Revenge to the Alpha Mate novel Chapter 252

Chapter 252: Chapter 252

Aurora ’s Perspective

It was the cold that woke me. That, and the lingering stench of cheap disinfectant and damp mold. The spot on the back of my neck where the stun gun hit still throbbed dully, a sickening pulse keeping time with the ache in my skull.

I opened my eyes. It took several seconds for my vision to adjust. Not to light, but to the absolute, suffocating weight of the dark. No windows. Not a sliver of light. I was lying on a thin, lumpy mattress, the cold, rough texture of concrete beneath me. The air was stagnant, thick enough to choke on.

I wasn’t tied up. A small, shaky wave of relief, immediately followed by a sharper spike of fear—they were either confident I couldn’t escape, or they simply didn’t care if I tried. I pushed myself up to sit, every muscle protesting, especially where I’d hit the ground during the crash. I checked myself over. My leather jacket was torn in a few places. I had bruises and scrapes. Miraculously, that seemed to be it. They hadn’t hurt me. Not yet, anyway.

Where was this? A basement in an abandoned warehouse? A cell in some secret facility? And where was Brett? Where did they take him?

The darkness amplified every tiny sound, even the frantic drumming of my own heart. I forced myself to be calm, the way my father taught me, reaching out with my wolf senses. No scent of other living things, except... humans. Faint traces of sweat, cigarette smoke, and something metallic, like oil. None of the unique, wild-earth-and-animal musk of another werewolf. No other supernatural signatures. It was just me. And... *them*.

I don’t know how long I sat in the dark. Time lost all meaning. Until heavy footsteps sounded outside the door, followed by the harsh scrape of a key turning in a lock.

The door swung open. Dull light from a hallway flooded in, making me squint. Two men walked in, backlit, their figures tall and broad. They wore cheap, full-face ski masks, black holes for eyes and mouths. It looked ridiculous and terrifying. One carried a powerful flashlight.

No greeting. He just swung the beam of light directly into my face.

"Ugh!" I jerked my head away, throwing up a hand to shield my eyes. Tears sprang up instantly from the assault.

"Say ’hello,’ Princess," the man with the flashlight said. His voice was distorted by a cheap voice modulator, tinny and laced with static, dripping with malicious mockery.

The other man said nothing. He simply produced an ordinary-looking smartphone and tapped the screen, turning the camera on me.

My heart plunged into an icy pit. Kidnapping. The oldest, worst-case scenario. But... something felt off. The men who took Brett moved with professional precision. These two... with their silly masks, flashlight games, and B-movie villain voices. The styles didn’t match at all.

"Who are you?" I tried to keep my voice level, lowering my hand even though my vision was still blurred. "Where is this? Where’s Brett? The boy I was with?"

"So many questions, little Princess," Flashlight Man waggled the beam, keeping it just out of my direct line of sight but still preventing me from seeing any details. "Your boyfriend? Not here. We’re only interested in you."

The other man held the phone steady, recording.

"So this is a kidnapping?" I asked bluntly, my nails digging into my palms. "What do you want?"

"Bingo!" Flashlight Man snapped his fingers, the mockery thickening. "Finally, a smart question. We don’t want much. A drop in the bucket for your rich mommy and daddy. Five million. U.S. dollars. Cash. Used bills, non-sequential. Got it?"

Five million. Used bills. My mind raced. It was textbook ransom stuff. But... why me? If it was just about money, why grab me in such a remote place, in that specific way? And Brett... his takers were clearly different. Were the two things connected? Or was I just spectacularly unlucky, stumbling into two separate groups of bad guys on one stupid joyride?

"How do I know you’ll let me go once you have the money?" I stalled, trying to read their posture, their subtle movements. But they were just masked blurs.

"You don’t have a choice, sweetheart," Flashlight Man took a step closer, the smell of stale cigarettes rolling off him. "Now. Call your dear mother. Tell her you’re fine. Tell her to get the money ready and wait for our next message. No tricks, unless you want to find out how unfriendly we can get."

He shoved an old flip phone into my hand. The plastic was cold. This phone... wasn’t mine. They’d prepared it.

"My phone was lost," I said. It was the truth.

"Use this one," the silent man finally spoke, his voice also distorted, deeper. He gestured at the flip phone. "Call your mother. We know the number."

I held the cheap device, my fingers going numb. Call Lily. The mother I was rebelling against, the one I found stifling and old-fashioned. Tell her I’d been kidnapped because of my own damn stubbornness and stupidity, getting myself and Brett into this mess.

Regret, sharp and clear, washed over me for the first time, drowning out all the previous rebellion and arrogance. If I hadn’t taken Brett out... If I’d been more careful... God.

But there was no time for self-pity. I had to survive. Think. These two seemed like greedy, average thugs. Maybe there was a chance...

I flipped the phone open. The faint blue glow of the screen lit my fingers. I dialed the number I knew by heart but rarely called. I figured, even from an unknown number, at this hour, with Lily’s personality... she’d answer. Especially if she was already frantically trying to call me.

It rang three times.

"Hello?" Lily’s voice came through, the background quiet, but her tone held a subtle, sharp tension... and irritation.

"Mom—" I only got the one syllable out before my throat closed up.

The next second, Flashlight Man yanked the phone from my grip, his movement rough.

"Mrs. Lytton?" he said into the receiver, his voice that nauseating, faux-polite distortion. "Good evening. Hope we’re not disturbing you. Your daughter is our guest at the moment. She’s fine. For now."

I stared at him, listening to the dead silence that fell on the other end of the line, followed by Lily’s voice—ice-cold, containing a volcanic rage. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could feel the storm in them.

Flashlight Man seemed to listen, interjecting with "Mm-hmm," "Of course," "It’s simple." The other man kept the phone camera trained on me, recording my reaction.

The call lasted maybe two minutes. Flashlight Man finished with, "Get the money ready. Wait for instructions. No police, unless you want a ’souvenir.’" He hung up, shoving the flip phone back into his pocket.

Silence crashed back into the room, broken only by their heavy breathing and the frantic pounding of my own heart.

"Lily?" He set down his pen and rose.

"Aurora ’s been kidnapped." I gave him no preamble, just hurled the words, my voice trembling slightly from the strain of holding everything in. "Just got the call. Five million cash, used bills. And I’m betting Brett’s in trouble too. He was with her. He’s not answering."

Every expression on Ethan’s face froze, then drained away, leaving behind the dangerous, Alpha-calm I knew so well. But the storm in his eyes was worse than anything I’d felt. The air in the room seemed to solidify, the pressure spiking.

He didn’t ask for details. Didn’t waste time on useless emotion. He simply pressed a button on the desk’s intercom.

"Xavier. Adrian. Jacob. My study. Now. Highest priority." His voice was steady, but each word was a shard of ice.

They were there in under three minutes. Xavier carried the chill of the night with him. Adrian looked like she’d been pulled from bed, her hair slightly disheveled, but her gaze was sharp. Jacob... his face went deathly pale at the mention of Brett being in trouble. Selena wasn’t with him, but I knew Jacob’s heart was in a vise.

"Aurora ’s been taken. Ransom call just came in. Brett is missing, likely with her," Ethan stated, concise. "The voices on the phone sound like common criminals, but the timing and location are suspicious. We cannot rule out a connection to our known adversaries."

"Lex is home. Secure," I added, knowing they’d ask.

"The pack will mobilize," Ethan commanded, his voice low but carrying absolute authority. "Xavier, activate our eyes and ears. I want every whisper of unusual activity tonight, especially in the area where Aurora and Brett were last seen. Adrian, pull every traffic cam, comms record we can access. Our way. Clean. Jacob, you’re with me. We need a plan that secures the children and exposes whatever is behind this."

He looked at me. "Lily, you and Selena handle the interior. Steady the pack, especially the younger ones. No panic. Prepare the cash. We prepare for all outcomes."

No objections. No hesitation. A cold fire burned in every pair of eyes. The pack’s cubs had been threatened.

Xavier and Adrian gave terse nods and left the study without another word, their footsteps fading swiftly down the hall. Jacob remained, his hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white. He looked at Ethan. "If the ones who took Brett, and the ones who have Aurora ... are the same..."

"Then they have made their final mistake," Ethan cut him off. He walked to the wall, pulled aside a large painting to reveal a hidden safe. He keyed in the code. It opened, revealing not documents, but rows of neatly arranged firearms of various calibers, gleaming dully under the lights. "No one touches the children of the Moonlight Pack and walks away."

He took out two modified handguns, checked the magazines with lethal, fluid efficiency. The calm negotiator was gone. In his place stood the pack’s prime hunter, a father and a leader provoked.

I went to him. I didn’t touch the weapons. I just looked at him. "Bring them home, Ethan. Both of them."

He paused, turned his head to look at me. The storm in his eyes calmed for a moment, revealing the deep, burning worry and resolve beneath. He took my hand, his grip crushing, his palm hot.

"I will," he said. Then he looked at Jacob. "Let’s go."

They left the study. I stood alone in the sudden quiet, the air still crackling with tension and the faint, sharp scent of gun oil. I walked to the window, looking out at the sleeping city, its neon glow masking the dark currents swirling beneath.