Revenge to the Alpha Mate - Chapter 232

Chapter 232: Chapter 232
Celena’s Perspective

Pain.

Boundless, endless pain, seeping from the marrow of my bones, a rending deep within my soul. I wasn’t unconscious, not truly. More like trapped behind a thin film of awareness. I could perceive the outside world hazily, but I was paralyzed, voiceless.

Then, I “saw.”

Not with my eyes. A more inward form of sight. A shadow, a feminine outline, was struggling, slowly “standing up” from my own limp form. She had no substance, composed more of pale mist and flowing darkness. I could just make out curves, but no flesh, no warmth. Just a… phantom reflection.

Who was that? A part of me?

The shadow wavered, turning. On the floor lay Karl. And from beneath him, dark red, viscous blood began to well up uncontrollably, defying gravity. It gathered, flowed as if alive, slithering toward the shadow. The moment shadow and blood met, the silhouette seemed injected with a vile vitality, becoming slightly more solid. Then, together, they turned toward the room’s most prominent feature—the silver pod holding Brett.

Wrapped in Karl’s blood like a venomous serpent, the shadow-thread slithered into a seam at the base of the pod. Or rather, the pod seemed to actively draw it in.

A soft click and a hiss of releasing pressure followed from inside. The sturdy canopy that Jacob and I couldn’t force open with brute strength was now pushed aside effortlessly from within by a single hand.

A figure sat up.

Brett. That face I’d seen for over a decade, familiar from every angle and expression. Dark brown hair, strong jaw, prominent nose. But… no. Completely wrong.

The “Brett” who sat up moved with a lazy, almost elegant grace that did not belong to him.

He—no, she—lifted a hand, examining Brett’s own long, masculine fingers with curiosity. Then, she traced her fingertips over the cheek, the neck, the chest. Every subtle shift of expression, every flicker in those eyes radiated a cold, appraising, and profoundly unsettling feminine essence. It wasn’t an act. It bled from every pore of this borrowed shell.

My brother, the Brett who would wink at me in secret, was gone.

Inhabiting this still-warm skin, wearing his familiar face, was a complete stranger. A usurper. A demon… using his remains.

“Brett” turned her head, her gaze pinpointing the direction of my trapped awareness. She—I had to use that pronoun—curved Brett’s lips into a smile. She spoke with his voice, but the tone was light, melodious, laced with an ancient, mocking cadence. “Lucky little wolf… giggle… If my old rival hadn’t been so impatient, leaving her ‘mark’ and nourishment within your soul so early, you would have been drained dry by now. The final piece of kindling to ignite this lovely vessel.”

Old rival? What was she talking about? That woman?

With a disturbing, feline grace utterly alien to Brett’s long-limbed male form, she stepped naked from the pod onto the cold floor, unconcerned. She paced the room as if inspecting new territory, finally snatching a grey utility blanket from a workbench and draping it casually around herself.

Then, without another glance at us—at Karl dead from blood loss on the floor, at Jacob unconscious, at me trapped in agony—she simply opened the door and walked out. The sound of her footsteps faded down the empty corridor.

Time lost meaning. It might have been long minutes, or only a few. The film trapping me finally shattered. The acute pain receded like a tide, replaced by total, profound weakness. I felt as if I’d survived a grave illness. Every joint creaked stiffly, muscles ached and felt useless, a deep, lethargic exhaustion settled over me, making even thought an effort.

I pushed myself up weakly, leaning against the wall, gasping. Beside me, Jacob lay sprawled on the floor, sleeping deeply, even emitting soft, regular snores. This guy… really.

And the “voice” inside me, the wolf-spirit that was my companion, my protector, sometimes reckless and impulsive… was back, lively and present. It first wrapped me in a warm, clumsy emotion, as if checking on me, assuring itself I was whole. Then, it conveyed a strange sensation: excitement, and… relieved joy? It seemed happy.

Slowly, I understood. The presence that had always lurked in the depths of my consciousness—more mature, more powerful, a shadow-sister who flashed during my most extreme emotions—that was the feminine phantom who had risen from me. She was gone. My wolf-spirit was now restored to its purer, more direct state, the companion soul belonging solely to “Celena.”

I crawled weakly over to Karl. He lay on his back, eyes wide open, frozen in an expression of startled disbelief, resentment, and a residue of madness from his final moment. His face was the ashen grey of fatal blood loss, his skin cold. I checked for breath, then placed my fingers on his neck. Nothing. No pulse.

The man who had given me endless pain and nightmares was truly dead.

A complex knot of emotion rose in my throat. Not grief. More like a heavy stone, long-embedded and grown into the fabric of my soul, had been violently pried loose. It left a hollow ache, but mostly… an overwhelming sense of relief. A vast, debilitating release.

But the relief was quickly smothered by fresh anxiety.

Our goal had been to find Brett… and now we had, only to lose him forever. His body was occupied by something. A mysterious woman who called me “little wolf.” Where had she gone? What did she want? And Brett… the real Brett… was he gone for good?

Jacob’s Perspective

Damn, I had the weirdest dream. No fighting, no running. Just warm, comfortable darkness, and… the smell of grilled meat? Seriously messed up.

I stretched luxuriously, my back popping, before reality slammed into me.

Wait. Grilled meat? Warmth? Wrong!

I sprang up from the floor like a released coil, instantly in a combat stance—muscles taut, senses flaring, body lowered, claws partially extended on instinct, a low growl building in my chest.

No enemy. The room was dead silent save for the eternal hum of the ventilation.

Celena was kneeling on the other side of the room, next to old man Karl. I listened intently… no heartbeat, no rush of blood. Just a body cooling. He was dead? How?

My gaze snapped to the center of the room. The silver “coffin”… its lid was open! It was empty!

Brett!

“Celena!” I hissed, my eyes sweeping the doorway and potential blind spots as I moved quickly to her side. “You okay? What happened? Where’s Brett? He…” My voice held an urgency and a sliver of hope I hadn’t meant to betray. The pod was open. Did that mean he got out? He woke up?

Celena looked back at me. Her face was pale. Her eyes were the ones I knew, but clouded with a complexity I couldn’t read—thick sorrow and a deep helplessness lay over everything else.

“Jacob,” her voice was hoarse, quiet, each word landing with weight. “He’s… gone.”

“What? He ran? Or was he…” My heart clenched.

“No, not ran.” She cut me off, pointing first to the empty pod, then to Karl’s body. “What came out… wasn’t Brett. It was something else. A… woman. Or something. She said… she used Brett’s body. Karl’s blood, and… something that separated from me, woke her up.” She struggled to find words for the impossible. “It was not Brett. I’m sure.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, the air knocked out of me.

Brett’s corpse… possessed by something? A witch? A demon? It sounded like a ridiculous old-world legend. But looking at Celena’s utterly certain eyes, filled with pain and fear, I knew she wasn’t lying or crazy. Our own existence as werewolves was already unscientific enough.

“Damn it…” I scrubbed a hand over my face, forcing calm. “Where did it go?”

As if answering my question, from somewhere far off, through layers of walls and corridors, came several rapid gunshots!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Then, a brief, unsettling silence.

Celena and I locked eyes, the same grim understanding dawning in both. The “woman” in Brett’s body! She was out there, and she’d run into other Hunters? Or…

“Let’s go!” I pulled Celena up. She was still weak but insisted on standing on her own. We ran toward the corridor exit the “woman” had used.

As we ran, I fumbled my phone from my pocket—thankfully not broken. I dialed Lily’s number on the move.

First ring: busy signal.

Second: no answer.

Third: just as we skidded to a halt at a branching corridor, unsure which way to go, the call finally connected.

“Jacob?!” Lily’s voice came through, background noise of intermittent gunfire and shouts from Dave or Jim faintly audible. Their “diversion” clearly wasn’t over, or had found new trouble. “Your status? We just pushed one wave back, covering our retreat now. Damn, there’s more of them than we—”

“Listen, Lily!” I panted, talking fast, my eyes scanning the dim tunnel ahead. “We found it. Hunter Karl is dead. But Brett, he…” I hesitated, glancing at Celena’s tense face beside me. “…It’s complicated. Celena says Brett’s body is controlled by a witch or a demon or something. A woman! She just ran out. We heard shots. She might be heading your way or toward an exit! Be careful! Anyone who looks like Brett, do not approach. It is not him!”

A second of stunned silence on the line. Then Lily’s sharp intake of breath, followed by her rapid, hissed orders to her team: “You all hear that? Eyes open! Brett might be… goddamn compromised!” Then she barked at me, “You two watch yourselves! We’ll keep a lookout! Find a way out and keep this line live!”

The call ended. Celena and I stood at the junction, facing two identical, ice-cold tunnels leading into the unknown. The “woman” had vanished. From somewhere far down one passage, another sound drifted faintly to us—a short, dull thud, like something heavy hitting the floor.

Which way do we go?