The Lycan’s Broken Mate

Chapter 7

Kael ~

The neon blaze of The Serpent’s Coil slices through the city’s underbelly, its battered brick facade pulsing with sickly green light, like poison seeping from a wound. The flickering sign casts jagged shadows on the cracked pavement, the air thick with exhaust, stale beer, and a metallic tang—blood, maybe, or fear.

Elyse’s wildflower scent lingers in my mind, her desperate plea for Lila—her sister—igniting a fire in my veins. I promised to find her, to tear her from Zane’s claws, and this club, a festering heart of his empire, is my next strike.

Rowan, my beta, scans the street, his sandy hair tucked under a worn cap, his brown eyes sharp despite the faint limp from an old rogue ambush. Jace and Soren flank us, their faces hard, muscles taut beneath casual clothes. Rowan held Ironfang’s defenses while I ripped through Zane’s last den to save Elyse, and now we’re diving into this viper’s nest to gut it.

“Blend in,” I mutter, tugging my leather jacket tighter, my voice low to mask the rage boiling in my chest. Raze, my wolf, snarls, scenting danger, but I leash him with iron will. “We’re just guys out for a drink.” My heart thuds, Elyse’s pale face and trembling voice fueling my resolve, her trust a weight I carry like a vow.

The bouncer, a hulking rogue with a jagged scar carving his cheek, sizes us up, his hand twitching near a hidden blade. His eyes glint, predatory, but he grunts, waving us through. The door swings open, unleashing a sensory assault.

The Serpent’s Coil is a labyrinth of chaos, a pulsing underworld where sin and secrets collide. Strobe lights stab through a thick haze of smoke, bathing the dance floor in electric greens and purples, where bodies writhe like a living storm, their sweat mingling with the cloying stench of vodka, jasmine perfume, and desperation. The bar, a polished obsidian slab, glows with eerie underlighting, bartenders flipping bottles with cocky flair, pouring neon cocktails that shimmer like venom.

Scantily clad dancers gyrate on elevated platforms, their sequined outfits flashing like serpent scales, their movements hypnotic yet hollow, eyes glazed with forced allure. Pervs lined the edge of the stage, stucking notes into the bras and panties of the girls, making sure they touched them in private areas in the process. Private booths line the walls, emerald velvet curtains swaying, revealing flashes of illicit deals—stacks of cash exchanged, vials of glowing liquid slipped under tables, whispered promises sealed with greedy touches, nude girls sprawn on tables , some on their knees servicing evil cravings.

Upstairs, a VIP balcony looms, guarded by rogues in tailored suits, their gazes cold, scanning the crowd like hawks. I could see a guy with a giant cigar, overlooking the club front from an elevated guard rails.

The air crackles with menace, the bass pounding like a war drum, masking the undercurrent of fear that hums beneath the revelry.

“Scatter,” I order through the mind link, my voice sharp in our shared telepathic channel. Rowan, bar. Jace, dance floor. Soren, booths. Find ledgers, names, anything tied to Lila or the council. Stay sharp. They nod, melting into the chaos, their casual postures a lie hiding lethal focus.

I weave toward the bar, ordering a whiskey to blend in, the glass cold against my palm as I lean against the counter, my eyes sweeping the crowd.

”Can you grant me access to the gallery” I whispered, with a bunchof notes under my emptied glass, as I push it towards the bartender.

“Definitely, would cost more” he mummured.

“ but for this price….there” gesturing with his gaze to a guy in a dark part of the club.

Another quuck gulp, burn of the liquor grounds me, but my senses lock onto Torren’s scent—acrid, tainted, woven into the club’s stench. He’s a council alpha, betraying his own, and I’ll carve the proof from this place.

Rowan slides onto a stool nearby, flashing a charming grin at a bartender, a curvy woman with wary eyes. He leans in, flirting, his laugh loud as he orders a beer, his fingers brushing hers to distract while he eyes the locked safe behind her.

Safe’s got cash, maybe records, he reports through the link, his voice steady despite the act.

Jace hits the dance floor, blending seamlessly, his young frame swaying to the beat, weaving through couples with a cocky smirk. He targets a wiry rogue with a snake tattoo, the one I scouted earlier, his scent tied to Elyse’s captivity. Jace’s plan hums through the link—

Gonna lift his invoice, need a distraction.

He bumps the rogue, spilling his drink, amber liquid splashing across his boots.

“Watch it, pup!” the rogue roars, his fist swinging, aiming for Jace’s jaw.

Jace ducks, his grin taunting, and shoves back, sparking chaos.

“My bad, man!” he shouts, dodging another punch, his nimble fingers slipping into the rogue’s pocket, snagging a folded invoice. The crowd parts like a tide, their cheers rising, a drunken roar egging on the brawl.

The rogue lunges, his bulk slamming Jace against a pillar, but Jace twists, landing a sharp jab to the rogue’s ribs, keeping him distracted. The invoice is secure, names and drop points scrawled in ink.

Rowan and Soren close in, but I’m faster, shoving through the throng, my heart pounding like the bass.

Ease up, Jace, I snap through the link, breaking up the fight before it draws more eyes.

The rogue stumbles, cursing, as Jace melts back, his smirk victorious.

Got it, he reports. Names, locations, big stuff.

Soren’s voice cuts through, low and urgent.

Corner booth—rogue with a ledger, scribbling payments. Torren’s initials are on it.

He’s slouched in a booth, nursing a drink, his lanky frame blending as he eavesdrops on a deal—cash for “product,” girls’ names whispered. He slips me a torn page later, Torren’s scrawl glaring in the dim light. Proof of council corruption, Zane’s strings pulling them.

I slip toward the bathrooms, spotting another rogue—his scent matches Elyse’s prison, sharp with Torren’s taint. He’s lean, that snake tattoo coiling up his neck, his smirk smug as he heads for the stalls. I follow, the fluorescent lights buzzing, the air sour with piss and bleach.

He’s at a sink, splashing water, oblivious. I move like a shadow, slamming him against the tiles, my forearm crushing his throat, my claws pricking his skin, drawing beads of blood.

“Where’s Zane keeping the girls?” I growl, my eyes blazing gold, Raze clawing for release.

The rogue chokes, his eyes wide with panic, sweat dripping.

“Don’t know—nobody talks!” he rasps, his voice trembling, fear rolling off him.

I ease up, slipping a tracking chip—small as a stud—into his jacket pocket, unnoticed. He scrambles out, panting, and I let him go, my pulse racing with triumph and dread. The fight’s noise fades, but the club’s chaos lingers, a reminder of what’s at stake.

We slip out, the night air biting, the neon fading behind us.

In the truck, Rowan claps my shoulder, his grin sly.

“You’re a walking storm, Kael. That rogue’s tattoo? Looked like a kid scribbled it with a marker.”

I smirk, the tension easing.

“His face was worse.”

The invoice and ledger burn in my pocket, proof of Torren’s betrayal, Lila’s name—Elyse’s hope—driving me. I pull out my phone, dialing Mom, needing her steady voice before we move forward. The line crackles, and she answers, her tone warm but tired.

“Kael, you okay?” she asks, the clink of dishes in the background grounding me.

“Yeah, Mom,” I say, my voice rough, leaning against the truck. “We hit Zane’s club, got some leads. But… Elyse. How’s she holding up? I’m worried—she’s been through hell.”

Mom’s voice softens, steady as ever.

“She’s shaken, son, but strong. Mara’s with her, and I’m keeping an eye. She’ll be fine, Kael. Focus on finding her sister.”

I nod, though she can’t see, relief easing the knot in my chest.

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll check in soon.”

“Be safe,” she says, and I hang up, Elyse’s face flashing in my mind.

Zane’s empire is cracking, a bit at a time.