Warehouse 13: Season 6 Novels & Stories

Old factories lined the road, their rusted roofs looking like broken teeth under the moon. My phone buzzed again when I got to the gate. UNKNOWN NUMBER: Enter, we see you. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and drove in. The warehouse 6 was a huge, rectangular structure with a metal sliding door and faded numbering. The building looked old enough to collapse if someone breathed too hard. The surrounding yard was wide, littered with pieces of scrap metal, broken crates, rusted drums, and weeds growing wildly. The security lights were dim, flickering like they could die at any second.

Lying. "See that building?" He pointed to a warehouse on the edge of town. "That's where Elder Marcus runs his shipping business. Half the cargo coming through there is legitimate. The other half is weapons, drugs, stolen goods. He's been doing it for thirty years and no one stops him because he's an elder. Untouchable."

The building itself looked massive up close with its rusting steel doors, broken windows and no visible guards which somehow felt worse. Dante crouched near the side entrance. “Too quiet.” “Agreed,” Jax answered. One soldier moved closer. “Thermal scan shows movement inside.” “How many?” “Six. Maybe more.” Jax looked toward me briefly. “Stay close.” “I know.” His jaw tightened. “No improvising.” “That accusation feels targeted.” I said, my eyes still looking forward. “It is targeted.” The side door opened quietly seconds later and darkness swallowed us. Inside smelled like dust, metal and oil. Flashlights swept carefully across the warehouse floor while crates towered around us like shadows.

"We go. But we do it smart. You, me, Daxon, and ten elite warriors. Four of them stay hidden as backup. The rest provide visible security." "Marcus said I could bring guards," I noted. "Good. Then he's expecting us." Daxon stood. "Let's get ready." The warehouse was abandoned and falling apart. Perfect for an ambush. Located exactly midway between Silverfang and Nightshade territories, on neutral ground that belonged to no Pack. We arrived first. Ten warriors spread out around the perimeter. Four of them melted into the shadows, becoming invisible to anyone who wasn't looking carefully. The rest of us stood in the center, waiting.

I didn’t like the way he looked at her. By the time I pulled up at the warehouse off Dock 4, the men were already waiting. I ran a tight ship, and that meant no one breathed unless I said so. I walked in, flanked by Lorenzo and Carlos. Inside, the long metal table was already set with the layout of our distribution zones across the ports. Black crates were stacked along the walls, each marked with white chalk, sorted by origin: Naples, Casablanca, Bogotá. Legit goods up front. The rest, concealed under codes only a few of us knew how to read.

Just faintly, like her body was whispering the truth before her mind had fully accepted it. Everything around her screamed normal. But she knew it wasn’t. For now, she had to pretend. Pretend that life was the same. Pretend that nothing had changed. And deep down, she knew this secret was already changing her. …. The warehouse by the docks smelled of diesel, wet wood, and smoke. Hollow Cross had moved in quietly, securing the area. The shipment of electronics was ready to leave, a valuable score they couldn’t afford to lose. Whisper checked his team. “Eyes sharp. The Black Reign knows we’re here.”

“The port workers are keeping their mouths shut, but money might loosen a few tongues.” “Or a broken finger,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “Bring them in. The ones on our payroll first. If they don’t talk, we move up the ladder.” “You got it.” I hang up and shove my phone into my pocket. Around me, the warehouse is still busy, but now, the tension is thicker. Word spreads fast in places like this. Everyone knows something’s wrong. Jaxon jogs up, looking tense. “No one’s admitting to knowing where the shipment went. Manifest says it was mostly weapons, but there was a special crate. No details, just marked as high value.”

“I’m with you.” “Alex, if it’s a trap—” Carter started. "I don't care," Alex snapped. "Just fucking move." The dockyard was a maze of crates and rusted ships, air thick with salt and oil. Alex's van screeched in behind Ruiz's team, armed police fanning out. His phone buzzed—Carter, on-site. "Signal's close," Carter said. "Warehouse 7. We're breaching now." Alex rolled forward, heart hammering. “Lauren!” he shouted, voice raw. The team kicked in the door, guns drawn. Empty.

This was a gray, lawless salt town—a place where the legal authority of the Covenant Council had never been corporate, and where the old exiled wolves of the Brook lineage could buy absolute silence for the price of a few gold registries. Aria stood up from her bench, her knees buckling slightly from the sudden deceleration before my large hand caught her forearm, stabilizing her balance before her core could register the physical fatigue. The proximity of our alignment instantly passed a thick, radiating wave of alpha warmth straight through her sleeve, grounding her overtaxed parameters with an absolute certainty that required no vocalized reassurance. "The warehouse is located on Pier Sev

"This is the warehouse of House Vane. The master shipwright is my cousin, an Ashwood sympathizer who has maintained our coastal safehouses since the Great Purge." Rho pulled the lead wagon into the recessed courtyard, and within seconds, the heavy wooden doors swung inward. A stocky, broad-shouldered wolf with graying fur and salt-stained leather aprons emerged, checking the alleyway before waving our caravan inside. The moment the last cart cleared the threshold, the doors were barred with two heavy oak beams, plunging us into the cool, lantern-lit gloom of the warehouse. Jarek and the Frostpeak warriors erupted from beneath the canvas tarps with heavy grunts of relief, stretching their mas