Chapter 22
title: "What Mira Saw" wordCount: 2596
Mira's hands are shaking so badly she can barely hold the bars, and when she speaks, her voice cracks on every third word.
"I was sixteen." She swallows hard. "Garrett had just taken over the Voss pack after his father died. He needed—he said he needed omegas to serve at a meeting. My mother pushed me forward. Told me it was an honor."
I stay silent. Let her talk.
"We drove for hours. I did not know where we were going until we pulled up to this massive estate. Stone walls. Iron gates. There was a crest above the door." Her eyes meet mine. "Two wolves circling a crescent moon."
My family's crest.
"Mira—"
"Let me finish." Her knuckles are white around the bars, silver burning into her palms. "Please. I have carried this for three years and if I stop now I will never get it out."
I nod.
"There were maybe twenty wolves there. All alphas. All male except for one woman with white hair who never spoke. Garrett was hosting but it was clear someone else was in charge. A man with scars all over his hands. He kept touching them like they hurt."
"What did they want?"
"Your father's territory. The Carrigan pack controlled the eastern corridor—all the trade routes from the coast. Garrett said your father was refusing to negotiate. Said he was being unreasonable." She laughs, bitter and sharp. "That is what they call it when you will not roll over. Unreasonable."
The emergency lights cast her face in red shadows. She looks younger than I remember. Scared.
"They planned it for three days. Who would go where. How to disable the wards. The man with the scarred hands—he kept saying no witnesses. No one left to challenge the claim." Her voice drops to a whisper. "They were going to kill everyone, Sloane. Your whole pack. Every wolf, every human, every child."
My burned palms throb. I press them against the cold concrete wall.
"I tried to run. To warn someone. But Garrett caught me in the hallway and he—" She stops. Breathes. "He told me if I said anything, he would kill my sister. Cara was twelve. She had just presented as omega. He said he would make it slow."
"So you stayed quiet."
"I stayed quiet." The words come out broken. "And three nights later, I watched them burn your house down."
"You were there." Not a question.
"In the woods. Half a mile out. Garrett made me come. Said I needed to see what happened to people who talked." She's crying now, silent tears tracking down her face. "I heard the screaming. Saw the flames. And I did nothing."
I should hate her. Should reach through these bars and—
But I remember being sixteen. Remember what it felt like to be powerless.
"Tell me about Finn."
She flinches at my brother's name.
"He got out. I do not know how but he made it past the first wave. He was running for the tree line when Declan intercepted him." She's talking faster now, words tumbling over each other. "They fought. Both in human form. Both had silver knives—I remember because the moonlight caught the blades."
"Declan killed him."
"No." Mira's voice is firm. "That is what I am trying to tell you. Declan was winning. He had Finn pinned, knife at his throat, but he was not—he was talking to him. Trying to get him to surrender. I could not hear the words but I could see his face. He did not want to do it."
My chest feels too tight.
"Then what happened?"
"Matthias shifted." She says the name like it tastes bad. "He came out of nowhere. This massive black wolf, bigger than any I had ever seen. He hit Declan from the side, sent him flying. The knife went skittering into the underbrush. And then Matthias—" She stops. Swallows. "He tore Finn's throat out while Declan was still on the ground trying to get up."
The world tilts sideways.
"Who the fuck is Matthias?"
"Garrett's brother. Half-brother, technically. Different mothers. The Voss pack does not acknowledge him in the records because his mother was human. But Garrett uses him for—" She glances at the door. "For things that need to stay off the books."
"And Declan thinks he killed Finn."
"Garrett told him he did. Right there, standing over your brother's body. He said Declan lost control, that the wolf took over, that he was the one who—" Mira's voice breaks. "Declan believed him. He was covered in blood, disoriented from the hit. And Garrett just kept saying it over and over until it became true."
I sink down onto the bench. My legs will not hold me anymore.
"Why?" The word comes out hoarse. "Why would Garrett lie about that?"
"Control." Mira says it simply. "Declan is powerful. Old bloodline, strong wolf, natural alpha. Garrett needed him broken. Needed him guilty. So he gave him a crime he did not commit and watched him carry it for three years."
"You could have told him."
"I tried." Her hands are shaking worse now. "Two years ago. I went to Declan's apartment, waited outside for hours. But when he finally came out, Garrett was with him. And Garrett looked right at me and smiled. That night, Cara called me crying. Said someone had followed her home from school. Said they knew which window was hers."
The pieces click together.
"He threatened her."
"Every time I even thought about talking. Every time I looked at Declan and wanted to tell him the truth." Mira's voice is hollow. "Garrett would send me a picture. Cara at the grocery store. Cara at the library. Cara sleeping in her bed. The message was clear."
"So why tell me now?"
The question hangs between us. Mira's face crumples.
"Because Cara is already dead." The words come out flat. Empty. "He killed her two months ago. Made it look like a car accident but I know. I know it was him. And I have been working for a dead girl, keeping his secrets, letting Declan suffer for something he did not do." She slams her palm against the bars, ignoring the silver burn. "I have nothing left to lose, Sloane. Nothing. So yeah, I am telling you now because maybe—maybe it will matter. Maybe you can—"
The lights cut out.
For three seconds, there is only darkness and the sound of Mira's ragged breathing.
Then the emergency lighting kicks in, bathing everything in red, and the alarms start screaming.
"What is that?" Mira's voice is barely audible over the sirens.
I am already on my feet. "Nothing good."
Gunfire erupts somewhere above us. Shouting. The heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor. The sounds are getting closer, moving down through the building like a wave.
"We need to go." Mira is fumbling with something at her belt. "Now."
"I am locked in a cell."
"Not for long." She pulls out a key card, the plastic edge smeared with blood. "I told you I bribed a guard. He was very cooperative after I broke his fingers."
The lock disengages with a click that sounds too loud. I push the door open, half-expecting it to be a trap, but Mira is already moving toward the emergency exit at the end of the hall.
"Come on."
I follow because what else am I going to do? My wolf is still sluggish from the silver, my palms are screaming, and somewhere above us people are dying.
We make it maybe twenty feet before the first body comes crashing through the ceiling.
It is a guard. Was a guard. Now it is just meat and bone and the wet sound of things that should be inside staying outside. Mira skids to a stop, her hand shooting out to grab my arm.
"Oh god."
The thing that drops down after the body is not a wolf. Not entirely. It has the shape—four legs, fur, teeth—but the eyes are wrong. Solid black from corner to corner, no white, no iris. Just endless dark that seems to swallow the emergency lighting.
It turns its head toward us with a movement that is too fluid, too smooth, like it is not quite bound by the same physical laws as everything else.
"Run." Mira's voice is steady despite the fear I can smell rolling off her. "Emergency exit. Three floors down. Do not stop."
"What about you?"
"I will buy you time." She is already shifting, bones cracking and reforming, fur rippling across her skin. "Go."
I go.
Behind me, Mira's wolf launches itself at the black-eyed thing with a snarl that shakes the walls. I do not look back. Cannot look back. My feet hit the stairs and I am taking them three at a time, my burned palms leaving bloody prints on the railing.
More gunfire above. More screaming. The building is coming apart and I am running through the middle of it like a rat in a maze.
Second floor landing. A guard stumbles out of a doorway, his face sheet-white, and I barely dodge around him before something massive and dark tears him backward into the room. The door slams shut. The screaming stops.
First floor. Almost there. My lungs are burning, my legs are shaking, and I can hear something behind me. Heavy footsteps that are too fast, too close.
I hit the ground floor exit and the door explodes inward, ripped off its hinges by claws the size of my forearm. Another black-eyed wolf, this one bigger than the first, its muzzle already red with blood.
It looks at me. Through me. Like it knows exactly who I am and why it is here.
I back up. My wolf is snarling inside my head but she is weak, too weak, the silver still burning through my system. I cannot shift. Cannot fight. Cannot do anything but watch as the thing stalks toward me with movements that are too deliberate, too intelligent.
"Sloane!" Mira's voice, distant and desperate. "The basement! Go to the—"
The sound that cuts her off is not human. Not wolf. It is the wet crunch of bone and the gurgling gasp of a throat that no longer works.
The black-eyed wolf's ears swivel toward the sound. For one second, it is distracted.
I run.
Not toward the exit. Toward the stairs going down. The basement Mira mentioned, the one I did not even know existed. My feet hit the steps and I am falling more than running, my shoulder slamming into the wall hard enough to leave a bruise.
The wolf is behind me. I can hear its claws on the concrete, can smell the copper-penny stink of blood on its breath.
The basement level is a maze of storage rooms and maintenance corridors. I take the first turn I see, then another, my burned palms leaving smears on the walls as I use them to keep my balance.
Dead end.
I spin around and the wolf is there, blocking the only exit, its black eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
"Not my circus," I whisper, because if I am going to die I might as well die sounding like myself.
The wolf's lips pull back from teeth that are too long, too sharp. It crouches, muscles bunching, ready to spring.
Fire erupts from my palms.
I do not mean to do it. Do not even think about it. But suddenly the air is full of heat and light and the wolf is stumbling backward with a sound that might be surprise or pain or both.
The flames are blue-white, hotter than anything I have ever made before, and they are eating through the silver in my system like it is paper. My wolf surges forward, no longer sluggish, no longer weak.
I shift.
The transformation is agony and ecstasy mixed together, bones breaking and reforming, skin splitting to let the fur through. But when it is done, I am standing on four legs with my teeth bared and my wolf is singing in my head.
The black-eyed wolf recovers fast. It lunges and we meet in the middle, a tangle of fur and teeth and claws. It is bigger but I am faster, fueled by three years of rage and grief and the desperate need to survive.
We crash into the wall hard enough to crack the concrete. Its jaws snap closed inches from my throat. I twist, sink my teeth into its shoulder, taste blood that is wrong—too thick, too cold.
It throws me off. I hit the ground rolling, come up already moving. We circle each other in the narrow corridor, both of us bleeding, both of us looking for an opening.
Then I hear it. Footsteps. Multiple sets, coming fast.
The black-eyed wolf's ears flatten. It looks at me one more time with those endless dark eyes, and then it turns and runs.
I do not chase it. I shift back to human, my body screaming in protest, and grab a maintenance uniform off a hook on the wall. It is three sizes too big but it covers the important parts.
The footsteps are getting closer. I need to move.
I find the emergency exit at the end of the corridor, push through into a stairwell that smells like mold and old cigarettes. Up or down? The building is compromised. The black-eyed wolves are still hunting. Mira is—
Mira is dead.
The thought hits me like a physical blow. She saved me. Bought me time with her life. And her last words—
"Carrigan estate. Basement. Still alive."
Who is still alive? Who could possibly be—
No. Not possible. I watched them burn. Watched the house collapse. There is no way anyone survived that.
But Mira believed it. Believed it enough to use her dying breath to tell me.
I take the stairs up. Toward the parking garage. Toward whatever comes next.
The garage is chaos. Cars abandoned at odd angles, doors hanging open, alarms blaring. There is blood on the concrete, drag marks leading toward the shadows. I keep to the edges, moving fast and quiet.
A figure steps out from behind a support column and I nearly shift again before I recognize the scent.
Declan.
He is leaning against a stolen sedan—I can tell by the shattered driver's side window—and his face is the color of old ash. There is blood on his shirt, fresh and dark, and when he moves toward me I can see him favoring his left side.
"Get in." His voice is rough. Strained. "Garrett just declared war on the Conclave."
I stare at him. At the man who has been carrying guilt for a crime he did not commit. The man who tied his life to mine without asking. The man who might be the only person left who gives a damn if I live or die.
"Declan—"
"Later." He opens the passenger door, his hand shaking. "Right now we need to—"
The explosion rocks the building. Fire blooms from the upper floors, glass raining down like deadly snow. The shockwave hits us and Declan stumbles, catches himself on the car door.
"Get in the car, Sloane."
I get in the car.
He slides behind the wheel, turns the key with fingers that are slick with blood. The engine catches and he is already moving, tires squealing as we tear out of the parking garage into the night.
Behind us, the Conclave facility burns.