Revenge to the Alpha Mate novel Chapter 223

Chapter 223: Chapter 223

Celena’s Perspective

The light was too bright, a harsh, sterile white that stabbed at my eyes. The air reeked of antiseptic and stale coffee. The two uniformed men across from me had faces carved from stone, expressionless, their gazes cold and dissecting, scraping over my skin like scalpels.

"Celena. Moonlight Pack." I kept my voice as level as possible, giving my name and affiliation. By the rules, the Moonlight Pack was a registered, "compliant" werewolf community with the human authorities. This shouldn’t be causing such a severe reaction.

But not a single ripple of acknowledgment crossed their faces. The one on the left tapped his knuckles rhythmically against the table. Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a death knell. "Yesterday afternoon, you were involved in an altercation with two police officers near the ’Quick-Stop Gas’ off Highway 76. The officers sustained serious injuries. Explain."

His tone was flat, yet carried an undeniable accusation. My heartbeat spiraled out of control. This feeling... it was all too familiar. A dark basement. Similarly expressionless men in different uniforms. Cold instruments. Endless questions. And... pain.

No. Not here. Not again.

My breathing grew ragged, the edges of my vision beginning to darken. Fragments of deliberately forgotten memories surged forward, bringing with them the taste of rust and terror. My throat closed up. The walls of the interrogation room seemed to be pressing in on me.

"It... it wasn’t us... We only..." I tried to explain, but the words caught in my throat, fracturing into broken syllables. Fear, like strangling vines, tightened around my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs.

Then, I broke. A sharp, piercing scream—one I had no control over—ripped from my lips and exploded in the small, confined room.

Almost simultaneously, a deafening roar from Jacob erupted through the wall next door, followed by the crash of furniture, the sickening thud of impacts, and the pained groans of men.

I curled into a ball on the chair, hands clamped over my ears, my entire body shaking, trapped in that icy swamp of pure, visceral terror.

Until—"Celena!"

His voice, familiar, laced with urgency and fear, cut through my panic. A pair of strong, warm arms, spattered with fresh blood, wrapped around me, pulling me tightly against a solid chest that smelled of blood and that unmistakably familiar scent.

Jacob. It was him. The scent of forest, sunlight, and now, thickly, of blood.

I drank in the comforting smell, my trembling gradually subsiding, my rational mind slowly clawing its way back. Then I saw him clearly—the broken chain of the handcuffs still dangling from his wrists, the skin beneath torn and bloody from where he’d ripped them apart. His cheekbone was grotesquely swollen, a horrifying shade of purple and black, and his lip was split. Around him, the two officers who had been interrogating me, plus several more who had rushed in from next door, were strewn across the floor, either curled in agony or unconscious.

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" he asked rapidly, his grey-blue eyes still blazing with feral rage and stark concern for me.

I shook my head, my throat too tight to form words.

He immediately pulled me to my feet, shielding me with his body, and barged through the now-warped door into the hallway. Moans and the sound of struggling men followed us. From both ends of the corridor came the chaotic thunder of footsteps and shouts: "Stop them!" "Over there!" "Use of force authorized!"

We were surrounded. This time, these human cops wouldn’t hold back. They would shoot to kill.

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