Page 110 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
I hear him exhale sharply. “The attacks here…They’re definitely a distraction. Drawing our forces away while they move on other targets. If they’re hitting our palace and the Northern castle simultaneously and going after Fiona—”
“I have to go back to her.”
“I know.” His voice is steady, understanding. “Go. I’ll handle things here.”
“Griffin—”
“She’s your mate, Erik. And if I’m right about this being coordinated—” He pauses. “Hold on. Maya wants to talk to you.”
The words are barely out of his mouth when I hear my sister-in-law on the other end. “Erik, they want Fiona specifically. All the research I’ve done—She represents a successful artificial shifter. If they’ve taken her...”
The implication remains unspoken. If the organization has Fiona, they have everything—a test subject, leverage against the royal families, and potentially the key to their ultimate goal of creating more artificial shifters.
“I’m sending backup,” Griffin interjects. “Whatever you need. I have portals at the ready.”
“Send them to the café. And Griffin?” My voice drops. “If they’ve hurt her...”
“I know.” His tone carries the weight of shared understanding. “Bring her home, brother.”
I disconnect the call and floor the accelerator, the car responding with a surge of power that still feels painfully slow. The bond continues to pulse with wrongness, a discordant note that makes my wolf howl inside me.
Hold on, Fiona. I’m coming.
The drive back feels endless, every minute stretching like hours. I push the car to its limits, taking turns at dangerousspeeds, my enhanced reflexes the only thing keeping us on the road. The bond grows more agitated the closer I get, confirmation that whatever’s happening is real and immediate.
When I finally reach the town, everything looks normal on the surface. Street lights glow peacefully, a few late-night establishments show signs of life. But as I turn onto Fiona’s street, wrongness hits me hard.
The Morning Brew is dark. Not just closed—dark in a way that suggests abandonment rather than the end of a business day. The security lights I installed are off, and there’s no sign of the surveillance team that should be watching from their concealed positions.
I park and approach cautiously, every sense straining. The scent of blood hits me before I even reach the building—Fiona’s blood, metallic and sharp with fear. Mixed with it is Alex’s scent, also tinged with injury.
My wolf surges toward the surface, demanding to be released to hunt down whoever dared harm our mate. I force the transformation back, knowing I need human reasoning right now, not animal fury.
The front door is locked, but that’s meaningless to me. I slip around to the alley, following the blood scent to its source. What I find makes my vision blur with rage.
Two of my men lie unconscious beside the dumpster, breathing but unresponsive. Needle marks on their necks suggest they’ve been drugged with something powerful enough to take down trained shifter soldiers. A dark stain on the pavement shows where someone—Alex, based on the scent—was bleeding.
I check my men’s pulses, relieved to find them steady. Whatever they were injected with knocked them out but didn’t kill them. Yet.
My secure phone buzzes. “Commander, we’re five minutes out,” comes Hayes’s voice. “What’s the situation?”
“Two men down, drugged but alive. Primary target missing along with at least one civilian.” I keep my voice professional despite the rage building inside me. “I need medical for the downed guards and a full forensic sweep of the scene.”
“Copy that. Medical team is en route.”
I end the call and force myself to think tactically. Whoever took Fiona planned this carefully, neutralizing my surveillance and timing it for when I’d be called away. They knew our protocols, our positioning. This isn’t random.
The security system I installed in the café should have recorded everything. If it’s still functional.
I make my way inside, using the codes I memorized. The café looks undisturbed at first glance, but my nose tells a different story. Too many scents, some familiar, some not. The lingering traces of fear and betrayal.
The security hub is hidden in Fiona’s office, disguised as a simple computer setup. I access the recordings, scrolling back to when I left. For hours, everything appears normal—customers coming and going, staff working, Fiona moving through her routine.
Then I find it.
The timestamp shows just over two hours ago. The camera covering the alley catches Alex taking out trash bags. Nothing unusual there. But he doesn’t come back inside immediately. Instead, he stands near the dumpster, looking around nervously.
A man emerges from the shadows—tall, average build, unremarkable except for the way he moves with predatory purpose. He approaches Alex, and they have what appears to be a heated conversation. I can’t hear the audio through the system, but their body language tells the story clearly enough.
