone and set it up on a small tripod, angling it toward me. Odin stepped into view, his expression businesslike.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “You’re going to tell Theron exactly what I tell you to say. You’re going to give him the address we want him to go to. You’re going to be calm and cooperative. And if you do that, this will be much easier for everyone involved.”
My jaw tightened. “And if I don’t?”
He didn’t answer with words. Just nodded to one of the men, who stepped forward and backhanded me across the face hardenough that my head snapped to the side. Pain exploded across my jaw, and I tasted blood.
“That’s if you don’t,” Odin said calmly. “Now. Are we going to have a problem?”
I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. Wanted to refuse, to make this as difficult as possible for him. But the rational part of my brain—the part that had survived Chicago by learning when to fight and when to preserve myself—knew that getting beaten unconscious wouldn’t help Theron find me.
“No,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Good.” He pulled out a piece of paper with an address written on it. “You’re going to tell Theron to come alone. No backup, no police, no other dragons. Make it convincing.”
I read the address, committing it to memory even as my mind was racing. This was the leverage Odin had been building toward. And I was supposed to be the bait that lured him in.
The man with the phone pressed record, and Odin nodded at me.
“Theron.” I kept my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me. “They want me to give you instructions. You’re supposed to come alone to—” I rattled off the address, watching Odin’s satisfied expression. “No backup, no police, no other dragons. Then they will take you to where I am, but it won’t be at the first place. You’ll be escorted after that. Just you. If you don’t show up alone, they’ll—”
I stopped. Looked directly at the camera. Made a decision.
“It’s a trap.”
The first punch caught me across the jaw, snapping my head to the side. Stars exploded across my vision, and I tasted copper. Before I could recover, another hit landed on my ribs, driving the air from my lungs.
Between hits, I heard the click of a camera. Odin was documenting this. Photographing my injuries like they were products he was cataloging.
“That’s enough,” he said finally, and the beating stopped. I knew it had been punishment, but it was also now leverage.
