Revenge to the Alpha Mate - Chapter 231

Chapter 231: Chapter 231
Karl’s Perspective

This damned place was hidden well enough, buried beneath a real slaughterhouse, masked by the smells and noise of the freezers. I thought no one could find it. But wolves are wolves—noses keener than any hound’s, or maybe they just had blind luck.

The reports from the outer perimeter in recent days were off. Talk of unidentified vehicles circling the town, signs of attempted approaches to the factory. The idiots in charge of security—the young pups sent by the Hunter’s Guild—babbled about radical animal rights activists or vegetarians causing trouble. Bullshit. I’ve been at this for most of my life. I can smell trouble from ten miles away. That was the scent of being tracked, of beasts prowling in the dark.

And sure enough, they came. Not through the main gate—the fools were right about that front; the firefight there was lively—but like rats, through the maintenance access I least expected, the most inconspicuous one. They actually made it here. To this most crucial room. To my Brett.

Two of them. A male, big, muscles coiled tight as if to spring any second, teeth bared, a threatening growl rumbling in his throat. And the other one…

Ha. The other one was quite the… “surprise.”

Despite the bulky, hideous slaughterhouse coat, the hair flattened under a cap, the tear tracks and panic on her face, I recognized her instantly. That build. That glint of feral wildness deep in her eyes, even now veiled by fear.

“Wolf 376.” My lovely, disobedient, disastrous little creature.

I thought she’d died in some ditch long ago, or been torn apart by other wolf pups. Yet here she was, alive and well, bringing another male wolf right to me, right to Brett. How… heartwarming, isn’t it?

A scorching wave of old hatred and fresh, searing rage surged into my head. My fingers tightened on the cold double triggers of the shotgun. Kill them. Blow them to pieces right now! Especially that little bitch, that curse!

But I forced myself to hold back. The muzzle dipped an inch.

Can’t fire. At least not in the direction between them and Brett. This old friend fires heavy buckshot—powerful, wide spread. If a single pellet or piece of shot went wild, piercing the observation canopy or the feed lines of Brett’s stasis pod… No. Absolutely no risks.

My son. My only son is right there. So close to awakening. I’ve poured so much into this, endured so much criticism and doubt from the soft-hearted fools in the Guild, just to preserve him, to keep him here like this.

“Step away from him, you mongrel freaks.” My voice was terribly rough, my throat scraped raw, carrying the weariness of recent days and the hollowed-out buzz of some sick, sustained excitement.

The male wolf’s growl deepened, his body leaning forward slightly, poised to move.

“Get back,” I steadied the muzzle, aiming at the more immediate threat—the male, “or I’ll turn you into pulp, I swear. Even if a drop splashes on him, it’s better than letting your filthy claws touch him.”

They froze. I could see the struggle in their eyes, especially the little female. Her gaze darted frantically between Brett and me, filled with anguish and… concern? Damn it, do beasts even get to have such feelings? But they were genuinely worried about stray shot hitting Brett. That gave me a tiny bit of leverage.

“Move to that corner. Slowly.” I gestured with the shotgun toward a corner of the room far from the stasis pod.

They complied, moving slowly, warily. The male kept himself slightly in front of the female. Good. Still some protective instinct left.

Watching them retreat to the corner, backs against the cold metal wall, I relaxed a fraction, but the muzzle didn’t waver. That’s when the dizziness chose to hit, waves of it pounding at the back of my skull like an incoming tide. My vision darkened at the edges. The arm holding the gun began to tremble slightly. Damn it… drew too much blood again today, adjusting the suspension fluid. This old body… can’t take much more. All for Brett…

The ringing in my ears grew louder, drowning out the hum of the vents. I tried to widen my eyes, to keep focus, but the two wolf-shapes in my vision blurred, swayed. I thought I heard a woman’s laughter, faint, ethereal, worming its way into my ears… A hallucination? Or had I stayed down here so long I was finally seeing ghosts?

No… can’t fall… Brett… the gun…

Darkness closed in like a physical shroud. The last sensations were the icy metal floor slamming into the side of my face and the dull thud of the old shotgun’s stock hitting the ground as it slipped from my grip.

Celena’s Perspective

The muzzle. That muzzle again.

Karl’s voice was the coldest ice pick, stabbing into my ears, piercing deep into my memory. Those dim basement days, the cold restraints, the colder needles piercing my skin, his emotionless eyes looking down, the detached face recording the reactions of “Wolf 376″… Every ounce of that fear resurrected instantly, seizing my throat, choking the air from my lungs.

Jacob was a solid wall in front of me, his back broad and tense, trying to block out all danger. It gave me a sliver of strength to cling to. But from deep within my body, another, stranger, more sickening sensation began to rise.

It wasn’t just fear. It was as if something… inside me was waking up, writhing, struggling to get out. My heart hammered against my ribs, fast and hard, bringing waves of nausea. My vision didn’t just waver from Karl’s gun; it felt like the whole world was tilting, spinning.

I fought to stay upright, digging my nails deep into my palms, using the pain to fight the escalating dizziness and the awful churning inside.

Karl… he didn’t look right either. His face was ashen, his gaze unfocused, the arm holding the gun shaking. Then, without warning, he pitched forward rigidly, falling face-first. The shotgun clattered to the floor.

Was the danger over? No…

The thing inside me seemed to react violently to his collapse, thrashing even more wildly. Agony! Not from a wound, but a tearing sensation erupting from between my bones, from deep within every muscle! As if another layer of skin, another me, was being violently ripped from this shell! My mouth opened, but no sound came out, only cold air rushing into my lungs.

Jacob seemed to want to reach for me, his face a mask of shock and concern.

But my vision blacked out. The last thing I was aware of was my body going limp, slumping back against the cold wall, then sliding to the floor. Before consciousness fled completely, the tearing sensation peaked, as if something vital… was being torn away…

Jacob’s Perspective

Damn. Old Hunter Karl. The worst possible “surprise.”

The threat of that double-barreled shotgun was real. I wasn’t afraid for myself—a werewolf can heal from a lot—but stray shot, unpredictable scatter… hitting Celena behind me, or worse, hitting that damned pod holding Brett. Celena just found him. She couldn’t bear another loss.

I could feel Celena trembling behind me, not from cold, but from a fear that went bone-deep. It made the fire in my chest burn hotter, but reason held back the urge to lunge and tear the old bastard apart. He looked terrible—eyes clouded, breathing labored and ragged.

“Move to that corner. Slowly.”

Gritting my teeth, shielding Celena, I shuffled step by step toward the corner he’d indicated. My eyes were locked on his finger curled around the triggers, calculating how fast I could shove Celena down or risk deflecting the barrel if he fired.

Just as we reached the wall, just as he seemed to relax a hair’s breadth, everything changed.

Karl’s face contorted—not with rage, but with acute pain and weakness. He swayed, his eyes rolled back, and then he toppled forward like a felled tree, the shotgun clattering away from his hand.

What the hell?

Before I could react, Celena let out a stifled, pain-racked gasp behind me. I whirled around. Her face was deathly pale, sweat beading instantly on her forehead. Her pupils were dilated, her eyes filled with incomprehensible terror and pure physical agony. She clutched at her chest, her body curling in on itself.

“Celena?!” I reached for her.

But her eyes had already glazed over. Her body went limp, sliding down the wall.

Then, an indescribable, heavy pressure descended upon the icy room. Not physical. More like a mental… weight? Drowsiness? As if countless voices were humming a lullaby in my ears, or a warm, inviting darkness was gently wrapping around from all sides, urging me to sleep.

No! This isn’t right!

I shook my head, bit my tongue hard, using the pain to cling to awareness. But the pull of sleep was overpowering, a tangible tide washing over my consciousness. My eyelids grew leaden. I saw Karl unconscious on the floor, Celena curled up and still, Brett lying silent behind the glass…

Damn it… can’t sleep… protect… them…

I struggled, but my knees buckled, sending me down on one. My vision blurred, darkened. The last coherent thought was, what the hell is happening? Who…

Finally, the strength to resist gave out. The darkness embraced me, gentle and absolute. My eyes closed. I pitched forward, and all sensation vanished.