Revenge to the Alpha Mate novel Chapter 228

Chapter 228: Chapter 228

Jacob’s Perspective

On the afternoon of the third day, when I spotted the two familiar, mud-spattered SUVs coming down the highway from the edge of the woods, their headlights flashing three times as arranged, I damn near got choked up.

They’d actually come. All of them.

Xavier was the first out, his massive frame making the chassis bounce. He strode over and punched my shoulder with a grin. "Well, look what the cat dragged in. Our little stray pup. Looks like you got into a scrap with a raccoon." He was referring to the cuts and scrapes on my neck and hands.

Adrian was more reserved with a nod, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the surroundings. The twins, Jim and Joe, were already poking around our wrecked Chevy like a pair of curious hounds, whistling low. "Whoa, man. This thing got gutted. You two walked away from this?"

Finally, Lily stepped out. Dressed in practical cargo pants and boots, her hair in a tight ponytail, she looked me over first, ensuring I was in one piece. Then her gaze shifted to Celena behind me, offering a brief but genuine smile. She walked over to the mangled Chevy and nudged the flattened front tire with the toe of her boot, raising an eyebrow at me. "So, this is the result of your low-profile recon, huh?"

I held up my hands. "Alright, alright. I screwed up. Thanks for coming to clean up the mess."

"We’re family," Lily said, pulling me into a firm hug, her voice lower. "But don’t be an idiot and try to handle it alone next time."

We piled into their SUVs and made a cautious loop around the nearby town, keeping our distance. Using our heightened senses, we ’sniffed’ the area. Sure enough, new faces had appeared near the motel, outside the convenience store, even at the gas station. They wore plain clothes, posing as workers or loitering locals, but to us, the tells were obvious: their posture, the systematic sweep of their eyes, the faint residual scents on their hands—gun oil, primer, and that sharp, trained alertness.

"Three to five visible," Adrian murmured, his observations the keenest. "Maybe more in the shadows. They’ve set up a net."

Lily nodded, got out alone, and walked into the convenience store. She bought bottled water, energy bars, and a couple packs of cigarettes like any other traveler, even chatting casually with the cashier about the weather. When she returned, she confirmed quietly, "One inside too, pretending to read a magazine. Ears perked up like a rabbit’s."

Our two vehicles pretended to pass through, leaving town slowly, but stopped at a hidden turnoff a few miles down the road, killing the engines to wait. Lily’s plan was simple: wait for the watchers to shift or make a move.

At dusk, our prey took the bait. Two familiar black pickups came from the direction of the town, likely heading to relieve the factory’s outer perimeter or on another assignment.

"Tree branch, Jim," Lily said into her radio.

"Copy. Got a perfect view," Jim’s voice crackled back. He’d somehow already scaled a tall tree by the road, a perfect lookout.

Xavier and Lily ghosted to the center of the road and quickly laid out spiked tire strips—rows of nasty-looking steel caltrops.

The pickups were moving at a good clip. The first one hit the strips with a simultaneous screech of deflating rubber and a violent swerve. Both trucks skidded to clumsy halts. Before the men inside could fully react, we were on them, erupting from the bushes.

Speed was everything. Before they could reach for their weapons, Xavier, Adrian, and I took the driver and passenger of the first truck. Lily and the twins hit the second. It was brutal and efficient: wrists twisted, jaws or stomachs slammed, weapons stripped. The resistance was fierce, but they were just humans. Against enraged werewolves, they were subdued in seconds, left groaning and curled on the ground.

Only four of them. A quick search of the vehicles and area confirmed no backup. We dragged them to the tree line and bound them to trunks.

The interrogation didn’t go well. These guys were tough. Even bruised and bloody, they cursed us, calling us "beasts" and "monsters," their eyes filled with hate and disdain.

"That factory is your nest, isn’t it?" Xavier growled, grabbing one by the collar.

The man spat a bloody wad and smirked, clamping his mouth shut. The others did the same. The moment the slaughterhouse was mentioned, their lips sealed like welded steel.

Then Celena stepped forward. She’d been watching silently, her eyes cold. Ignoring the curses, she knelt, ripped open one captive’s sleeve, then tore his shirt front.

Revealed on his skin was a distinct tattoo: interwoven thorns encircling an abstract symbol that looked like a crossed spear and stake, edged with flame-like patterns.

Celena’s breath hitched. She looked up at us, her voice clear and certain. "They’re Hunters. I’ve seen these symbols. In my... in my old nightmares, in the fragments I remember."

Lily crouched for a closer look, tracing the pattern in the air with a finger, her expression grim. "A variant of a Hunter syndicate mark. She’s right." She glanced at me and the others. "You might not notice their fancy badges, but I’ve studied them. Hunters are proud. They wear these like medals."

We believed them. The Hunter identity explained their training, their lethal tactics, and the factory’s strangeness—it wasn’t a slaughterhouse. It was likely a "processing station" or lab for supernatural beings.

"What do we do with them?" Adrian asked.

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