The Alpha’s Unseen Mate

The Informant’s Price

The heavy iron door of the sub-level interrogation cell slammed shut with a reverberating bang that echoed off the damp stone walls. Inside the freezing enclosure, the captured syndicate lieutenant slumped against the rough masonry, nursing a bruised jaw and glaring defiantly up at the towering figure of the Obsidian Alpha.

Velan stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his golden eyes locked onto the prisoner with an unyielding, predatory intensity. The air in the cell grew thick and oppressive as his alpha aura pressed down upon the room, causing the lieutenant to flinch and break eye contact.

"You mentioned a traitor inside our administrative ranks," Velan said, his voice a low, gravelly hum that carried a deadly promise. "Give me a name, and your execution will be quick. Keep playing games, and I’ll let my trackers decide how long you last in these catacombs."

The lieutenant swallowed hard, coughing up a drop of dark blood before offering a strained, bitter smirk. "You think cutting off my head stops the rot, Alpha? The council was compromised years ago. Long before the Dawnwood massacres. The Bloodmoon Syndicate didn't bypass your perimeter sensors by magic—they used the clearance codes of someone sitting right at your high table."

Aeloria stepped out from the shadows near the doorway, her arms crossed tightly, her silver-flecked eyes narrowed with cold calculation. "Which council member?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the damp air like a razor. "Who has enough authority to override the central grid and the automated portcullises simultaneously?"

The lieutenant's eyes flicked toward her, a spark of recognition flashing across his bruised features. "Ah... the little phantom from the southern slums. They whispered that the royal bloodline was completely wiped out. Looks like the executioners missed a piece."

Before the prisoner could finish his taunt, Velan moved with blinding speed, his hand shooting out to grip the lieutenant by the collar, lifting him half an inch off the ground. The threat in Velan's gaze was absolute.

"The name," Velan growled.

Gasping for air, the lieutenant choked out, "Elias... Elder Elias. He sold the northern transit blueprints to fund his own expansion into the black market."