CHAPTER FIVE : FINDING OUT MORE

RAISA POV

The vehicle doesn’t bounce. That’s the first thing I notice.

There were no chains or rattling cages. Just a low hum and the steady pull of acceleration, like we’re freight, not prisoners. Blue restraint bands lock my wrists to the floor rail, same tech as the seal, humming at a frequency that keeps Midnight pinned and snarling inside my skull.

Jaxon sits across from me, with his hands free. Of course, they leave him unbound.

He leans back, calm as ever, eyes tracking the faint light strips along the walls. “High-end transport,” he says mildly. “Rival camp’s improved.”

I tested the restraint once but pain snapped up my arms, white and sharp. Midnight howls. I stopped. No point advertising weakness. The vehicle swerves and speeds up. Outside, I feel the forest fall away, the road smooth into city-grade pavement. Towers rise made with steel, glass, and electricity.

We were back at Aegis. The city that eats wars and sells the bones.

The doors slide open inside a fortified bay. Guns followed us immediately as we all got down. They unclip me last. Jaxon steps out first. They did not shove him or rough-handle him. He straightens his jacket like he’s arriving at a negotiation instead of a capture.

I follow behind him, with my eyes up, shoulders loose, cataloging exits. None close enough.

The camp sits layered inside the city’s lower ring with concrete walls, mobile turrets, and drone nests crawling the ceilings. Banners hang from steel beams, each marked with a symbol I recognize too well.

The Jackels…..the second biggest biker gang in the city.

We’re marched into a central operations hall with crates lining the walls—our crates, weapons, and the skulls.

My jaw locks.

Three men wait at the table. I think they were the leaders. I know the type by the way they stand with their arms crossed, weight balanced, eyes already counting profit.

One step forward, the man in the middle with a scar split down his cheek. “Jaxon Blackthorn,” he says. “You’re off-route.”

Jaxon smiles. “Funny. I was thinking the same about you.”

Scar-face’s gaze flicks to me, as it lingers. “You weren’t supposed to bring… assets.”

“I didn’t,” Jaxon says easily. “You did.”

Murmurs ripple through the room.

Another leader, this one was older, heavier, had rings on every finger—slams his palm on the table. “We had an agreement. Your unit was assigned skull extraction and the weapons were ours.”

Jaxon’s eyes harden a fraction. “Incorrect. It was supposed to be a joint operation with shared profit."

“You overstepped,” Scar-face snaps. “You moved early.”

“Well, you delayed,” Jaxon fires back. “And you tipped the council of elders in Moonstones. Hunters don’t just stumble onto Moonveil with floodlights and seals.”

Silence tightens. I stay quiet. I want them to forget me. Let them argue but I wasn't successful as ring-fingers turned to me. “And what is she?”

Jaxon doesn’t look away from Scar-face. “Mine.” That lands sharply in my ears.

Scar-face sneers. “Your taste has changed.”

“She bites,” Jaxon replies. “I like that.”

I feel Midnight coil, furious, but I keep my face blank.

Ringed-fingers waves a hand. “Enough. Victor will decide.”

My spine goes cold.

The doors at the far end open without a sound as the man named Victor Hale walks in like he owns the oxygen. He had the same posture, steps, and eyes that never blinked when they should. He looks exactly like the man that I killed two years ago.

The room stills instantly and all the leaders straighten, even Jaxon’s smile fades.

FLASHBACK

TWO YEARS AGO

MOONVEIL FOREST

The forest was still burning when he came.

Ash clung to the leaves like grey snow, choking the undergrowth. Bones lay half-buried where fires had burned too hot and too fast with werewolf bones, cracked and blackened, stripped of reverence and marrow alike.

The massacre had ended hours ago, but Moonveil hadn’t stopped crying yet. It never did, not right away.

I felt him before I saw him.

Midnight stirred, a low warning coil in my gut. I moved soundlessly through the trees, barefoot, with blood still drying on my calves. My wolf paced just beneath my skin, furious and raw, but I held her back.

He didn't look like a hunter. I followed him to see what he was here for. This one came to collect.

He stepped into the clearing as he owned it.

He was tall with broad shoulders under a black coat, his boots too clean for the damage around him. His gaze swept through the wreckage with interest. A scanner flicked in his hand, humming softly as it passed over a pile of remains.

“Jackpot,” he murmured.

Rage punched through my ribs.

I dropped from the branch behind him, shifting mid-air. Bone cracked, as fur tore through skin, and Midnight hit the ground running. I didn’t roar, to avoid warning him.

I went straight for his throat.

He moved fast—faster than most men—but not fast enough. My claws raked across his chest, shredding his clothes and the flesh beneath. He grunted, staggered back, and his boots dug into ash as he raised a shock baton and drove it into my shoulder.

Pain exploded, white and electric.

I howled and barreled into him, jaws snapping inches from his face. I smelled his fear then, sharp and acrid, but buried under it was something worse.

Calculation.

“You’re not feral,” he said, breath hard, eyes bright. “Good.”

That was when I knew he was dangerous.

He rolled, came up firing with net rounds laced with suppressant sigils. I tore through one mid-air, felt it burn across my fur, but Midnight pushed through, slamming him into a fallen tree with enough force to crack his back.

The impact stole his breath.

I raked my claws down his side, deep this time. Blood sprayed across my face. He screamed, the sound cutting short as I drove him into the ground again.

“You don’t take from this forest,” I snarled, words tearing out of my throat half-formed. “Not again.”

His baton swung wildly, catching my jaw. Stars burst behind my eyes. I bit down hard on the metal which was crunching between my teeth. The baton snapped. So did his composure.

He tried to crawl out of there and I let him get three feet.

Then I leapt, drove my weight down, and pinned him. My claws sank into his thigh, severing muscle, artery. Blood gushed out fast, dark and steaming against the ash.

His face went pale. “Wait,” he gasped. “I can pay….”

I slashed across his torso, deep enough to open him from rib to hip. Not a killing blow but it was close.

I stepped back, my chest heaving, Midnight snarling for more. He lay there shaking, bleeding out into the bones he’d come to steal.

I looked at him once more, really looked.

My eyes were cold, even in pain. I turned away.

The forest closed around me as I ran, leaves whispering, ash swallowing my tracks. Behind me, his breath hitched, slowed.

I didn’t look back.

Men like him didn’t deserve mercy with a swift killing. He is going to bleed to death.

And I was certain, certain, that no human survived wounds like that.

Well, I was wrong.