Chapter 3: The Bond Burns
1576 Words
Rachael stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fresh towel. She reached for the grey sweater that hung loose on her frame, the leggings soft against her skin. She hated how comfortable they felt. Hated that they fit perfectly, as if someone had studied her body while she slept.
The four Alphas waited in the bedroom, exactly where they had been. None had moved. None had sat. They stood like sentinels, watching the bathroom door as if it might explode.
She stopped just outside the threshold, water still dripping from her dark hair onto the floor.
“Better?” Richard spoke first.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she walked to the small table where the tray of food waited. The bread smelled warm. Her stomach betrayed her with a quiet growl.
Ryder’s mouth curved slightly, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him. “Eat. We’ll wait.”
Rachael picked up a slice of bread and tore it in half. She ate standing, never turning her back on them. The meat was rare roast beef, seasoned simply. Good. She hated that it was good.
Zane watched her wrists, the red marks from the silver already fading. “Those will be gone by noon,” he said quietly. “Your healing is strong.”
She swallowed. “Don’t pretend you care.”
“I’m not pretending.”
Cruz shifted his weight, arms still crossed. His dark eyes tracked every bite she took, as if expecting her to choke.
When half the tray was empty, Rachael set the plate down. Strength returned to her limbs, sharp and welcome. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and faced them fully.
“Talk.”
Richard nodded toward the sitting area near the windows—four leather chairs arranged in a loose circle, a low table between them. No barriers. Open space.
She didn’t move.
Richard took the hint. He stayed standing. “Six years ago, an attack was launched on Silver Mirage territory. Synthetic claws, chemical accelerants, coordinated strikes. It looked like a declaration of war from Crimson Fang.”
Rachael’s hands curled into fists. “It didn’t look like anything. It was your pack.”
“No.” Ryder’s voice cut in, calm and precise. Records were altered. Orders forged. Witnesses paid or threatened. We’ve spent years trying to prove it wasn’t used.
Cruz’s voice was rough. “We lost people, too, that night. Good wolves who tried to stop the fire.”
Rachael laughed, cold and sharp. “Convenient.”
Zane stepped forward, holding a thin folder. He placed it on the table and opened it. Photographs spilled out—crime scene images she had never wanted to see again. Charred bodies. Burned homes. But also, something new: lab reports, close-ups of claw marks that didn’t match any known wolf. Chemical analysis of the residue from a pack that was not used.
She didn’t touch the photos.
Richard watched her face. “We were set up. Someone wanted our packs to destroy each other.”
“And you expect me to believe that because you showed me papers?”
“No,” Richard said. “I expect you to believe it," because you’re our mate. And mates don’t s*******r each other’s families.”
The bond flared at his words, hot and insistent. Rachael took a step back. The air felt too thick.
Ryder moved to the window, looking out at the snow. “There’s more. The same person who framed us has been watching you. For years.”
He tapped a small device on the table—a black lens no bigger than a coin. “We found three of these in your room. Someone else has been listening. Someone who knew you’d come for us tonight.”
Rachael stared at the bug. Her skin crawled.
Cruz’s voice was low. “They wanted you to kill us. Or us to kill you. Either way, both packs weaken.”
Zane added softly, “We brought you here to keep you alive. Not to hurt you.”
Rachael’s heart pounded. Part of her wanted to scream that they were lying, that this was another trick. But the bond—traitorous, undeniable—whispered that they spoke truth. Her wolf whined, confused and desperate for them.
She forced her voice steady. “If you’re telling the truth, who’s behind it?”
Richard’s expression darkened. “We don’t know yet. But we have leads. And now we have you.”
“I’m not your weapon.”
“No,” Ryder said, turning from the window. “You’re our mate. That makes you the center of everything.”
Silence stretched. Snow fell outside, soft and endless.
Finally, Rachael spoke. “I want to see the rest of the house. I want to walk freely. And I want a phone.”
Cruz shook his head. “Phone’s a risk. They could trace it.”
“Then I stay in this room.”
Richard considered her for a long moment. Then he nodded. “You can move through the house. Guards will be nearby, but they won’t touch you. No phone yet. Not until we know who’s listening.”
Rachael lifted her chin. “And if I try to leave?”
Richard’s grey eyes held hers. “We’ll stop you. We’re not letting our mate walk into a trap.”
The possessive word—our—sent heat rushing through her. She hated her body’s reaction.
“Fine,” she said. “Show me.”
Richard gestured toward the door. The four of them moved aside to let her pass.
She walked between them, feeling the bond pull like invisible threads. Every step closer to one tugged her toward the others. It was maddening.
They led her down a wide hallway lined with dark wood and muted lighting. The house was enormous—more a fortress than a mansion. Stone walls, thick rugs, windows that looked out over endless forest and mountains.
No other wolves in sight.
“Where’s the rest of your pack?”
“Safe house,” Cruz answered. “Until we know who we can trust.”
They passed a kitchen—modern, spotless. A library with floor-to-ceiling books. A gym visible through glass doors. Everything spoke of wealth and power.
Finally, they reached a large living room with a massive stone fireplace. Flames crackled, casting warm light over leather couches and thick rugs.
Rachael stopped in the center.
“I want to train.”
Richard raised an eyebrow. “Now?”
“Now.”
Cruz’s eyes lit with interest. “With who?”
“You,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I want to see if you fight as dirty as you kill.”
Cruz’s mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Careful what you ask for, little storm.”
Zane frowned. “She just ate.”
Ryder leaned against the wall, amused. “Let her. She needs to burn it off.”
Richard studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Basement gym. Padded floor. No weapons.”
They led her downstairs.
The gym was huge—mirrored walls, heavy bags, weights, a full sparring mat in the center.
Rachael kicked off the socks and stepped onto the mat barefoot.
Cruz followed, pulling off his shirt in one smooth motion. Tattoos covered his chest and arms—pack symbols, scars, ink that told stories she didn’t want to read.
He rolled his shoulders. “Rules?”
“No shifting. No silver. First to pin loses.”
He grinned. “Deal.”
They circled.
Rachael struck first—fast, precise, aiming for his throat. Cruz blocked easily, caught her wrist, twisted. She spun with the motion, elbowed his ribs, broke free.
They moved like they’d fought together for years. Every strike she threw, he countered. Every feint he made, she read.
The bond made it worse—and better. She felt his movements before he made them. He anticipated her attacks.
Sweat beaded on her skin. Breath came faster.
Cruz grabbed her waist, lifted her, and tried to take her down. She hooked his leg, twisted, and landed on top. For a heartbeat, she straddled him, hands on his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath her palms.
His eyes darkened. Hands settled on her hips—not forcing, just holding.
The bond roared.
Rachael shoved him off and rolled away, breathing hard.
Cruz stayed on his back, staring at the ceiling. “You fight like you’ve got nothing to lose.”
“I don’t.”
He sat up slowly. “You do now.”
She stood, chest heaving. The others watched from the edge of the mat—Richard unreadable, Ryder thoughtful, Zane concerned.
Rachael wiped sweat from her face. “Again.”
Cruz rose, smile returning. “Anytime.”
Before they could restart, a low beep sounded from Richard’s pocket. He pulled out a phone and frowned at the screen.
His face went hard.
“What?” Rachael demanded.
Richard looked up. “Security feed. Someone just tripped the outer perimeter.”
Cruz was already moving toward the stairs.
Ryder’s lazy posture vanished.
Zane stepped closer to Rachael. “Stay with us.”
Richard met her eyes. “We’re not alone out here anymore.”
The fire in the gym lights flickered as the house systems shifted to alert mode.
Someone was coming.
And the look on Richard’s face said they weren’t friendly.
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