INTERROGATION

The new safe house was a warehouse. Industrial. Cold. The kind of place bodies got buried under concrete.

Anya tried not to think about that as Dimitri cuffed her to a chair.

"Is this necessary?" she asked.

"Yes."

Fair enough. She'd admitted to being a CIA operative sent to infiltrate their organization. Trust would take time.

If they gave her time.

Dimitri, Alexei, and Nikolai stood in a semicircle around her. Alpha predators, assessing threat level. Deciding if she lived or died.

Her training said to stay calm. Give them enough truth to seem honest, but never the whole truth.

Never make yourself completely vulnerable.

Her instinct, that same gut feeling that had made her refuse extraction, said to tell them everything.

She was so fucking tired of lying.

"Let's start simple," Dimitri said. He'd gone cold. Professional. The warmth from earlier gone, replaced by the Pakhan who'd built an empire on blood and fear. "Your real name."

"Anya Volkov."

"Convenient last name for a Russian infiltration."

"It's real." She met his eyes. "My father was Aleksandr Volkov. Born in Moscow, immigrated to the US in 1991. Met my mother in New York. She was a linguistics professor. He was..." She stopped. This part always hurt. "He was FSB. But he defected. That's why we came to the States."

Alexei and Nikolai exchanged looks. Dimitri's expression didn't change.

"FSB," Alexei said flatly. "Your father was Russian intelligence."

"Former. He burned those bridges when he left."

"Why?"

"Because they wanted to use me." The words tasted like ash. "I manifested as omega at thirteen. Rare. Strong. The kind the Russian government likes to control. Breed to strong alphas. Make super soldiers." She laughed without humor. "He got us out before they could."

"And the CIA just happened to recruit you," Nikolai said. Skeptical.

"No. They recruited me because my father cut a deal. Information for protection. He gave them everything he knew about FSB operations, and they promised to keep us safe." She looked down at the cuffs. "They kept that promise. Right up until a car bomb took out both my parents when I was sixteen."

"Who planted it?" Dimitri's voice was softer now. Almost gentle.

"Officially? Chechen terrorists. Officially, it was wrong place, wrong time." She raised her eyes. "Unofficially? Could have been FSB tying up loose ends. Could have been CIA doing the same. I'll never know."

The warehouse was quiet except for the drip of water somewhere in the darkness.

"So you joined the CIA for revenge," Alexei said.

"I joined because I had nothing else. No family. No home. Just a particular set of skills and an omega designation that made me valuable." She said it clinically. Without self-pity. "They trained me. Black ops. Deep cover. The missions no one talks about."

"What missions?" Dimitri asked.

Here it was. The moment of truth.

"Afghanistan. Syria. Somalia. Ukraine. Anywhere the US needed intelligence on Russian operations." She took a breath. "I've killed twenty-three people. Seventeen confirmed, six probables. I've infiltrated eight different organizations. Terrorist cells. Weapons dealers. Trafficking rings. I'm good at what I do."

"At killing people."

"At surviving." She held Dimitri's gaze. "At doing what needs to be done so other people don't have to."

"Noble." But Alexei's voice was edged with sarcasm. "Very noble. The omega assassin, protecting the innocent."

"I never said I was noble." Anya's voice went flat. Cold. The operator mask sliding into place. "I said I'm good at my job. There's a difference."

Nikolai moved closer. Studying her face. Looking for tells. "And your job was to infiltrate us. Assess threat. Eliminate if necessary."

"Yes."

"So what's your assessment?" His eyes were hard. Unforgiving. "Are we a threat?"

She should lie. Should tell them what they wanted to hear. Should manipulate the situation to her advantage.

"You're dangerous," she said instead. "Violent. You run guns, drugs, and protection rackets across three states. You've killed people. Hurt people. You're exactly what my file said you were."

Dimitri's jaw tightened. "And yet."

"And yet you have rules. Honor. You don't touch kids. You don't deal in trafficking. You protect your people, not just your soldiers, but the community.

The neighborhoods you control." She leaned forward as much as the cuffs allowed. "I've spent five days watching you. You're not monsters. You're survivors. There's a difference."

"Pretty words," Alexei said. "How do we know they're true?"

"You don't." Simple. Honest. "You'll never know for sure. I could be lying. I could be playing a deeper game than you can see. I could be the best goddamn actress in the world." She looked at each of them in turn. "Or I could be telling the truth. And the only way you'll know which is to trust me."

"Trust," Nikolai laughed. "The CIA operative wants us to trust her. That's fucking rich."

"Former CIA operative." She said it firmly. "The moment I refused extraction, I burned that bridge. They'll classify me as rogue. Turned. Compromised. They'll hunt me as hard as they hunt you now."

"Good." Dimitri's voice was hard. "Then we all have the same enemies."

He moved behind her. She felt him there, his presence, his heat, his alpha power making her wolf sit up and take notice. Felt the bond pulling tight.

Then the cuffs clicked open.

"You're free to go," Dimitri said.

Anya blinked. Stood slowly, rubbing her wrists.

"What?"

"You're free to go. Door's that way." He pointed. "Walk out. Disappear. We won't stop you."

It was a test. She understood that immediately. Walk away, prove she was never really committed. Stay, and...

"I'm not leaving," she said.

"Why not?" Alexei demanded. "You just admitted you're a trained killer who was sent to destroy us. You admitted the CIA wants you dead. You're a liability. A target on our backs. Why the fuck would you stay?"

Good question.

Anya looked at the three brothers. At Dimitri with his cold eyes and protective instincts. At Alexei with his paranoia and sharp mind. At Nikolai with his violence barely leashed.

They were murderers. Criminals. Everything she'd been trained to eliminate.

They were also the first people in ten years who'd made her feel like something other than a weapon.

"Because that thing...that wolf....called me Luna." She said it quietly. "And my father used to tell me stories about the old ways. About how Lunas were chosen by the pack spirit. How they weren't just mates. They were protectors. Leaders. The ones who held everything together when the world went to shit."

"Fairy tales," Alexei said again.

"Maybe." Anya shrugged. "But I watched a wolf the size of a car take three bullets and not bleed. I felt something speak directly into my mind. I felt..." She stopped. Looked at Dimitri. "I felt the bond when we touched. I know you felt it too."

His expression didn't change, but she saw the admission in his eyes.

"85%," he said softly. "Your immunity dropped to 85%."

"I know."

"It'll keep dropping. Every touch. Every moment we're together. Eventually, the bond will complete whether we want it to or not."

"I know that too."

"And you're okay with that?" Nikolai sounded incredulous. "You're okay being bound to us? Forever?"

Was she?

A week ago, the answer would have been no. Absolutely not. She was a free agent. Unattached. Unburdened by pack politics or mate bonds.

Now...

"I don't know if I'm okay with it," she said honestly. "But I know I'm not running from it."

The brothers exchanged looks. Some silent communication she wasn't pack enough to understand.

Yet.

"We need to know everything," Dimitri said finally. "Every mission. Every handler. Every contact. If we're going to protect you....protect ourselves...we need complete transparency."

"Agreed."

"And your combat training. I need to understand what you're capable of."

"Special operations. Close quarters combat. Sniper qualified. Demolitions. Tactical driving. Survival training. I'm rated expert in seven weapons systems and proficient in twelve more."

She said it matter-of-factly. "I can kill you sixty different ways with what's in this room. But I won't."

Alexei laughed. It was sharp. Almost admiring.

"Jesus Christ. They really did send their best."

"They sent the best omega operative they had," Anya corrected. "There are alphas who are better. But for infiltration? For deep cover? I was the logical choice."

"How many times have you done this?" Dimitri asked. "Deep cover infiltration."

"Eight times. Successfully. This would have been nine."

"Would have been." He stepped closer. Into her space. Crowding her in a way that should have been threatening but somehow wasn't. "What changed?"

You, she thought. You and your fucking protective instincts and the way you look at me like I'm something precious instead of something useful.

"I met the target," she said instead. "And he wasn't what I expected."

Their eyes held. She saw the struggle in him, trust versus suspicion, desire versus duty. The same war she was fighting.

The bond pulsed between them. Warm. Insistent.

Dimitri raised his hand. Slow. Giving her time to refuse. His fingertips grazed her jaw, and,

Electricity. The bond flared white-hot. She gasped. He growled, the sound vibrating through her bones.

80%, her mind supplied through the haze.

Immunity at 80%.

"Every time," he whispered. His thumb traced her lower lip. "Every fucking time we touch, it gets stronger."

"I know."

"This is dangerous."

"I know."

"Anya..." His voice was rough. Raw. "If this bond completes, you're mine. Permanently. My mate. My Luna. Part of my pack until one of us dies."

"I understand the stakes."

"Do you?" He leaned in close enough that she felt his breath on her skin. "Because I'm not a good man. I've killed. I've hurt people. I've done things that would make you run if you had any sense."

"I'm not running."

"You should be."

"But I'm not."

They were so close. Close enough to kiss. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him, smell the alpha-musk that made her omega sit up and beg.

Dimitri's phone rang.

He jerked back like she'd burned him. Answered with a snarl. "What."

Pause. She watched his face go carefully blank.

"When?" Another pause. "Ty uveren?" Are you certain?

He ended the call. Looked at his brothers. At Anya.

"The Sokolov Pakhan," he said slowly. "Pavel just confirmed. He was killed at 11:47 PM. Three hours before the attack on our compound."

"We know this," Alexei said.

"No. You don't understand." Dimitri's voice was strange. Tight. "He was killed by sniper. Single shot. 800 meters. Professional grade."

The warehouse went very quiet.

"That's not Bratva," Nikolai said. "That's..."

"Military," Anya finished. Her mind was racing. "That's military precision. Government trained."

"Russian?" Alexei suggested.

"Maybe. Or...." She stopped. Felt the pieces clicking together. "Or American."

Three pairs of eyes locked on her.

"Explain," Dimitri said.

"The timing. The precision. The coordination between the hit and the assault on you." She was pacing now, hands moving as she thought aloud. "Someone wanted both organizations in chaos. Wanted you blamed for Sokolov's death. Wanted the Bratva at war."

"The CIA," Nikolai said flatly.

"Maybe. But this isn't my task force's MO. We're surgical. Quiet. This is..." She stopped. Looked at Dimitri. "This is someone who wants maximum chaos. Who benefits from Russian organized crime tearing itself apart."

"Another agency?"

"Or another player entirely."

Dimitri's phone buzzed. Text message. He looked at it, and his face went white.

"What?" Alexei demanded.

Dimitri turned the phone around.

The message was simple:

VOLKOV PAKHAN NEXT. 72 HOURS. SURRENDER OR WATCH YOUR CITY BURN.

No signature. No demands. Just a threat.

"Fuck," Nikolai breathed.

Anya's mind was already three steps ahead. Calculating. Planning. "This is bigger than us.

Bigger than the Bratva. Someone's orchestrating a complete collapse of the Russian power structure in the US."

"Why?" Alexei asked.

"I don't know. But whoever it is, they have serious resources. They took out the Sokolov Pakhan with a sniper. They sent a CIA extraction team after me. They're coordinating attacks across multiple organizations." She looked at Dimitri. "This is nation-state level. This is..."

The window exploded.

Not shattered. Exploded.

Anya's training kicked in. She was moving before the glass finished falling, tackling Dimitri down, covering his body with hers.

Smoke. Thick. White. Not explosive. Not incendiary.

Gas.

"Gas grenade!" she shouted. "Get out! Get..."

Figures dropped through the window. Fast. Professional. Rappelling lines. She counted four. No, six. No...

Too many.

This wasn't an assault team.

This was an extraction team.

And she recognized the loadout. The tactics. The coordination.

CIA.

But not her task force.

These were different. Heavier gear. More firepower.

The kind of team you sent when you didn't want prisoners.

The kind you sent for a kill mission.

"Behind me!" Dimitri roared. He had his gun up, firing. Alexei and Nikolai flanking. The warehouse turned into a war zone.

Anya saw the first operator line up a shot on Dimitri. Saw the suppressed rifle track toward his head.

She moved.

Didn't think. Didn't calculate. Just moved.

Her body collided with Dimitri's. The round passed through where his head had been, buried itself in concrete. They went down hard.

"Stay down!" she screamed.

"Fuck that!" But he stayed down, pulling her close, his body covering hers now. Protecting her even as she'd just protected him.

The bond flared. Hot. Desperate.

More gunfire. The warehouse was chaos. Smoke and muzzle flash and the wet sound of bullets hitting flesh.

Then she heard it.

The distinctive thump of a grenade launcher.

"Grenade!" She grabbed Dimitri, hauled him toward cover. "Move! Move! Mov..."

The explosion picked them up and threw them like toys.

She felt the impact. Felt ribs crack. Felt her head bounce off concrete.

Then darkness at the edges of her vision.

Through the smoke, she saw them coming. Six operators. Moving with deadly efficiency. Suppressors up. Executing the wounded.

Executing Alexei. Nikolai.

Executing the brothers she'd chosen over her mission.

No.

Anya tried to stand. Couldn't. Her legs wouldn't work right. Concussion. Had to be.

But her arms worked.

She found her gun. Raised it. Fired.

Once. Twice. Three times.

The operators scattered. Not expecting return fire from someone who should be dead or dying.

"Anya." Dimitri's voice. Weak. He was bleeding. Bad.

"Don't..."

"Shut up." She kept firing. Kept the operators back.

"Just shut up and let me save you."

Because that's what Lunas did, right?

They protected their pack.

Even if it killed them.

The operators were regrouping. She could see it.

Could see them coordinating for a final push.

Could see...

Dimitri's phone rang.

The sound was absurd. Surreal. The ringtone bright and cheerful in the middle of a firefight.

He answered it. Because of course he did.

Because he was insane.

"Da?"

She saw his face change. Saw every drop of color drain away.

"When?" His voice was hollow. "Are you absolutely certain?"

He lowered the phone. Looked at her with eyes that had seen hell.

"The Sokolov Pakhan," he said. "He wasn't killed at 11:47 PM."

"What?"

"He was killed at 11:47 AM. Three hours BEFORE the attack on us." Dimitri's laugh was broken.

"Someone's been playing us from the start. The timeline was wrong. The intelligence was wrong. Everything was...."

Wrong.

It was all wrong.

Which meant...

Anya felt the pieces shift. Felt the whole picture rearrange itself into something terrifying.

"This isn't about territory," she whispered. "This isn't about the Bratva."

"Then what is it about?"

Before she could answer, before she could tell him her suspicion, she heard it.

The sound of hydraulics. Of heavy equipment.

She turned.

Through the smoke, through the chaos, she saw the window, the one the operators had breached through, suddenly fill with dark shapes.

Not more operators.

Something else.

The white wolf stepped through first.

Massive. Ancient. Its eyes glowing with that same intelligence, that same terrible knowing.

Behind it came others. A pack. Gray wolves, black wolves, wolves the color of rust and ash. Two dozen at least. Maybe more.

The operators froze.

One of them raised his weapon. Fired. The round passed through the white wolf like it was made of smoke.

The wolf smiled.

Then the pack attacked.

It wasn't a fight. It was a slaughter.

Anya watched the operators try to run, try to fight, try to do anything except die. Watched them fail.

Watched the wolves tear through trained killers like they were made of paper.

In sixty seconds, it was over.

The white wolf padded toward Anya. She tried to raise her gun, instinct, training, stupidity, but the wolf just looked at her.

Protect what is yours, young Luna. The game is larger than you know. Enemies circle. Choose wisely.

Then it was gone.

All of them. The wolves. The bodies. Even the blood.

Like they'd never existed at all.

Anya stared at the empty warehouse. At Dimitri bleeding beside her. At Alexei and Nikolai struggling to their feet.

"What the fuck," Nikolai said, "was that?"

She opened her mouth to answer.

Dimitri's phone rang again.

He looked at her. Broken. Exhausted. Covered in blood.

Then he answered.

"Da?"

His face went white. Whiter than before. The kind of white that meant bad news. The kind that meant...

"I understand." His voice was dead. Flat. "We'll be there in one hour."

He ended the call. Looked at his brothers. At Anya.

"We need to move," he said. "Now."

"Dima, what..."

"Someone just sent me coordinates. And a message." He showed them the phone.

The message was simple:

SOKOLOV PAKHAN KILLED THREE HOURS BEFORE ATTACK. SOMEONE RESET THE CLOCKS. SOMEONE WANTED YOU TO THINK YOU WERE BLAMED. SOMEONE IS PLAYING A MUCH BIGGER GAME. COME TO THESE COORDINATES IF YOU WANT ANSWERS. COME ALONE.

Below it, GPS coordinates to somewhere in the industrial district.

A trap. Had to be.

But also maybe their only lead.

Anya looked at Dimitri. At the way he held himself, broken ribs, probably, and maybe a concussion. At the blood soaking his shirt.

At the determination in his eyes that said he'd crawl to those coordinates if he had to.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"Anya..."

"I'm coming with you." Not a request. A statement.

"You saved my life. Multiple times. Now I save yours. That's how this works."

He looked at her for a long moment. Then nodded.

"Fine. We all go."

"That's not what the message said," Alexei pointed out.

"I don't care." Dimitri's voice was pure alpha command. "Someone's playing games with us. Someone killed the Sokolov Pakhan and framed us for it. Someone sent CIA kill teams and spectral wolves." He looked at each of them. "We're done being played. We're going in together, and we're getting answers."

"Or we're walking into an ambush," Nikolai said.

"Probably." Dimitri smiled. It was sharp. Feral. "Good thing we're hard to kill."

They moved out. Four people held together by blood, violence, and a bond that was rewriting reality with every passing moment.

Anya felt it as they moved, the immunity suppressant failing. Felt it crack further, drop lower. 75%. Maybe 70%.

Soon it wouldn't matter. Soon the bond would complete, and she'd be theirs.

Part of her was terrified.

Part of her couldn't wait.

But mostly, she was just focused on surviving the next hour.

On getting to those coordinates.

On finding out who was playing this game.

And putting a bullet in their head.

That's what Lunas did.

They protected their pack.

No matter the cost.