Revenge to the Alpha Mate novel 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.

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