CHAPTER 14

XAVIER

For one breath, the study became very still.

Then Deena moved.

She stepped toward Mace’s phone, eyes locked on the grainy image of her open apartment door. Fear came through the bond first, hot and sharp. Anger followed right behind it.

Good.

Anger would keep her standing.

“That’s my apartment,” she said.

“Yes,” Mace answered.

Her gaze cut to me. “You had people watching my building.”

“For your protection.”

Her mouth tightened. “And were you planning to mention that before or after I found out through supernatural breaking-and-entering surveillance?”

“No.”

Honest. Too blunt. Still true.

Nicole gave a humorless laugh. “Wow. Growth canceled.”

I ignored her and looked at Mace. “Status of our men?”

“Two outside. They held position when the hall cameras went dark. No visual on who entered.”

“Heartbeats?”

“Too much building interference from the street. They’re moving closer now.”

“No engagement unless the intruder exits.”

Deena stared at me like I had lost my mind. “We’re going.”

“No.”

Her expression went flat. “You really do enjoy speed-running your way back to dick.”

My wolf bristled. I forced my voice lower. “It may be bait.”

“It’s my home.”

“That is why it works as bait.”

“And my medication is there. My uniforms. My ID. My life.” She pointed toward the screen. “Someone is in it.”

I knew that.

I knew it too well.

That was the problem.

Whoever had stepped into her apartment had not only crossed a threshold. They had violated her private space, touched what belonged to her, searched through the evidence of a life I had already disrupted. My first instinct was to put her in the deepest room of the estate, surround it with wolves, and tear apart the city until I found the scent responsible.

My first instinct was rarely civilized.

Deena watched me fight with it. She saw too much.

“Don’t make me ask permission to care about my own life,” she said, quieter this time.

The words struck harder than shouting would have.

I looked at Mace. “Two vehicles. Full perimeter protocol. No uniforms, no visible weapons. We leave in five.”

Silas stepped forward. “Xavier, this is reckless.”

I turned my head. “Then stay here and be prudent.”

His eyes cooled. “You are allowing her emotional reaction to dictate strategy.”

Deena snorted. “My emotional reaction has better instincts than your personality.”

Nicole pointed at her. “That’s going on a mug.”

Mace was already moving toward the door. “I’ll pull the cars.”

I caught Deena’s gaze. “You stay behind me when we enter.”

“I stay where I can see exits.”

“Behind me.”

“Xavier.”

My name in her mouth should not have moved through me like that. Angry, tired, stubborn—and alive. My wolf settled on the sound with dangerous satisfaction.

I exhaled slowly. “You stay where Mace or I can reach you.”

She studied me for a second. “That’s almost reasonable.”

“It is as far as I go.”

“Then try not to sprain anything.”

Nicole muttered, “Look at you two. Negotiating like adults with murder hobbies.”

We moved fast.

The garage beneath the west wing smelled of oil, leather, cold metal, and rain tracked in from the night patrols. Black SUVs lined one side, polished and quiet. Mace stood by the lead vehicle, already armed beneath his jacket. Nicole eyed him like she could see every knife.

“You expect me to ride with you?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mace said.

“I don’t remember joining the wolf Uber program.”

“You want to protect Deena?”

“Obviously.”

“Then don’t put both humans in one target.”

Nicole opened her mouth, then closed it.

I almost respected him for winning that quickly.

She jabbed a finger at his chest. “If you drive like an asshole, I’m vomiting in your glove compartment.”

Mace looked down at her finger, then at her face. “Wear your seat belt.”

“Oh, it speaks concern.”

“It speaks traffic law.”

Deena stepped beside me, wearing the dark coat Lena had pressed into her hands. Reinforced lining. Soft enough not to look tactical. Protective enough to stop a blade from reaching anything vital.

She tugged at the collar. “This thing is heavy.”

“It is armored.”

“I guessed that when Lena said, ‘It’s just a coat,’ with the subtlety of a woman hiding a body.”

“Wear it.”

Her brow arched.

I corrected myself before she could speak. “Please.”

The corner of her mouth shifted, not quite a smile. One dimple threatened me from her left cheek and vanished. “See? Nobody died.”

Not yet, I thought.

But I opened her door instead of saying it.

The drive back to the city was wet, gray, and too long.

Deena sat in the passenger seat, silent for the first ten miles. Her hands rested in her lap, one thumb rubbing over the marks around her wrist. Every so often, a pulse of discomfort came through the bond. Not enough to break her composure. Enough to make my fingers tighten around the wheel.

In the mirror, Mace’s SUV stayed three car lengths behind us. Nicole sat beside him, talking with her whole face. Mace looked like he was enduring a weather event.

Deena noticed where my gaze went. “She’s probably threatening him.”

“Likely.”

“Good.”

“That comforts you?”

“Yes. Nicole threatening large men means the world is still turning.”

I let the city rise ahead of us before I spoke again. “If someone is still inside, you do not enter until we clear it.”

She looked out the window. “Do you ever get tired?”

“Of what?”

“Carrying every decision like it’s a loaded gun only you’re allowed to touch.”

My jaw tightened.

She was not asking gently. But she was not mocking me either.

“My decisions keep people alive.”

“Sometimes.” She turned to me. “Sometimes they just keep people controlled.”

The bond gave me the edge of her frustration. Beneath it was exhaustion. Beneath that, hurt.

I did not know what to do with the hurt.

I had been trained for negotiations, ambushes, territory wars, challenges, betrayals. No one had trained me for a short Black woman with big brown eyes calling me on my shit while my wolf wanted to lay the world at her feet and my body kept noticing the shape of her mouth.

“I am trying,” I said.

She studied my profile. “I know.”

That should have eased something.

It made it worse.

Her apartment building sat on a narrow street near a laundromat, a corner store, and a coffee shop with fogged windows. Normal city life moved around us—cars passing, a woman carrying groceries, two teenagers arguing over a phone—while my men watched from opposite ends of the block.

One approached as we parked. Young. Controlled. Nervous beneath it.

“Alpha,” he said quietly. “No exit since the door opened. No scent from the stairwell that we can isolate. Something’s masking it.”

Mace joined us with Nicole at his side. “Masking how?”

“Chemical. Bitter. Burned plastic and wintergreen.”

Mace’s expression darkened.

I knew the scent too.

Mercenary trick. Not specific to one pack, but common among hired wolves who did not want territory scents traced back to their masters.

Deena looked between us. “That face means bad.”

“It means professional,” I said.

“Professional criminals?”

“Yes.”

“Fantastic.”

We entered through the back.

Mace went first up the stairs, silent despite his size. I kept Deena behind my left shoulder. She allowed it for exactly one flight before shifting enough to see past me.

“Deena,” I warned softly.

“I’m behind you. I’m also not furniture.”

Nicole whispered from behind Mace, “Put that on the mug too.”

The hallway outside Deena’s apartment smelled wrong before I saw the door.

Her scent was there—shea butter, coffee, clean cotton, hospital antiseptic lingering from long shifts—but under it lay the bitter chemical mask. The lock had been opened, not broken. Whoever came here wanted time, not noise.

Mace lifted two fingers.

No heartbeat inside.

No breathing.

No movement.

Still, I entered as if death waited around every corner.

The apartment was small. Warm colors. Books stacked on a side table. A blanket over the couch. A pair of sneakers by the door. Plants on the windowsill, one drooping in judgment. Her life was everywhere and nowhere near enough.

Then I saw what they had done to it.

Drawers pulled open. Couch cushions slit. Closet contents dragged out. Papers scattered across the floor. Her bedroom door stood half-open, and beyond it I saw clothing dumped from drawers, private things exposed to strangers.

A growl rose before I could stop it.

Deena stepped past me.

I caught her arm gently. “Wait.”

She looked down at my hand.

I released her.

Her smooth brown skin was warm beneath my fingers for the second I had touched her. My wolf hated letting go.

She moved into the living room slowly, taking in each violation piece by piece. Nicole followed, her face no longer amused.

“Dee,” she said softly.

Deena bent to pick up a framed photo from the floor. The glass had cracked over the image of an older Black woman with kind eyes and Deena’s smile.

“My grandmother,” Deena said.

Her voice was calm.

Too calm.

The bond shook with rage.

I looked away because the urge to kill needed somewhere to go, and there was no throat in front of me.

Mace checked the bedroom. “Clear.”

Nicole stepped inside after him and immediately snapped, “Oh, fuck no.”

Deena closed her eyes.

I knew before I saw it.

Her clothes. Her underwear. Her private drawers. All of it tossed, searched, handled.

I felt her humiliation hit the bond like a hot blade.

I wanted blood.

Mace came out with his jaw locked. “They were thorough.”

Deena set the photo upright on the table. “What were they looking for?”

“Documents,” I said. “The signature page. Family records. Anything that proves or strengthens the claim.”

Nicole came back holding an empty shoebox. “This was in her closet. She keeps old documents in here. Birth certificate copies, hospital papers, some stuff from her grandma.”

Deena turned. “It’s empty?”

Nicole’s mouth tightened. “Yeah.”

A cold, precise anger settled inside me.

Not random.

Not intimidation only.

They wanted her history.

Deena pressed her fingers to her necklace. The crescent and blade rested against her chest, innocent-looking and ancient as sin.

“We’re packing what matters,” I said. “Now.”

She did not argue.

That scared me more than her anger.

For twenty minutes, we moved through the wreckage of her life. Deena packed uniforms, medications, toiletries, a few books, photographs, and a worn sweatshirt she held for a moment before folding. Nicole collected chargers, files the intruders had missed, and three bras she threatened to invoice to “the werewolf monarchy” if anyone commented.

No one did.

In the bedroom, Deena paused by the bed, staring at the torn mattress.

“I slept here three nights ago,” she said.

I stood in the doorway. “I know.”

Her eyes lifted. “Do you?”

Yes.

I knew the shape of invasion. I knew what it did to the body when a place meant for rest became proof that nowhere was untouched. I knew it from a childhood spent in houses with too many guards and not enough safety.

“They will not get this close again,” I said.

She gave me a tired look. “That sounds like a promise you can’t fully control.”

“It is still a promise.”

For once, she didn’t cut me with an answer.

Mace called from the living room. “Xavier.”

I was already moving.

He stood near the small kitchen table, body angled toward something I had not noticed before. A single object had been placed there with deliberate care.

Not dropped.

Displayed.

A photograph.

I stepped closer.

The image showed Mercy General’s trauma bay. Deena in scrubs. Me on the table, bloodied and half-dead beneath hospital lights. Her hand was braced near mine, a pen in her fingers.

The moment before the world changed.

Deena came up beside me and went very still.

Nicole whispered, “Where the hell did they get that?”

I turned the photo over.

Five words were written across the back in black ink.

She signed. Now she bleeds.