Chapter 26
1735 Words
Jacob
I’d been in hell before—warzones, rogue nests, black market trading dens—but nothing compared to this.
The moment I stepped through the iron-gated threshold of The Crimson Den, the stench hit me. Not just the heavy perfume and sweat and s*x, but the deeper scent of fear. It clung to the walls like mold, soaked into every velvet curtain and gold-trimmed rug. The kind of fear that was old, fermented. Broken.
I adjusted the wolf-hide jacket Cain had loaned me, its thickness doing little to ease the nausea creeping up my throat. Cash’s words echoed in my head—“You’re not Jacob here. You’re Alpha Joseph Black of the Crescent Tide pack. You paid top dollar. Walk like you own the place.”
So I did. Chin up. Shoulders back. A slow, predatory walk like a man who wasn’t sick to his stomach at the sight of an Omega in nothing but a sheer slip, eyes hollow as she opened the door for me.
The lobby was a velvet-drenched cage dressed in opulence. Gilded sconces cast amber light over the polished floors. Everything gleamed, but nothing felt clean. Alphas lounged on low couches, drinks in hand, watching Omegas dance on elevated platforms like prey displayed for auction. I recognized one Alpha by his scent—Harrow of the Slatefang pack. Another, I pegged by his accent—Vorne, a Beta from Stoneclaw, exiled for killing his last mate.
Their presence confirmed what we’d feared.
This wasn’t just one brothel.
It was a network.
I was greeted by a tall woman in blood-red silk, her scent tinged with witchcraft. Likely a handler. She gave a slow smile, eyeing the “custom” sigil Cash had tattooed on my inner wrist—the Ironclaw pack’s fake crest.
“Alpha Black,” she purred. “Welcome to the Den. We’ve been expecting you.”
She offered her hand. I didn’t kiss it. Just nodded and followed her deeper into the maze of corridors, each hallway lined with doors, each door lined with soundproofing and pain.
“Do you have a preference?” she asked.
“Obedient. Pretty. Unmated,” I said, letting the monster mask slip on my face. The words burned coming out, but I kept my expression cold.
“Any particular age bracket?”
“Eighteen to twenty-five. Blonde, if possible.”
She nodded like I’d asked for wine instead of a human being. “We have just the girl.”
I memorized every twist and turn of the hallway as we walked. Every scent. Every sound muffled behind closed doors. Somewhere down the hall, a girl was crying. A man's voice hushed her with a growl.
My guide stopped before a room with a silver rose carved into the wood. “This one’s new,” she said. “Hasn’t been broken fully yet.”
My stomach turned again. But I nodded.
Inside, the room was what they probably considered luxury—a four-poster bed, silk sheets, a tray of food on the table. The Omega sat in the corner on her knees, hands folded in her lap. She didn’t raise her head.
Her scent was diluted. Masked with oils and something more sinister.
The witchcraft.
Olivia was right.
The sigil she’d described had been etched into the corner of the headboard in silver. A curling serpent eating its own tail. A brand.
I made a slow circuit of the room, pretending to assess the girl while really studying every inch of the space. Hidden cameras. Pressure plates. Even a glimmer ward in the far corner—standard enchantment to prevent wolves from shifting in this space.
“This will do,” I said flatly.
“I’ll leave you to it,” the woman said, backing out with a grin that made my skin crawl.
When the door clicked shut, I crossed the room and knelt in front of the Omega.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I whispered. “My name is Jacob. I’m undercover.”
Her head snapped up, blue eyes wide and unbelieving.
“I need your help,” I said. “Tell me about the mark on the wall. Do they all have it?”
She glanced behind me, toward the headboard. A small nod.
“Yes. Every room.”
“What about the wolves who come here?”
“Mostly Alphas. Some Betas. Some… worse.”
She shivered.
I didn’t touch her. Just let her speak, coaxing the information out with quiet questions. I learned that the brothel rotated girls between sites. That some packs provided “stock” in exchange for power or territory. That certain Alphas held private auctions for unmated Omegas under the guise of “ceremonies.”
I memorized every name she whispered.
One caught my attention.
Alpha Kane.
Middle Moon’s Alpha.
I clenched my jaw.
Later, when I was alone in the room under the guise of “resting,” I turned on the small communication charm Cain had given me—hidden in the buckle of my belt.
“Got confirmation,” I whispered. “This is deeper than we thought. Kane is involved. So is Stoneclaw and Slatefang. Sigils match. I’ll upload images tonight.”
Cole’s voice came back first. “Jacob, be careful. If they catch you—”
“They won’t.”
Cain’s voice was colder. “How’s the girl?”
“Traumatized. But intact. She knew I wasn’t here for what they think.”
“Get out of there if it gets too risky,” Derrick added.
I didn’t reply.
Because I couldn’t.
Not yet.
I had more to learn.
Once the Omega girl was escorted out—promised a “bath” and “reconditioning”—I was left alone in the velvet prison.
I paced like a caged animal.
It was too much. Too many names. Too many scars. Too much pain carved into the bones of this place. But I had to keep moving.
I crouched beside the headboard and pressed the small sigil with my thumb, taking a quick rub with the pad of a fake ring Cole had given me. A nearly invisible film would capture the etching and preserve it for analysis.
I crouched lower, under the bed this time. Another sigil. This one hidden, carved into the wood in a spiral—the same serpent symbol Olivia had described. The one that linked all this to the old trafficking routes outlawed a generation ago.
I activated the comm charm again. “Uploading three sigil samples and a partial layout of the northern wing. One exit on the east side behind the kitchens. Looks like guards rotate every four hours.”
A hiss of static. Then Cole’s voice. “Copy that. Pulling data now.”
Cash chimed in. “We ran the serpent brand through the archives. It’s connected to the old Syndicate.”
The Syndicate.
Fucking hell.
That was bad news. The Syndicate was supposed to be long gone—dismantled by royal edict during the beginning of the triplet's father’s reign. But like roaches, monsters like this always found a way to crawl back out of the dark.
I pressed the charm again. “I need to get into the lounge. If I can sit with the other Alphas, I might be able to confirm which territories are active.”
Cain’s voice came through next, steady and calm, but I knew the weight beneath it. “Be careful what you say. Let them talk first.”
“I know the game,” I muttered, already straightening my spine and fixing the expression on my face—the one I hated wearing. Predatory. Cold.
The handler woman returned minutes later, smiling like I was her favorite client.
“The lounge is open, Alpha Black,” she said, voice purring with approval. “Would you like to join the others?”
“Lead the way.”
She guided me through another velvet hallway, this one quieter, heavier with enchantments. The doors were thicker here. Reinforced. Voices filtered out from the end of the corridor—low, male, confident.
As soon as the doors swung open, the scent of cigar smoke and aged whiskey hit me. The room was luxurious, paneled in dark oak and lined with plush leather chairs. A roaring fireplace crackled at the far end, and about a dozen men lounged across the room.
Alphas. A few Betas.
All of them wearing expensive suits and even more expensive arrogance.
Harrow of Slatefang raised a glass. “Well, look who finally came out of his room.”
A few others chuckled.
I didn’t smile. Just sank into a corner seat, legs spread wide, like I belonged there.
“First time in the Den?” asked a heavy-set Alpha with dark eyes and a northern accent. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look is that?”
“The look of a wolf who just found out how deep the rabbit hole goes.”
I met his stare, unflinching. “Let’s just say I appreciate the… variety.”
That drew approving murmurs.
A Beta from Stoneclaw leaned in, drunk already. “You try the redhead in Room Nine yet? Little thing from Willow Ridge. Barely speaks. Still fights back. Best damn time I’ve had in weeks.”
Laughter rippled.
My fingers curled into fists on my knees.
Not yet. Not yet. Get the names.
I played the game. Let them talk. Let them boast. I learned which packs “donated” Omegas in exchange for rare resources. I learned who bribed whom to keep the royal patrols out of the northeast.
More than one wolf mentioned Karl.
I kept my expression neutral, letting their cruelty fuel my memory. Faces. Names. Voices. Territories.
I caught the last bit of a conversation between two older Alphas near the bar.
“… auction is in two weeks. High-tier Omegas only. You’ll need a bigger purse if you want a fated one.”
Fated?
They were trafficking fated mates?
Something black and murderous twisted in my gut. I barely kept my rage off my face.
Instead, I raised my glass. “Sounds like business is booming.”
More cheers. Toasts. Glasses clinking.
But beneath the noise, I was listening. Memorizing.
Because every name I learned in this room would be buried six feet under by the time we were done.
- Writer
