Page 24

“What’s going on?” I demand, striding toward the head council member, Clyde. Maverick follows me, trying to detour me. “My King, I suggest you don’t…” but his words come too late as my shoes are washed with the small waves, and I step over next to Clyde, who’s looking through the open doors on the container. A coroner and the coast guard stand nearby, and I can see outlines of bodies under tarps—my breath lodges in my throat at the sight.

“What’s inside?” Damian asks, and I try to tell him not to look, knowing what I have seen can’t be unseen.

“Bodies,” the council member says, and my stomach churns. “We’ve confirmed multiple fatalities.”

I exchange a glance with Damian, whose expression mirrors my horror. “How many?” I press, the gravity of the situation settling heavily over us.

“We’ve pulled out at least a dozen. We’ve yet to get a full count,” Clyde replies, his gaze shifting to the coast guard standing next to the coroner. The tarps flutter in the sea breeze, offering glimpses of the shapes underneath. I force myself to swallow, bracing for what comes next.

As people begin the grim task of extracting the bodies, an overpowering stench fills the air—the nauseating scent of decay.

“What the hell happened here?” I mutter.

Damian’s brow furrows as he scans the scene. “Do we know where the container came from?”

I look at Clyde, who stares, eyes wide, but Maverick is the one who answers. “All we know is… they’re all women and children, all feeders. The container has no defining marks.” I whip my head in his direction.

“Feeders?” The word slips out of my mouth, laced with a potent cocktail of horror and disbelief. The grim reality of our call materializes, taking form in the gruesome scene before us. Either humans have descended into this monstrous trade of trafficking their own kind to satiate vampires, or even more horrifying, our own kin are involved in this gruesome commerce.

Maverick affirms my worst suspicions with a slow, grave nod. His eyes portray a mirror image of my shock as the first of many children are extracted from the depths of the container. We stand a respectful distance away, allowing the grim task to proceed without interference. Only when the horrific scene reaches its conclusion do we dare to encroach upon the space once filled with innocent lives.

Stepping into the claustrophobic confines of the container is an assault on my senses. The air is heavy with a stench that threatens to turn my stomach, bodily waste that pervades every inch of this makeshift prison. Blood smears the walls.

The farther I step in, it is no less horrifying; countless women and children were crammed into this dark and dank space like sardines packed tightly in their tin can coffin, their personal hell in the form of a shipping container.

My gaze traces a crimson trail smeared across the floor where bodies were mashed together and collided. My eyes are drawn upward to the walls, where deep gouges mar the cold metal surface. A chilling show of their futile struggle to escape.

“They were alive,” Damian’s voice breaks through my thoughts, his tone barely above a whisper, heavy with sorrow. “They tried to get out,” he adds, his words punctuated by Maverick’s heavy footsteps as he steps into the container behind us.

The tragic scene before us is suffocating. The knowledge that these women and children were alive, their cries for help falling on deaf ears, is a burden that crushes me deeply.

Maverick’s deep voice echoes in the container as he confirms what I already feared. “Yes, they managed to open one door. Some bodies washed up, the rest were trapped. The pressure would have held the doors closed. Had the storm not been so brutal, we may not have found them.”

I struggle to keep my composure as I step back out and glance around at the lifeless bodies surrounding me. Most of them are human, but seven she-wolves are among them. My heart aches for these innocent victims, robbed of their lives in such a cruel manner.

My gaze falls upon a little girl, the tarp having lifted from the wind; she’s no more than six years old, lying still on the ground. Her small hand grips tightly onto a ragged teddy bear, a final attempt to find comfort in such terror. My heart breaks for her and all the other children who suffered in this nightmare.

“Who could do something like this?” I ask aloud, my voice thick with emotion.

Maverick’s jaw clenches with anger as he stares around at the carnage. “I don’t know,” he replies through gritted teeth. “But we need to find out.”

Is this some sort of twisted trafficking operation? Are vampires behind it, or is our own kind involved? And why do they need both humans and werewolves?

Damian speaks up, his voice filled with grief. “The council will have trouble explaining this.”

I nod before turning toward the sound of someone approaching. Rhett is striding toward us, a look of disdain on his face. Clyde steps forward. “I called you, Rhett. We need your input on this.”

Rhett looks at the container, covering his nose against the stench. “Not one of mine,” he snaps. “I’m not into shipping illegal cargo. You’re looking at the wrong Alpha.” His dismissive tone sends a wave of anger through me.

Then, out of nowhere, Bianca wanders over. The moment she sees the scene before her, she pales and immediately turns to vomit at the sight. I feel a mixture of disgust and frustration.

“Great, God knows where it washed up,” Damian murmurs, and Bianca straightens, her face ashen.

“Didn’t Jefferson lose a few containers a few weeks back?” she suggests, glancing nervously at the container.

We all turn to look at her in surprise.

Clyde steps forward, his brow furrowing in thought. “Jefferson?”