Page 3 of Rebel for Claws
"Easy," a deep voice murmured near her ear, the tone surprisingly gentle despite the circumstances. "We're not here to hurt you."
A second figure moved through her peripheral vision—a woman with blonde hair and tactical gear, her movements fluid and purposeful. She approached Vivian's desk with obvious understanding of what lay there, carefully gathering the ancient scrolls and journals into a leather satchel.
Vivian tested her captor's hold, searching for weakness, but found none. The man's strength was impressive even by shifter standards, his grip unyielding yet careful not to restrict her breathing.
"We could have done this messily, but that wasn't our goal. You're coming with us because your life is in danger, not because we mean you harm," the woman said, grabbing the last of the documents.
My life in danger? From whom?
The man behind her shifted his hold, producing restraints with one hand while maintaining control with the other. "Flex-cuffs," he explained quietly. "Temporary restraint for everyone's safety during transport. You'll understand soon enough."
Vivian's mind raced through escape scenarios, but her captors moved with the synchronized efficiency of a long-established partnership. The woman finished securing the documents while the man bound Vivian's wrists with practiced ease.
"The Council's operatives are already mobilizing to hunt you down," the woman said, shouldering the satchel containing centuries of hidden truth.
Council operatives. Their death squads.
"We're leaving now," the man stated, his tone brooking no argument. "Quietly, through the window. Your team's safety depends on them remaining asleep and unaware of what just happened here."
They moved her toward the window with careful coordination, their tactical gear allowing them to navigate the snowy ledge outside her office. Vivian's enhanced senses finally engaged fully, cataloging details about her captors. The man smelled of winter forest and something uniquely wolf. The woman carried the scent of determination and barely contained worry, mixed with undertones of a hybrid wolf.
Who are they?
The December night bit through her clothes as they guided her along the cabin's exterior. Snow crunched softly beneath their tactical boots as they headed toward the vast forest.
"Three miles to extraction," the woman whispered into her phone. "Package secured, some ancient documents retrieved. No casualties."
Package?
The trek through the snowy forest tested Vivian's stamina despite her enhanced conditioning. Her captors set a grueling pace, their knowledge of the terrain suggesting extensive reconnaissance. They avoided the main trails, instead following game paths and natural corridors that would mask their passage.
"Almost there," the man said during one brief rest, his green eyes scanning the treeline with professional alertness.
When they finally reached the extraction point, Vivian had to admire their preparation. Their camouflaged vehicle blended seamlessly with the winter landscape, its modification suggesting extensive resources.
Who are these people?
They loaded her into the truck, the woman climbing in beside her while the man took the driver's seat. The engine turned over with a muffled rumble.
"Where are you taking me?" Vivian demanded, finally finding her voice as they pulled away from the forest.
"Somewhere safe," the woman replied, her light blue eyes holding depths that spoke of personal understanding of danger. "Somewhere the Council can't reach you."
Safe. Nothing's been safe since my family and my ancestors were murdered.
The truck moved through the night with purpose, carrying Vivian away from everything familiar toward an uncertaindestination. The ancient scrolls and journals that contained the truth about her heritage now rested in the hands of strangers who claimed to be protectors.
But protectors of what?
TWO
ALARIC
Alaric pulled the thick wool blanket tighter around his shoulders, but the chill that had settled into his bones during the fifteen-mile run through December's unforgiving forest refused to lift. The thermal henley Cade had given him clung to his frame—a frame that had lost too much muscle mass during five months of captivity. His bare feet, now wrapped in thick socks and proper boots, still ached from the rocky terrain he'd traversed in nothing but thin medical scrubs.
The stone fireplace threw dancing shadows across Cade's rustic cabin, its warmth licking at Alaric's face while his core temperature struggled to normalize. He stared into the flames, his bright grey eyes reflecting the orange glow as his mind replayed the night's harrowing escape from Thorne's laboratory facility.
How did I let myself become so vulnerable? So weak?
