Chapter 12: Hostages

Chapter 12: Hostages Kaya "I don’t see why I should explain anything to you, Alpha Reiner," Storm’s raspy voice drifts through the closed door. He tries to sound composed, confident even, but after years of being forced to read people—their voices, their expressions—I can tell without a doubt that he’s struggling to mask his growing anxiety. A heavy silence follows, stretching unbearably, thick with tension that seems ready to burst through the very walls. I exhale shakily, an involuntary reaction, just as Alpha Reiner finally speaks. "I’ll tell you why," he says, his tone so unnervingly calm that it sends a shiver down my spine. "The King is willing to turn a blind eye to your pack’s activities as long as they remain on neutral ground and don’t threaten to spark a larger conflict. However..." He pauses—deliberately, dangerously. "When you slaughter the Alpha of a recognized pack and... abduct members of another, things tend to get complicated." I suck in a sharp breath, my heart slamming against my ribs. My fingers barely manage to keep their grip on the tray as a tremor of emotions shakes through me. He knows. He knows everything . But how? Had Damien already figured out his mates were missing and sent for an investigation? Then why hadn’t he come himself? My mind is a storm, thoughts colliding too fast for me to grasp a single one. Yet, despite the chaos, I know I can’t walk away now. There might still be more to learn. More pieces to this puzzle. Goddess, I am a mess. I hear the sharp squeak of a chair, immediately followed by Storm’s hoarse voice. "I didn’t realize the King had taken such a keen interest in pack affairs. Don’t you already know what happened during that ambush, and, more importantly, why it happened?" I can practically see the smug grin slicing across Storm’s face, dripping with arrogance. And gods, I wish I could see how Magnus reacts to it. Storm leans in, his voice oozing with insinuation. "Wasn’t that the very reason your men just happened to be taking that route back from patrol?" My curiosity shifts, taking an entirely new direction. Magnus scoffs, but there’s no amusement in it—only cold steel. "Well," he says, his tone as smooth as it is unforgiving, "since we both seem to be on the same page, how about we make a deal? I dismiss your crime as nothing more than a rogue attack... and in return, you hand over the hostages." What? A violent tremor seizes my hands, and I nearly drop the tray. The broken shards rattle against the metal, the sound loud enough to echo for miles—or at least, it feels that way. I am lost. Magnus knows who I am. He knows I’m not alone here. But... why does it have to be him? Damien was never his ally. If anything, he had always seemed indifferent toward him—and outright contemptuous toward the Lycan King. So why is he really here? I jolt back to reality at the sound of Storm’s scornful laugh. "And why would I do that?" he sneers. "I have two different parties interested in those hostages. Or should I say... one hostage in particular?" My heart plummets, my breath catching in my throat. He knows. Storm knows exactly who I am. They both do. But who else, aside from Damien, would be interested in me? Nothing makes sense anymore. My mind is a tangled mess, grasping at straws. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’re not even talking about me. Shelly is Damien’s mate too. It could be her. Goddess, what is going on? A low, suppressed growl rumbles through the air, so subtle yet powerful that I can feel the atmosphere shift with its intensity. Magnus is holding his wolf back—but just barely. That’s when I see it. Truly see it. This isn’t just any alpha sitting across from Storm. This is the Lycan King’s first-in-command. The enforcer of his will. And he is done playing games. "I see you still don’t get it, Storm," Magnus snarls, his voice steady but laced with barely restrained fury. "I am not asking. I am ordering." A shiver runs down my spine. Goddess, how lucky I am not to be in that room right now. "Now," Magnus continues, his tone softening, becoming almost... coaxing. "I advise you to make the right choice. And let me make it a little easier for you." A pause. "I know your pack has been struggling. Whatever they offered you, I’ll double it. Will that help?" Silence. Then, Storm laughs. But this time, it’s slower. Darker. "Double?" he muses. "Damn. The King must be paying you well if you’re this generous." Another pause, then the faint creak of a chair. He’s leaning closer. "Fine. But I want to know why first." Mangus’s voice turns sharp. "What do you mean?" "Why would you—or the King, for that matter—waste money on a bunch of whores?" Magnus hesitates. My heart pounds so loudly in my ears that I almost don’t notice the presence behind me. Almost. "What the hell are you standing around for?" Jack’s voice snaps me back to reality, his beady eyes narrowing at the tray in my trembling hands, the broken shards of glass still scattered across its surface. I need to say something—anything—but when I open my mouth, my mind goes blank. A cold wave of panic crashes over me, and before I know it, I’m choking on my own words, stammering like a fool. The men inside the room must have heard us. The heavy door creaks open, and suddenly, I am enveloped by an intoxicatingly rich scent—strong, yet oddly comforting. Alpha Magnus. It surrounds me like an invisible veil, wrapping around me like a warm, protective cloak. I keep my eyes down, every muscle in my body tensed, waiting for punishment. But no one speaks to me. Silence presses against my ears as I feel the weight of three sets of eyes boring into me. My hands tremble, my nerves stretched so taut I fear they might snap. Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, my gaze lifts—slow, hesitant. Amber eyes lock onto mine. I forget how to breathe. "You have an hour," Magnus finally says, his deep voice breaking through the thick tension. His frown shifts back to Storm, pinning him with a look so sharp it could cut through steel. "My men will be here with the cash. Everything else... will be taken care of. You won’t need to be involved." Storm nods, his usual bravado stripped away as if Magnus’s words have cast a spell over him. But before he can muster a response, Magnus turns and strides away, his heavy footsteps echoing like distant thunder, shaking the very air around us.