PART 2

Kane did not answer.

For three seconds, the only sound was the storm.

Then he moved.

Fast.

He tore the ventilation cover off the wall with one hand.

Metal screamed against screws.

Inside the duct was a narrow plastic cartridge connected to a tiny dispersal valve.

Industrial.

New.

Deliberate.

Kane stared at it.

The gold in his eyes burned brighter.

I backed away.

Not because I feared him now.

Because I feared what he had just realized.

“Don’t touch it,” I said.

His head turned.

“Why?”

“If it’s what I think it is, we need proof.”

“Proof.”

The word sounded filthy in his mouth.

“Yes.”

“Someone has been poisoning me in my own home for five years and you want me to preserve evidence?”

“I want you to survive long enough to destroy them properly.”

He stared at me.

Then, unbelievably, he laughed.

It was one rough breath.

Nothing more.

But it sounded like a man remembering how.

“You’ve been here forty-three minutes.”

“And already improved security.”

The laugh disappeared.

His knees buckled.

I caught his arm.

Bad idea.

The instant my skin touched his, a current seemed to pass between us.

Not electricity.

Something deeper.

His wolf surged.

Mine answered.

Kane froze.

So did I.

His face was inches from mine.

Dark eyes fighting gold.

“Let go,” he whispered.

I should have.

Instead, I tightened my grip.

“No.”

His breath caught.

“You’re shaking.”

“So are you.”

“You don’t know what I am.”

“Then tell me.”

His throat worked.

For the first time that night, the Alpha King looked afraid.

“Five years ago there was an attack during a council summit. Silver compound was aerosolized through the ventilation system. Thirty-one people were poisoned.”

“I know.”

“Twenty-nine recovered.”

“You and one guard didn’t.”

“The guard died.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

“I survived because my wolf wouldn’t let my heart stop.”

He looked at his trembling hands.

“But the barrier between us broke.”

“Between you and your wolf.”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I hear him constantly.”

My chest tightened.

Kane stared toward the fire.

“When I’m angry, he is angrier. When I’m afraid, he thinks we’re being hunted. When someone near me panics…”

“He thinks they’re prey?”

Kane’s jaw clenched.

“No.”

“Worse?”

“He thinks they’re pack.”

I frowned.

“He tries to protect them.”

That was not what I expected.

Kane laughed without humor.

“Protection from a wolf that cannot understand doors, furniture, bones, or human terror looks remarkably similar to violence.”

I thought of the cracked tile.

The repaired chair.

The scratched doorway.

“Celeste?”

His voice dropped.

“She had a seizure.”

“Did you touch her?”

“I carried her to the door.”

“And everyone thought you’d attacked her.”

“I was covered in her blood because she’d bitten through her tongue.”

Something inside me went quiet.

Five years.

A man had allowed the world to believe he was dangerous because explaining the truth would have required admitting how broken he felt.

“Why keep inviting candidates?”

Kane’s eyes hardened.

“I didn’t.”

I stared.

“What?”

“Not originally.”

“Then who—”

A sound came from the hallway outside.

Footsteps.

Kane lifted one finger.

Silence.

A woman’s voice filtered through the door.

Vivian.

“Has she pressed it?”

One of the attendants answered.

“Not yet.”

“Increase it.”

My blood went cold.

Kane’s face emptied of expression.

The deadliest look I’d seen on him all night.

A second voice.

“We’re already above protocol.”

“Then double it.”

“Ms. Mercer—”

“Do you want tonight to fail or not?”

I covered my mouth.

Kane’s gaze moved to the duct.

Then to me.

The airflow increased.

The metallic scent sharpened.

His pupils blew wide.

“No.”

He stumbled backward.

I grabbed the heavy curtain from the window and shoved it against the vent opening.

“Bathroom.”

Kane shook his head.

“Move.”

“Harper—”

“The bathroom has separate ventilation?”

“Yes.”

“Then move.”

He followed me.

Barely.

We shut ourselves inside the marble bathroom, rolled towels beneath the door, and turned the shower on cold to fill the room with moisture.

Kane sat against the bathtub.

His breathing was brutal.

I knelt in front of him.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Kane.”

“Get away.”

“Look at me.”

Gold eyes lifted.

“Tell me five things you see.”

His expression almost became offended.

“What?”

“Five things.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Wonderful. Be angry about it. Five things.”

His chest heaved.

“You.”

“One.”

“The sink.”

“Two.”

“Mirror.”

“Three.”

“Towel.”

“Four.”

His eyes landed on my cracked phone protruding from my pocket.

“Your terrible phone.”

“Five.”

His mouth twitched.

“Four things you can touch.”

“Harper.”

“Four.”

“Floor.”

“Yes.”

“Tub.”

“Good.”

“My shirt.”

“One more.”

He looked at my hand resting near his.

“You.”

Everything stopped.

My heart.

His breathing.

The storm.

At least it felt that way.

I swallowed.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“That’s four.”

His laugh was quiet this time.

Exhausted.

Human.

For the next hour, we sat on the bathroom floor while poison circulated through his bedroom.

We talked.

Not like candidate and king.

Not like debtor and creditor.

Like two people who had spent too many years being useful to everyone except themselves.

He told me his mother died when he was seventeen.

I told him mine died when I was fourteen.

He admitted he hated formal dinners because everyone watched how much food he ate whenever rumors about his wolf spread.

I admitted I secretly ate dry cereal over the sink because Chloe stole every clean bowl in our house.

He told me his father had taught him that an Alpha should never need anyone.

I told him my father had taught me the same lesson by needing everyone.

At 2:18 a.m., Kane said quietly, “Why did you come?”

“I told you.”

“Your people.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not the whole answer.”

I looked at the steam climbing the mirror.

“My mother.”

He went very still.

“She died after Cascade nearly collapsed financially. Dad had made bad investments. She spent the last year of her life trying to hold everything together.”

My throat tightened.

“Everyone called her strong.”

Kane said nothing.

“I used to think that was a compliment.”

“And now?”

“Now I think sometimes people call you strong because it’s more convenient than helping.”

His eyes softened.

“How did she die?”

“Car accident.”

“Name?”

I glanced at him.

“Why?”

“Her name.”

“Elizabeth Hayes.”

Kane’s face changed.

Not subtly.

Completely.

The color drained from him.

“What?”

He stood too fast.

His shoulder struck the wall.

“What?”

“Your mother’s name was Elizabeth?”

“Yes.”

He walked out of the bathroom.

“Kane!”

I followed.

The bedroom air remained metallic, but the ventilation had stopped.

Kane crossed to a locked desk and opened a drawer with shaking hands.

Inside was an old leather folder.

He pulled out a photograph.

Eight people standing outside a research facility.

I recognized Kane.

Younger.

Clean-shaven.

Beside him was Gideon.

Two scientists.

A council representative.

And a woman with my eyes.

My mother’s smile.

I stopped breathing.

“No.”

Kane handed me the photograph.

On the back, written in blue ink:

PACIFIC SILVER TOXICITY STUDY — LEAD CONSULTANT: DR. ELIZABETH HAYES.

“My mother wasn’t a doctor.”

“She was a biochemist.”

“No.”

“Harper.”

“She ran Cascade’s finance office.”

“After this.”

The photograph shook in my hand.

“She worked here?”

“For three years.”

“You knew her?”

Kane’s voice turned soft.

“She saved my life.”

The room tilted.

I sat down.

“After the summit attack, Elizabeth developed a treatment that stabilized my wolf. It worked.”

“Then why are you still like this?”

“Because she disappeared before completing it.”

“She died.”

“That’s what I was told.”

“She did die.”

I pulled out my phone with numb fingers.

An old photograph.

My mother beside Chloe and me.

Christmas.

Fourteen years old.

I showed him.

“That’s her.”

Kane looked at the screen.

Pain crossed his face.

“I know.”

The door locks suddenly released.

Gideon entered.

Kane spun.

Gideon stopped.

His eyes went to the missing vent cover.

Then the photograph in my hand.

“Close the door,” Kane said.

Gideon did.

Slowly.

“What did you know?” Kane asked.

“About what?”

Kane crossed the room so fast that Gideon’s back hit the wall.

“Wrong answer.”

“Kane.”

“What did you know about Elizabeth Hayes?”

Gideon’s eyes moved to me.

And that was enough.

I stood.

“You knew.”

He closed his eyes.

“Harper—”

“You knew my mother.”

“Yes.”

The word broke something.

“Was her death an accident?”

Silence.

My heart slammed once.

Twice.

“Answer me.”

Gideon’s voice was almost inaudible.

“No.”

The room disappeared.

Not literally.

But all the objects stopped meaning anything.

Windows.

Fire.

Walls.

Kane.

Only Gideon’s face remained.

“What happened?”

“She found evidence the summit attack came from inside Croft’s medical program.”

Kane released him.

Gideon continued.

“Elizabeth discovered someone had altered the original silver research. The goal wasn’t to kill Kane.”

“What was the goal?” I asked.

Gideon looked at Kane.

“To make him unstable.”

Kane’s face went blank.

“Why?”

“An unstable Alpha King could be controlled.”

My stomach turned.

“The candidates.”

Gideon nodded.

“Part of it.”

Kane stepped backward.

“Who?”

Gideon’s eyes closed again.

Then he said a name.

“Vivian Mercer.”

Outside the window, lightning split the sky.

For half a second the whole room turned white.

Then dark again.

“Vivian was twenty-three,” Gideon said. “Her father controlled several medical contractors. Elizabeth traced the compounds through shell companies connected to the Mercer family.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kane asked.

“Because Elizabeth asked me not to.”

Kane’s face hardened.

“Try again.”

“Because she had daughters.”

My heart stopped.

Gideon looked at me.

“She told me if Vivian learned she had identified the source, Vivian would go after her family.”

“So Mom ran.”

“She tried.”

My nails dug into my palms.

“The accident?”

“Her brake line was cut.”

I turned away.

There are moments when grief doesn’t feel like sadness.

It feels like your body has become a room with no oxygen.

My mother had not died because the road was icy.

She had not looked away.

She had not been driving too fast.

Someone had decided she knew too much.

And I had spent ten years missing a woman while the people responsible continued dining beneath chandeliers.

Kane’s voice came from behind me.

“Why candidates?”

Gideon swallowed.

“After Elizabeth died, Vivian needed continued access to you without suspicion. She convinced the council that your instability could be controlled if you found a compatible mate.”

“The seven women.”

“Were chosen through packs financially connected to Mercer development funds.”

I turned.

“Like Cascade.”

Gideon looked at me.

“Yes.”

My stomach dropped.

No.

“Why my father?”

Gideon didn’t answer.

“Kane.”

I looked at him.

He understood before I did.

Kane crossed to the desk and opened his laptop.

“Croft Industries did not discover your father’s missing money by accident,” he said.

My mouth went dry.

“What are you saying?”

“The three million dollars.”

His fingers moved across the keyboard.

“Someone wanted us to find it.”

A file appeared.

Transfers.

Dates.

Signatures.

Richard Hayes.

Vivian Mercer.

My father’s signature beside eight wire transfers.

My knees weakened.

“No.”

Kane kept reading.

His expression grew colder.

“Harper.”

“No.”

“Your father didn’t lose the money.”

I stared at the screen.

“He was paid with it.”

At 3:41 a.m., my father answered on the second ring.

“Harper?”

His voice was thick with sleep.

Or alcohol.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

I stared through Kane’s windows at the black ocean.

Kane stood several feet behind me.

Gideon had gone to secure the estate and quietly detain the medical attendants.

Vivian still believed Kane was deteriorating.

“Dad.”

“Sweetheart, listen, if Croft scares you, press whatever button they gave you. Nobody expects you to—”

“Did you know Mom worked for him?”

Silence.

Then:

“What?”

“Don’t.”

My voice shook.

“Do not make me ask twice.”

A long breath.

“Harper, where are you?”

“Did you know?”

Another silence.

“Yes.”

One word.

Four letters.

Ten years of my life rearranged themselves.

“You told us she worked in accounting.”

“She wanted that story.”

“After she died.”

“I was protecting you.”

“From what?”

“Things you didn’t understand.”

I laughed.

It sounded ugly.

“I understand eight transfers totaling two million eight hundred and forty thousand dollars.”

Nothing.

“Dad?”

“Harper, whatever Kane showed you—”

“Vivian Mercer paid you.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

His breathing changed.

“Your mother left debts.”

“Stop.”

“I had to protect Cascade.”

“Stop using Cascade like it’s a person standing in front of you.”

Kane looked away.

My throat burned.

“The money.”

My father said nothing.

“Dad, did you steal it?”

“No.”

Relief hit me so quickly it hurt.

Then he said:

“I moved it.”

The relief died.

“For Vivian?”

“She said the funds would be replaced.”

“Why?”

“Because I owed her.”

“For what?”

His voice lowered.

“For keeping our family out of what happened to Elizabeth.”

My skin went cold.

“You knew Vivian killed Mom.”

“I knew Vivian’s family was involved.”

“And you worked with her?”

“Harper, I had two little girls.”

“You had two daughters, so you helped the woman who murdered their mother?”

“I kept you alive!”

His shout cracked through the phone.

I pulled it away from my ear.

Then he said more quietly:

“You think bravery matters when powerful people decide they want something from you? It doesn’t. Survival matters.”

I looked at Kane.

At the man everyone called a monster.

Then thought of my father sleeping comfortably while I crossed his disasters off spreadsheets one by one.

“Did you know about tonight?”

Silence.

Every part of me went still.

“Dad.”

“No.”

“Did you know Vivian would be here?”

“I knew she was involved in the arrangement.”

“Did you know they were drugging Kane?”

His silence answered.

My stomach twisted.

“Did you know the candidates were being drugged too?”

“Harper—”

“Did you know?”

“They were given something mild to heighten fear responses.”

I almost dropped the phone.

“The tonic.”

“Vivian said nobody was in real danger.”

“Kane almost died tonight.”

“He’s difficult to kill.”

The casualness of it.

That was the moment.

Not the money.

Not the lie about Mom.

Not even the murder.

That sentence.

He’s difficult to kill.

As if Kane were a machine.

As if I were collateral.

As if none of us counted as people so long as Richard Hayes could continue calling himself Alpha.

I whispered, “Why me?”

No answer.

“Dad, why did Vivian want me here?”

His voice broke.

“I don’t know.”

For the first time in my life, I knew exactly when my father lied.

“Why me?”

“Harper, come home.”

“Why me?”

“Please.”

“WHY ME?”

The shout tore out of me.

Then my father started crying.

I had heard him angry.

Drunk.

Panicked.

Self-pitying.

I had never heard him cry.

“Your mother tested the antidote on herself.”

I stopped.

“What?”

“When she was pregnant with you.”

My blood went cold.

“She was exposed during the early experiments. She developed antibodies. When she became pregnant, some transferred to you.”

Kane’s face changed.

I stared at him.

My father kept talking.

“Vivian believes your blood could stabilize Kane permanently.”

Hope hit me.

Violent.

Bright.

For one impossible second, I thought:

That’s why.

That’s why I’m here.

Not to die.

To save him.

Then my father whispered:

“But only if they harvest enough.”

The hope shattered.

I couldn’t speak.

Kane slowly took the phone from my hand.

“Richard.”

My father’s breathing stopped.

Kane’s voice was quiet.

“If you ever approach either of your daughters again without their permission, there will not be enough jurisdiction on this continent to protect you from me.”

“Kane, I—”

Kane ended the call.

I stood staring at nothing.

Happy for one heartbeat.

Destroyed the next.

My blood could help Kane.

And my father had sent me here because Vivian intended to take it.

Possibly all of it.

Then the bedroom lights went out.

Total darkness.

Kane’s head snapped toward the corridor.

Emergency locks engaged.

A mechanical hiss filled the room.

The ventilation system restarted.

And Vivian’s voice came through the ceiling speakers.

“I’m sorry, Harper.”

She didn’t sound sorry.

“You were always supposed to make it until morning.”

A pause.

“Just not awake.”