Bronwyn shook as she stared at the screen of her laptop. It blurred, the words swimming out of focus as her mind struggled to comprehend what she had just read. She jumped as another email joined the chain, this one containing a link. Her hand trembled as she moved it to the touchpad, shifting the pointer to the link, and she swallowed hard as her finger hovered, debating whether to click it.
Another email appeared, this one containing a single ominous sentence.
We know you’re there, so open the link, Bronwyn.
Her gaze leaped up to the tiny lens of the webcam, her heart rushing in her ears as she realised they were watching her. Someone had hacked into her laptop and hijacked her webcam, and now they were sending her sick emails about her brother.
Another email joined the chain.
Open the link.
She drew down a deep breath, attempting to steel herself. It did nothing to calm her nerves. She glanced around the small café, thankful that it was empty, and grabbed her laptop, bag and coffee and moved to one of the window tables, where she was as far as she could get from the baristas.
Bronwyn slumped into the low armchair and set the laptop down on her knees, angled the screen back so she could see it, and rifled in her bag for her earbuds. She had come here to make use of the free Wi-Fi to catch up on her emails and her favourite TV show, stealing some quiet time for herself, away from the pride. Only at the top of her list of unread emails had been one with a single word for a subject line.
Andrew.
Curiosity had made her click it and fear had kept her staring at it long after she had finished reading the explicit text that had detailed all the ways they were going to harm her brother if she didn’t do as they wanted.
She glanced out of the window at the sultry evening, part of her wishing she had never come into Whistler and the rest of her thankful that she had. If Andrew was in trouble, then she had to help him. He was her only immediate family, and while they didn’t see eye to eye at times, she loved him deeply and would do anything for him.
Bronwyn pushed the headphone jack into the socket and clicked on the link.
An online meeting site popped up and she clicked again, accepting the invite, her stomach churning as she tried to mentally prepare herself, aware who had her brother.
Archangel.
The fiends had taken him again, must have captured him when he had been returning from his latest trip to Vancouver, one he had made every month for the last few years, always leaving her on the first and rolling back into the pride around a week later. Or two weeks as it more frequently was these days. The time he spent away from her was growing longer and longer, and it worried her.
Andrew had grown bored of life at the pride and she was starting to get the feeling he preferred being in the city, or maybe being away from her. Since he had matured, he had been less interested in hanging out with her, had begun to view her as a nuisance, one who cramped his style and put off the females he wanted to impress.
A picture opened on the screen, stuttered as the image shifted, growing pixelated, and then it became clear.
She gasped.
Andrew.
He kneeled on the concrete floor of what looked like a containment cell, held behind a thick wall of glass that was far too familiar, haunted her dreams most nights.
Archangel had caught him.
The hunters had captured her brother and were holding him in a compound again.
Her heart ached and fear swamped her as she stared at her brother where he leaned forwards over his bare legs, his dark head hanging close to them, his arms bound behind his bare back by thick metal cuffs. Crimson patches stained the pale concrete in front of his knees.
Bronwyn reached a trembling hand out and brushed her fingers across the screen, blinked away the tears that blurred her vision as she fought to make herself believe what she was seeing.
“Say hello to your sister, Andrew.” A haughty female voice came over the microphone, her accent Canadian.
Andrew lifted his head, his golden eyes bleak as he stared at the owner of the voice.
Bronwyn covered her mouth with her other hand, her fingers shaking against her lips as his gaze shifted to the laptop someone was clearly pointing at him. Bruises ran across his cheeks below his eyes and there was a thick gash over the bridge of his nose. Blood had run from it to mingle with the crimson that drenched the lower half of his face, completely covering his mouth and chin.
“Bastards,” she breathed and glanced at the baristas, wanted to scream at the bitch who was holding her brother and had been torturing him by the looks of things, but knew that if she did she would draw their attention. They would want to contact the authorities and this whole situation would only get worse for her—and for her brother. She tried to hold it together so they didn’t suspect anything was wrong, but it was hard as she stared at Andrew, as rage kindled in her veins and had her close to growling and flashing her fangs as they dropped. “Let him go. He’s done nothing wrong. We’re not a threat.”
Archangel were meant to only target non-humans who were a danger to mortals, but the noble cause was a front. The heart of Archangel was rotten, filled with vile hunters who sought to make money off her kind or get their kicks by watching shifters rip each other apart in the cages of their underground arenas.
Places like the one she and her brother had been held in after Archangel had raided their pride.
None of her kin had been a threat to humans. They had been peaceful, happily co-existing with them. Archangel hadn’t cared. The leaders of the local secret arena had needed fighters, fresh blood for the cages, and had taken more than a dozen of her pride. Only she and her brother had survived long enough to escape.
The image moved again, blurring as someone turned the laptop around, and then a middle-aged blonde female filled the screen, dressed in black fatigues and wearing a cold look in her dark blue eyes.
“We will let him go, Bronwyn, providing you do as you’re instructed.”
Bronwyn barely leashed the urge to flash fangs at her, wanted to ask what would happen if she didn’t, but knew in her heart what the answer would be.
They would kill him.
“What do you want?” Her voice shook as she asked that, fear getting the better of her as the female turned the camera back to her brother.
That fear jacked up as she saw he wasn’t alone now.
A big dark-haired male was in the cell with him, gripping Andrew’s chestnut hair and pulling his head back. She swallowed thickly and shook her head as he caressed Andrew’s throat with the flat of a short blade, his brown eyes locked on the camera, a sick glint in them that said he wanted to hurt her brother, was hoping that she would try to resist or wouldn’t do as they ordered.
“I just want you to do something for me. That’s all.” The female voice came over the video of her brother. “If you don’t.”
Bronwyn lurched forwards as the male nicked her brother’s jaw with the blade and a thin rivulet of crimson spilled down his throat, a wild need to stop him flooding her, making her desperate.
“Please. Just tell me what to do.” She cursed herself, hated how quickly she surrendered the fight. She had never been the defiant one out of her and her brother, had always been the one who sought the peaceful route out of a conflict, unable to bring herself to hurt another, even if it was emotionally.
Which is why she only felt more terrible when the female spoke.
“You would have received a cell number in an email. You’re going to dial it and make contact with the one who answers it.”
Bronwyn’s stomach twisted in a tight, painful knot and she pressed her hand to it, sure she was going to throw up. She would do anything for Andrew, but this female was asking too much of her. She couldn’t swap someone else for her brother, wasn’t sure she could live with herself if she did such a thing, placing someone else into his position.
But one look at him was enough to have her denying the softer part of her, the one that didn’t want to hurt someone like that. If she didn’t do this, then her brother would be the one suffering, and they might even go as far as killing him. She couldn’t live with herself if that happened either, and the pain she would feel would be far worse than if she did as the hunters wanted, subjecting someone else to their wretched plans.
The male in the cell with her brother lowered his blade, poising it against Andrew’s throat. Andrew tried to lean back to stop the male, but the hunter tightened his grip on his hair, keeping him in place. The weak growl that left Andrew’s lips was enough to have her giving up the fight again.
She sagged as her strength left her. “Fine. I’ll do it. Just stop hurting him.”
The image moved again, blurring and then revealing the female. She smiled at Bronwyn.
“You’ll make contact with the shifters and get them both to agree to meet with you. We will call again in due time with the next set of instructions.” The cold look in the female’s blue eyes didn’t mask the sick satisfaction the huntress was feeling as Bronwyn’s eyes slowly widened.
The female had made it sound as if her task was bringing in one shifter and now there were two?
A need to shake her head rolled through Bronwyn, the thought of luring not only one but two shifters to their demise causing bile to rise up her throat. She tamped down the urge and tried to silence the whispers in her mind, ones that asked her where this would end. If she brought this female the two shifters, would she then send Bronwyn out for more, and more, forcing her to keep bringing her fresh blood for her arena?
“If you tell anyone about this or fail to follow instructions…” The female turned the camera back towards her brother.
He screamed as the male hunter plunged the blade into his bare shoulder.
“Andrew!” Bronwyn lurched towards the screen, her heart lodging in her throat as the hunter twisted the blade and blood ran in a thick stream down her brother’s arm. “Please. Stop. I’ll do whatever you want.”
She glanced at the baristas, found them staring at her and locked her gaze back on the screen. She was running out of time. They would call the police soon.
“Miss?” The brunette female barista came to the end of the counter nearest her. “Something wrong?”
Bronwyn shook her head and snapped, “I’m fine.”
Her gaze leaped back to the screen, her heart sinking as she stared at her brother.
She had to do this.
She could hate herself for it later, once it was done, when she had to live with it for the rest of her life. If it meant saving her brother, she would do anything.
The haughty female voice echoed in her ears. “Make the call, bear, and if you even think about warning them, then your brother is dead.”
The video ended.
Bronwyn stared at the image that remained on the screen, brushed her fingers over her brother as she ached inside, feeling hollow and cold to the bone. She could do this. She had to do it.
She frowned as the screen changed, revealing an option to download the video, and found herself drawn to the link. She clicked it, saving it to her hard drive, and then closed the browser.
Stared at the latest email.
It contained a number she didn’t recognise.
Bronwyn grabbed her phone from her bag and added the number to her contacts, closed her laptop and hurried from the café, not slowing until she was a good distance away from it. The air was still warm as she moved through the streets, numbed to her soul, resisting the urge to cry. She paid no heed to everyone who looked at her, keeping her head down and hoping they wouldn’t stop her to ask her what was wrong.
She crossed a car park and headed through the thin strip of trees to the stony shore of Blackcomb Creek and stilled there, breathing deep of the cooler air, fighting for the strength to make the call. It was them or her brother.
Bronwyn stared at the water rushing before her as she dialled the number, shut down the softer part of her that had her wanting to find another way to save her brother, because this was the only way. She was going to do this, and for the rest of her life she was going to have to live with the knowledge that she had subjected two other shifters to the hell her brother was going through.
But it was them or her brother, and she had to choose Andrew.
Her hand shook as she brought her phone to her ear, her mouth drying out as she listened to it ringing at the other end. Her heart thundered, beating so fast she felt sick and dizzy as she waited. Maybe they wouldn’t answer. Maybe she could tell the hunters that and they would let her brother go. She laughed at that, a mirthless chuckle. Maybe she needed to stop deluding herself. The hunters wouldn’t let her brother go, not unless she gave them what they wanted.
The line crackled as the ringing stopped.
“Hello? Who’s this?”
Oh gods.
Tears welled in her eyes, blinding her, and she covered her mouth as her brow furrowed.
Oh gods, no.
She shook her head, a chill sweeping down her arms as she recognised that deep, masculine voice, as she realised what the hunters wanted her to do. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t.
“Hello?” Maverick’s baritone was more of a growl now, losing all lightness, and she could almost picture how he would look, his silver-grey eyes gaining a sharp edge as his black eyebrows knitted hard, forming that little crease between them that had always been a permanent feature.
Except for the rare times he had smiled at her.
It had been so long since she had heard the voice of the grizzly who was like another brother to her together with Rune, one who had protected her countless times and had taken good care of her when they had all been held captive by Archangel.
The urge to tell him everything that was happening was strong, had her afraid to speak in case she accidentally blurted it. She cursed Archangel again, despising them for making her do this, unsure whether she could go through with it.
“Anyone there?” Maverick said.
“Maybe it’s a prank call.” Rune’s voice was distant, but she caught it, wanted to cry and scream at the same time as she thought about handing these two bears over to the hunters.
Maverick snapped, “Who’d prank call me?”
Rune muttered, “Someone with a death wish?”
Maverick huffed at that.
Bronwyn couldn’t believe she was going to do this, but it was her brother’s life on the line. She denied the urge to tell Maverick everything, to trust that he could help her. The hunters would kill her brother.
“I’m hanging up.”
She panicked.
Whispered, “Maverick?”
Silence.
And then his deep voice rolled over her.
“Pooh Bear?”
She huffed now. “I told you to stop calling me that.”
He cleared his throat. Sighed. Not a sigh of exasperation, or any emotion she could decipher. He always had been skilled at hiding his feelings. But if she had to name the feeling behind his sigh, she might have called it relief. Or something akin to gratitude, as if he was glad to hear she was alive.
They hadn’t spoken since the raid that had freed them from captivity, had gone their separate ways thanks to her brother, but she had missed him and Rune every day of the twenty years they had been apart.
Rune said, “Who is it?”
Maverick’s deep voice warmed her and irritated her at the same time. “It’s Winnie.”
“Little Winnie the Pooh?” Rune sounded as surprised as Maverick did and then his tone darkened. “What’s she doing calling you of all people?”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Maverick growled back at him. “What’s wrong with Pooh Bear calling me?”
Bronwyn smiled at how familiar all of this was. Rune had always been more fatherly towards her, had always done his best to shield her from the darker side of life at the compound. Maverick had always wanted to toughen her up.
She wished he had managed it as she growled, “I’m not a cub anymore. Stop calling me Winnie the Pooh or Pooh Bear!”
“What’s wrong, Bronwyn?” Maverick sounded serious, the hard edge to his voice making it easy for her to picture how his face would be set in dark lines, his grey eyes bright with a hunger for violence.
It would have scared most.
But gods, she melted at the way he said her name, feelings she had been suppressing for decades rolling up on her to break over her, catching her in the swell of them. It was Maverick on the other end of the line. Maverick those bastards wanted her to hurt, trading him for her brother.
Maverick.
She clutched the phone as if she were holding on to him.
Maverick who she’d had the crush to end all crushes on. A galactic-sized crush. She could remember every time they had come into contact, their skin brushing, whether it had been intentional or accidental. She could remember every smile he had given her. They had been rare, but she had cherished every one.
Because he had only ever smiled for her.
A need to protect him warred with a need to protect her brother and she was torn between them again, just as she had been the night they had escaped, unsure whether to choose him or Andrew.
Her heart or her blood.
She squeezed her eyes shut, sending tears slipping down her cheeks, and drew in a shuddering breath to steady her nerves, to give her strength.
Because she had to do this.
She had no choice.
She lined up the words and forced them out.
“I’m in trouble.”
