AFTERMATH

DIMITRI

The safe house smelled like antiseptic and blood.

Dimitri watched Anya work on Alexei's shoulder wound with hands that didn't shake. Steady.

Professional. The same hands that had killed eight men tonight without hesitation.

The same hands that had felt like fire when they'd touched his.

"You missed your calling," Alexei said through gritted teeth as she probed the wound. "Could've been a doctor."

"Hold still."

"That's not a no." Alexei's eyes found Dimitri's across the room. Sharp. Questioning. "What else are you good at, milaya? Besides shooting, tactical assessment, and field medicine?"

She didn't answer. Just threaded the suture needle with movements too smooth to be anything but trained.

Dimitri leaned against the wall and tried to think past the white noise in his head. Past the feeling of her, still there, even meters away, a constant hum under his skin.

85%.

The immunity suppressant had dropped from 90% to 85% in a single touch. His wolf, the beast he'd kept chained for thirty-four years, had roared to life. Had recognized her. Claimed her.

Mine, it kept saying. Mate. Luna. Ours.

He told it to shut the fuck up.

"Through and through," Anya said, examining Alexei's shoulder. "Clean. You'll live."

"How comforting." But Alexei wasn't looking at his wound. He was watching her face. Reading micro-expressions the way they'd been taught, how to spot a lie, a threat, a weakness. "You've done this before."

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"Enough."

Nikolai snorted from his position by the door. He was on watch, rifle across his lap, but his attention was locked on the interrogation. "Enough. That's not an answer, kotyonok."

"It's the only one you're getting."

The tension ratcheted up. Dimitri felt it, saw his brothers' hackles rise. They were alphas. Predators. And they'd just discovered an unknown wolf in their den.

A wolf that had been pretending to be a lamb.

"Stand down," he said quietly.

"Dima..." Alexei started.

"I said stand down." Alpha command, sharp enough to cut. Both his brothers felt it, felt the weight of it, and subsided. Unhappy but obedient.

Dimitri pushed off the wall and moved toward Anya. She didn't look up from her suturing, but he saw her shoulders tense. Saw the way her fingers tightened fractionally on the needle.

She was afraid of him.

She should be.

"Anya." He kept his voice soft. Reasonable. The tone he used for negotiations when violence was still on the table but not the first option. "Look at me."

She finished the stitch. Tied it off. Cut the thread with scissors she'd sterilized with vodka. Then, slowly, she raised her eyes.

Blue. Clear. Defiant.

Beautiful.

"We need to talk," he said.

"I know."

"But first, I need to know if you're a threat to my brothers."

Something flashed in her eyes. Hurt, maybe. Or anger. "If I was a threat, they'd already be dead."

"That's not an answer either."

"It's the truth." She stood, putting the medical supplies away with economical movements. "I had a dozen opportunities tonight to let them die. To complete my mission. I didn't."

"Your mission being?"

"Infiltrate the Volkov organization. Assess threat level. Eliminate if necessary."

The words hung in the air like cordite. Alexei cursed in Russian. Nikolai's finger moved toward his trigger.

"Don't." Dimitri didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to. "If she wanted us dead, we'd be dead. She had CIA backup. An extraction team. She could have walked away."

"Instead she shot at her own people," Alexei said slowly. "Why?"

Anya looked at Dimitri. Just him. And for a moment, he saw past the operator, the assassin, the spy. Saw something raw and confused and almost vulnerable.

"I don't know," she whispered.

The honesty of it hit him like a fist.

She didn't know. She'd made a split-second decision that went against her training, her mission, her entire identity. And she didn't know why.

"The wolf," Nikolai said suddenly. "That thing...it called you Luna. That's not possible. You're not pack. You're not even Russian."

"I'm half Russian." The words came out defensive. Automatic. "My father was..."

She stopped. Dimitri saw her face close off, walls slamming down.

"Was what?" he pressed.

"Dead. He's dead."

"And your mother?"

"Also dead."

"Convenient."

Her eyes flashed. "You want to compare orphan stories, Pakhan? Because I promise you, mine's worse."

The use of his title, mocking, bitter, made something twist in his chest. He stepped closer. Watched her force herself not to retreat.

"I don't want to compare anything," he said softly. "I want to understand what you are. Because you're not just CIA. You're not just an operative. That wolf...whatever the fuck that thing was...it recognized you."

"I don't know what it was."

"Lie."

"I swear I don't..." She stopped. Took a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was steadier. "I've heard stories. My father used to tell me about the old wolves. The ancients. Shifters so old they stopped being fully animal or fully human. Became something else."

"Fairy tales," Alexei muttered.

"I killed twelve men tonight." Anya's voice was flat. "I watched bullets pass through a wolf the size of a bear. I felt something...some entity...speak directly into my mind. So forgive me if I'm reassessing what qualifies as a fairy tale."

Fair point.

Dimitri studied her. Really looked. Past the exhaustion and blood. Past the careful mask she wore.

She was pack. He could feel it now, with the bond partially formed. Could sense the wolf in her, submissive but strong. Omega but not weak. The kind of omega that alpha legends were built on, the ones who could kill as efficiently as any alpha, who could lead from the shadows, who could bear strong cubs and teach them to be warriors.

His wolf purred. Perfect. Ours. Claim her.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever, if she was still playing them.

"Who sent you?" he asked.

"The CIA. Specifically, a task force focused on disrupting Russian organized crime operations in the US."

"Why you?"

"Because I'm half Russian. Because I speak the language. Because I'm an omega, and your file said you were looking for a mate." She said it clinically. Without emotion. "I was supposed to infiltrate, gather intelligence, and either facilitate your arrest or your elimination."

"And the Sokolov Pakhan's death?"

"Wasn't part of my mission." She met his eyes. "I swear it. When I got that intel about him targeting you, I thought it was real. I thought..." She stopped. Looked away. "It doesn't matter what I thought."

But it did matter. Dimitri could see it. Could feel it through the bond that was growing stronger with every moment they stood close.

She'd been trying to protect them. In her own fucked up way, she'd been trying to keep them alive even while planning their destruction.

"The extraction team," he said. "They came to kill us."

"Yes."

"Not just extract you. Kill us and make it look like you died too. Clean slate."

"Yes."

"But you stopped them."

"I..." She swallowed. "Yes."

"Why?"

The question everyone wanted answered.

Including, he suspected, Anya herself.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her hands clenched into fists, and he saw the first real crack in her control.

"Because you're not monsters," she said finally.

"Because your file said you torture and kill innocents, but I've been here almost a week and all I've seen is you protecting your people.

Because..." Her voice dropped to almost nothing. "Because when that man had his hands on my throat, your first instinct was to shield me. Not use me as cover. Not let me die as a distraction. You protected me."

"You're an omega," Dimitri said. "Any alpha would..."

"No." She shook her head. "Any alpha would calculate the tactical advantage. You didn't calculate. You just moved. Like it was instinct." She looked at him, and he saw the confusion in her eyes. "I've been in a dozen warzones. Worked with special forces, intelligence operatives, the deadliest men on the planet. Not one of them would have done what you did."

The safe house was very quiet.

"So you chose us," Dimitri said slowly, "because we're not as bad as your file said."

"I chose you because my gut said my file was wrong. And I've stayed alive this long by trusting my gut."

Alexei laughed. It was sharp, almost bitter. "Your gut. Christ. You turned on the CIA because of your gut."

"And because that wolf told me to." Anya shrugged. "I'm not saying I made the smart choice. I'm saying I made the only choice that felt right."

Felt right.

Dimitri understood that. Understood making decisions based on instinct, on that animal knowing that lived under the skin. His wolf had been screaming at him for days that she was important. That she was theirs.

Apparently, her wolf had been screaming back.

"They'll come for you," he said. "The CIA doesn't let operatives just walk away."

"I know."

"They'll send more than an extraction team next time."

"I know."

"And whoever killed the Sokolov Pakhan... whoever set this whole thing in motion...they're still out there. Still playing their game."

"I know that too." She looked tired. Not just physically, but soul-deep exhausted. "I know I'm fucked. I know I just burned every bridge I had. I know I chose the side that makes no sense." Her eyes found his. "But I also know I'm not leaving."

The bond flared. Hot. Insistent.

His wolf: Claim. Now. She chose us. She's ours.

Make it permanent.

Dimitri stepped closer. Saw her breath catch. Saw the flutter of her pulse in her throat, too fast, too visible. Fear and arousal mixing into something volatile.

"If you stay," he said softly, "there are consequences."

"I know."

"You'll have to tell us everything. Every mission. Every lie. Every kill. Complete transparency."

"Okay."

"And the bond." He let himself touch her then. Just his fingertips, grazing her jaw. Felt her shiver. Felt the immunity suppressant crack a little more. "It's getting stronger. Every time we touch, it gets harder to fight."

"I know," she whispered.

"Eventually, it won't be a choice. It'll just happen. The bond will complete, and you'll be mine." He let the possessiveness show. Let his wolf color his voice. "Forever. No walking away. No missions. No other loyalties."

She didn't pull back. Didn't flinch.

"Would that be so terrible?" she asked.

The question gutted him.

Because no. No, it wouldn't be terrible. It would be everything he'd spent thirty-four years pretending he didn't want.

"Dima." Alexei's voice cut through the moment. Warning. "Careful."

Right. Careful.

Because she'd been sent to destroy them.

Because she was CIA. Because she could still be playing them, spinning some deep cover story that ended with all of them dead.

Except.

Dimitri looked at his brother. "You felt it too. In the safe room. When she stepped in front of me."

"That doesn't mean..."

"She took a bullet meant for me. She aimed her weapon at her own team. She fought a CIA extraction squad to protect us." He kept his eyes on Alexei, making him understand. "What more proof do you need?"

"Proof that she's not playing an even longer game."

Fair. Alexei had always been the paranoid one. The one who saw betrayal in every shadow.

Usually, he was right.

But not this time.

Dimitri felt it, in his gut, in his wolf, in the half-formed bond that was rewriting his neural pathways. Anya wasn't playing them. She'd legitimately chosen them over her mission.

Now they just had to keep her alive long enough to figure out why.

"We need intel," Nikolai said from the door. He'd been quiet, listening, assessing. "Someone killed the Sokolov Pakhan three hours before they hit us. Someone who knew the timing well enough to frame us and set off a war."

"The CIA?" Alexei suggested.

"Maybe." Anya's voice was thoughtful.

Professional. Slipping back into operator mode. "But this isn't their style. Too messy. Too many variables. They prefer clean operations with minimal chaos."

"Then who?" Dimitri asked.

She was quiet for a long moment. Thinking.

Calculating. He could almost see the gears turning, the tactical mind that had kept her alive in black ops missions most people wouldn't survive.

"Someone who benefits from both organizations falling," she said finally. "Someone who wants the Bratva weakened. The power structure disrupted."

"The Italians?" Nikolai suggested. "They've been pushing into our territory."

"No. This is too sophisticated. Too well-coordinated." Anya looked at Dimitri. "This is someone with deep resources. Intelligence capability. Military precision."

"Another agency?"

"Or another government."

The implications settled over them like a burial shroud.

"We need to move," Dimitri said. "This safe house is compromised. Everyone we trust is compromised. We go dark until we understand who's playing what game."

"And her?" Alexei jerked his chin at Anya. "She comes with us?"

Dimitri didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Dima..."

"She's pack." The words came out harder than he meant. Alpha command. Final. "She stays with us."

Anya's eyes widened. Surprised. Maybe grateful.

"Pack," she repeated softly.

"Unless you object."

She shook her head. Slow. Like she was still processing. "No. No objection."

"Good." He turned to his brothers. "Grab what we need. Weapons, documents, cash. We have ten minutes before we roll."

They moved. Efficient. Practiced. Years of being hunted had made them good at running.

Dimitri caught Anya's arm as she started to help. Pulled her close enough to feel her heat, her scent, now tinged with his pack-smell, the beginning of integration.

"Don't make me regret this," he said quietly.

"I won't."

"Because if you betray us...if this is some elaborate long con...I won't kill you quickly. I'll make it hurt."

He expected fear. Expected her to flinch, to back down, to show some sign that his threat landed.

Instead, she smiled. Small. Almost sad.

"If I betray you," she said, "I'll deserve it."

Then she pulled away, left him standing there with the taste of her in his mouth and the feel of her burning against his palm.

The place where they'd touched still tingled.

He looked down. No visible mark. No physical sign of the bond forming.

But he felt it. Felt it sinking deeper. Taking root.

85%, his wolf reminded him. Fifteen percent until she's ours completely.

He should fight it. Should dose her with more suppressants. Should keep that immunity high and the bond weak.

Should.

But as he watched her move through the safe house, checking weapons with expert ease, packing supplies with the efficiency of someone who'd bugged out a hundred times, he wondered if fighting it was just delaying the inevitable.

She'd chosen them.

Now they just had to figure out if she'd survive the consequences.

Or if they would.