Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

LUCAS

Thirst scrambled my brain. Gnawing hunger singed my veins, clawing my stomach, a brutal reminder that I was a stubborn dick to have tried to ignore my reality.

Every decision I'd made went against the very fabric of my being.

I wasn't irresponsible. I wasn't a selfish idiot who made piss-poor decisions.

Having to tell Wilder the truth hurt more than it should have.

I gritted my molars and placed my forearm over my eyes, a heavy huff of air escaping me. Two hours holed up in the bedroom and I'd barely managed a minute of rest.

Who knew my ego would be my downfall? If my team could see me now, I liked to think they wouldn't recognise me. My pride was putting the mission—and me—in danger. What on earth had I been thinking?

Deep brown eyes bleeding with concern filled my vision, forming behind my closed eyes. Wilder. Thoughts about the bear who delighted in vexing me, who took great effort to rattle me and argue at every turn—that was if he wasn't freezing me out—battled for space in my mind.

Somehow, he'd found a crack in the armour I'd spent over three decades constructing. Without a crowbar in sight, he'd pried it open and found room for himself—so much so, it took everything in me not to react or respond.

What a rubbish job I'd made of that.

Reacting at every turn, I'd taken it so far that he'd all but tucked me into bed. Showed a sliver of compassion that attempted to pivot what I thought I knew about him. If only I could stop fixating on how he'd stepped in, somehow managed to get me to admit the truth, and then cared for me, I would embrace the fire licking through my veins to push me into unconsciousness.

It was impossible. Even the tightening of my skin and the razor-sharp stings as I swallowed couldn't shake him free from my mind.

Sleep wouldn't truly stop my hunger, but it had been a long time since I'd felt this level of exhaustion.

A hollow laugh bubbled out of me, and I pulled my arm away, letting the dulling light press against my shut eyelids. I'd got myself into this situation. Only I could get myself out of it.

Forcing my eyes open, I stared up at the ceiling. The rough-cut wood had been painted at one point but was in desperate need of a fresh coat. A little like me. A humourless snort escaped, and I shook my head. I was losing the plot if I was comparing myself to something needing a new layer of paint.

That I'd let my situation get this bad hollowed out my smile.

I knew better. Should have done better.

It was one thing being in the city and living and breathing work. A place where someone else took care of ensuring a weekly delivery of food and plasma vials were stocked. My house wasn't much better than this.

I glanced around, taking in the basic furnishings and bare walls.

Yeah, not so dissimilar at all.

Which was a complete exaggeration, since my converted warehouse was kitted out in the highest security and boasted a control centre to a higher spec than that at the unit's base. But it was behind the closed doors to my living quarters that told a different story.

Sure, there was a guest space that was maintained but rarely used. The last time was a couple of years back when used as a safe house. But still, it was tidy and well-stocked in case it should be needed again.

Unlike my own private space.

A fresh blade of pain stabbed my stomach. This wasn't a hunger that could be satisfied by food.

Fucking pathetic .

The words sliced through me, not my own, instead a cruel memory, but absolutely fitting.

Why the hell would the government let me run a covert department when I couldn't even feed myself? A sneer lifted my lips.

I knew why.

Of course I did.

Yes, I was incredible at my job. That wasn't simply my ego talking. But it was more than that. Not a single person knew what a shitshow everything else was.

The door creaked open. I snapped my eyes in its direction, my traitorous heart stumbling. It felt strange that it was making any sound or quick movement at all.

The heady scent of pine trees and cedarwood filled the air, mingling with the faint hint of earth and musk that seemed to cling to Wilder. It was a scent that spoke of wild forests and untamed wilderness, something primal and powerful.

I shouldn't like it, and I definitely shouldn't take comfort in it, but he'd cared for me. Looked after me. I hated to remember the last time I'd allowed that to happen, but somehow, Wilder had known that I couldn't pull myself away from my mission in the basement, too determined and stubborn to admit there was a problem.

Wilder stood in the doorway, his large form nearly filling the frame. His presence was imposing, yet there was a gentleness in the way he held himself. His dark brown eyes, deep and thoughtful, locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. The thick, bushy beard that framed his strong jawline was as wild as the rest of him, adding to the ruggedness that made it difficult to glance away.

There was a crackling energy between us, as if the very air was charged with a current that neither of us could ignore. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end while my skin tingled with awareness. His eyes held a question, concern mingled with something else I couldn't quite place.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between us, my voice barely above a whisper.

Wordlessly, he stepped into the small room, his form filling the space so completely that my breath froze in my lungs.

"You need to feed."

The "No shit, Sherlock" I was about to unleash got trapped in my throat when he narrowed his gaze, just daring me to respond in a way that would piss him off. Oh so tempting, but as my energy whooshed out of me with every slow breath, I instead let my head fall to the pillow.

"Once I've slept, I'll figure something out. Arrange a safe drop-off." It was the only option.

I couldn't go into town. Too many surveillance cameras existed in every town and city, even those as remote as this place. It would be a matter of arranging a deal with someone who could be trusted and somewhere without prying eyes.

"You need to feed," he repeated, his voice closer. It was the creak of the old floorboard under his solid form that had me snapping my attention back to him, though.

Wide-eyed, I stared at him. Standing close to the bed, he towered over me. That should not have been as triggering to my dick as it was. But hell if his size and the stubborn set of his jaw didn't unfurl desire in my gut.

"I heard you the first time, and I'm not disagreeing." I held my voice tight, limbs taut under his scrutiny. "I also said I'll figure something out when I've slept."

A silent beat followed before he arched his brow. "So after sleep, you'll miraculously feel better and be functioning at full capacity, or at least enough to get your brain cells working to organise something that you could have done the moment you discovered you had one vial to last you."

"Fuck you." The words punched out of me. That he was right was neither here nor there. The arsehole needed to back off. "And close the door on your way out."

Ignoring me, he stepped even closer. A smile that was a hundred percent satisfaction formed.

Tension thrummed through me at the expression. Despite the past few years focussing on understanding and manipulating technology, I'd read people for decades. My switch in expertise, no longer being in the field, didn't mean I'd lost my ability to understand what that kick of his lips meant.

Slowly, so painfully slowly, Wilder tugged up the long sleeves of the soft black band tee he wore.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" I dropped my gaze to his exposed forearms, zeroing in on a meaty vein throbbing close to his skin.

I couldn't close my eyes. I refused to let him know how much he was affecting me. The thirst , I quickly tagged on to my thoughts. The tightness in my gut, the itch in my gums, it was all because I was so damn thirsty, and it had nothing to do with his burly arms or the overlay of iron-infused ink decorating his skin that made it practically impossible to tear my gaze away.

The tattoos must have been burnt and seared when he'd had the artwork inked—the only way, since his shifter genes would have dissolved normal ink almost as fast as the tattooist could have worked it into his skin.

Look away, look away, look away.

My breath hitched when he paused within touching distance. The traitorous sound did what my brain had been unable to do—pulled me away from eating up the expanse of his skin. I glanced up, and our eyes locked. While his smirk remained, intensity shone in his gaze, something dark and dangerous.

His pupils flickered, dancing over my face, and I held still, wondering at the uncertainty I saw in their depths.

Wilder had been as cocky as a kangaroo in a boxing ring—all huge and dominant and full of overinflated ego. Now? Now, not so much. A battle, a war, a doubt was being waged.

His smile slipped, and his hand moved quickly, but rather than reaching for me, it moved around his back, reappearing with a plasma vial. "Here." Gravel thickened his voice, and I had barely a second to catch the vial he threw my way.

Then he was retreating, turning, and racing out of the room like demons were chasing him. Though I suspected it was disbelief.

'Cause heck if that wasn't exactly what worked through my system as I sat, clutching the plasma vial, a flurry of questions buzzing through my brain.

He'd found a vial.

Had this been here the whole time, or had he managed to track it down somehow?

While I hadn't heard him leave, my senses were not as they should be, my hunger distr?—

Pain cramped my stomach. I winced, immediately uncorking the small vial. The scent of synthesised blood clogged my sinuses, my teeth elongating despite not needing them. I brought the tube to my lips, angled my head, and swallowed the contents.

The relief was instant as the blood, barely more than 50 mL, slithered down my throat, but the effects were immediate.

The triple-strength fluid wasn't meant to be savoured. Not truly. It was a means to an end, an emergency tool to stop vampires from feeding on humans and shifters alike—even though the differences between the effects on the two species were greatly different.

Though it tasted nothing like the real thing and was even leagues below the taste of the larger elite vials that were part of my home delivery service, the outcome was almost the same. And fast.

Relief bloomed in my stomach as my head cleared and my pain dissipated, barely leaving a shadow of discomfort behind. I collapsed back on the mattress, a content sigh escaping. Gratitude lodged in my chest.

Wilder had made this happen and sourced a vial to help me.

I turned over onto my side and peered out the window into the darkening sky. Stars flickered up high, like scattered diamonds against a velvety expanse. The crescent moon hung low, casting a gentle glow over the world below. The peacefulness of the night wrapped around me, a comforting blanket that eased the remnants of tension from my body.

For the first time in days, I felt a true sense of calm. How, I was unsure. How could I feel calm when not in my own space and relying on a man I struggled to trust?

I expelled a breath, more for its soothing ability than necessity. The serenity of the night sky seemed to seep into my very bones, allowing me to drift closer to sleep. My heartbeat slowed, matching the rhythmic pulse of the universe outside.

Yet, as I lay there, on the edge of slumber, a thought wormed its way into my mind. Wilder had always been a wild card, an unknown in my carefully structured world, but maybe there was more to him than met the eye. There was a depth to his actions, a layer of intention that hinted at something beyond the brash exterior.

Perhaps Wilder was more than he appeared to be—a complexity hidden beneath the bravado.

With that thought lingering, I let the tranquillity of the night lull me into a deep, restful sleep.

I managed to tiptoe past Wilder sleeping awkwardly on the couch, his body much larger than the tiny frame, guilt urging me to get back to the mission. The sooner we completed it, the sooner he could leave.

That the thought left a sour taste in my mouth was something I doggedly ignored.

As the hum of computers settled around me, I found my rhythm, alternating between touching base with the team and following leads.

For three hours, I followed the trail needed to finally get some answers from Murdock. While doing a deep dive into his cloud and his trash, which he foolishly expected to be destroyed, I paused at the innocuous name on a secured document.

While the title Morning Meeting shouldn't ring alarm bells that it was a secure document, considering his position as assistant defence minister, the fact that I found it so easily was concerning. Government officials followed strict protocols when deleting files, making the kind of lurking I was currently doing impossible. The ease with which I found the note meant that he'd trashed it carelessly and not through the official government channels.

A creak alerted me to Wilder's movements.

I fought against my reaction, the tenderness trying to take hold and clamber to the surface when I thought about his care and attention and the way the deep lines between his brows had disappeared when he'd been fast asleep on the uncomfortable sofa.

I worked my way into the document, forcing my shoulders to relax when Wilder's feet touched the concrete floor and he stepped fully into the basement.

"What do you have?" he rumbled, tiredness still obvious in his sleep-rough voice.

The gravel tried to wrap around me, make the small hairs on my arms stand on end. No way would I let that happen.

Instead, I focussed on his question, embracing my relief that we were concentrating on work. The task I could handle. Talking about anything else right now, I couldn't. Not without saying, thinking, or possibly doing something I shouldn't.

"A note in Murdock's cloud," I offered.

The heady scent of pine drew nearer, and when Wilder reached my side, I cast a brief look his way. Eyes on the screen, Wilder appeared engrossed and not at all bothered by the kindness he'd shown me.

It helped me turn my attention back to the screen.

"Hasn't that already been checked?"

"Not the Shadow Stratus."

A subtle movement from Wilder told me his reaction had been the same as mine.

"What the hell is the assistant defence minister doing with access to the Shadow?"

"Let's find out." I weaved through the security system in place with worrying ease considering I absolutely wasn't the only person capable of doing such a thing. Anything in here that put our country at risk could easily be placed in the hands of someone with nefarious intentions. And that the information could be accessed via the Shadow—an illegal cloud synonymous with all that was depraved in our world—yeah, I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what I found.

"What the fuck?" Dark indignation sharpened Wilder's words.

Speechless, I shook my head as I scrolled through the notes, pausing on the embedded images. Disgust slithered across my skin, and the pit of dread solidified once the vastness of what we'd uncovered registered.

"This is…." Words escaped me.

Wilder leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They're using Hornell's illegal technology. Look at this." He pointed at a section detailing experimental weapons—viciously effective but grotesque in their construction and use.

"And here," I added, scrolling further. "Cruel experiments involving shifters. They're not just capturing them—they're weaponising them." Images of caged shifters, their bodies altered and augmented with technology, filled the screen.

"These notes detail direct orders from Murdock," Wilder said, his tone grave. "He's not just in cahoots with Hornell; he's a key player. A branch of the Australian Defence Ministry is funding and utilising this technology."

"Which means," I added, my heart pounding, "we have the leverage we need. If this gets out, it would be a national scandal. The Defence Ministry would be crippled, and Murdock's career would be over." Hell, he'd be looking at life imprisonment.

"But more importantly," Wilder continued, "we can use this to force Murdock's hand. He'll have no choice but to tell us where Hornell is. His entire operation would collapse under the weight of this information."

I nodded, a plan forming in my mind. "We need to secure this data and confront Murdock. If we can get him to reveal Hornell's location, we can shut this entire operation down and finally get to Hornell."

"Agreed," Wilder said, his jaw set with determination. "But we need to move quickly. If Hornell gets wind that we have this, he'll try to bury it—and us."

With a final look at the screen, the gravity of our discovery washed over me. The fate of countless lives, human and shifter alike, hung in the balance. We had to act, and fast.

I would have scoffed at that if my lungs hadn't constricted. It wasn't like we didn't already know how important it was to take Hornell down.

But the depth of the government's involvement was unthinkable.

Immediately, I reached out to Callen.

He opened with "The line's secure. Director Durrant is with me."

I startled at Wilder's arm reaching over me. Before I could question him, he hit Mute. I glanced at him, my brows high.

"You sure you can trust her?"

He was referring to the SICB director.

"Yes." No hesitation existed when it came to Durrant. Every step of the way, she'd supported the unit. Even before I'd joined, she'd stamped out corruption in the division. I trusted her implicitly; so did Callen and Thatch.

Wilder studied me, and our gazes connected, his searching. He nodded once, unmuted us, and eased back.

He believed me. Trusted I knew my team. I stopped my breath from stuttering out of me, aware Callen was waiting for my response.

"I'm sending you something. Make sure the two of you are somewhere secure."

"We already are," Durrant answered. "I have a feeling we're not going to like what you send."

I sent the encrypted file. "You could say that, Director. But it's also what we need to change everything and finally put this to bed."

"We need everything you have. Murdock's not budging," Callen said.

"Not even to your more intriguing questioning methods?" My lips twitched despite the seriousness of the situation.

Callen snorted. "I don't think anyone here in the capital would appreciate my more creative interviewing methods."

I angled a look at Wilder, who sat beside me. Curiosity coloured his expression. Once again, my lips twitched, and his eyes darted to them. Glancing away, I responded, "I can only imagine."

Callen's tone turned serious. "Okay, we've got it. Opening it now."

One beat. A second.

"The ever-loving fuck!" Callen exploded.

Durrant cut in. "I won't insult you by asking the validity of this intel." The strain was evident in her voice.

"I appreciate that." We'd known each other for my entire life. She was the reason I joined the SICB in the first place.

"I'm going to send you a list," she continued. "We're going to have to tread carefully, as this is going to cause ripples I'm not sure any of us are fully prepared for."

"I hear you, Director."

"Have I ever told you the story about trapping a viper in the corner of a room?" Tight amusement strained her words.

"Not sure you have."

"Hmm… maybe another time over a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild."

Wilder stirred at my side, no doubt wondering about my familiarity with Durrant.

"For now, just know that a whole nest of cornered snakes can prove deadly," Director Durrant warned, her voice lowering to a solemn tone. "And we're about to step into that room."

"Understood." I comprehended the gravity of her analogy with the weight of experience. A nest of cornered government officials, desperate and threatened, could strike out unpredictably, potentially endangering anyone in their path.

"We're going to move Murdock somewhere off-grid now. I'll get Kent to set something up. As soon as you receive my list, you'll know what to do."

"We've got this, Director."

There was a pause before she spoke again—whether at the use of "we" or a recollection of all we'd been through, I didn't know. "You need to make sure you and the team are truly underground," she continued, her words laden with caution. "And, Mathew, watch your back." Her tone softened. "You know that in a viper's den, danger lurks in every shadow."

Her warning sent a shiver down my spine, reminding me of the perilous game we were about to play.

The communication cut off, the quiet feeling heavy after the exchange.

"She's worried about you." Wilder's deep voice rumbled across my skin. "You know her outside of work."

An absolute statement.

"She used to be my mother's best friend." The words fell free, unbidden. I slammed my lips together, confusion furrowing my brow as I wondered why on earth I'd shared as much with him. Nobody beyond Kent and Callen knew about our connection.

Not that it was disastrous if anyone knew.

I'd had decades to prove my worth.

What I didn't plan on was sharing so much of myself with anyone, let alone the English bear who'd done nothing but make my fangs itch since the moment I'd laid eyes on him.

An alert drew my attention. I grabbed on to the need to focus on the imminent threat rather than the discomfort of oversharing with Wilder.

"It's Durrant's list," I said unnecessarily, but the need to cut through the tension urged me on. "I know most of these names." Scrolling the list, I read through each, understanding immediately without instruction what Durrant's play was.

"You know them personally…?"

I shook my head. "Only some, but I recognise the majority of names as individuals Durrant trusts."

"She wants you to organise the troops and get ready for a takedown."

I glanced at Wilder, who turned to make eye contact. That he so quickly caught up without explanation wasn't so much a surprise as it was intriguing. There was so much about this man I didn't know.

What I did know was, Hart trusted him—despite the confrontation before we left Sydney—and Smythe trusted his boyfriend implicitly. Wilder had also gone above and beyond to help my unit.

"Where did you get the vials from?" There was a whole stack waiting in the kitchen when I'd resurfaced after sleeping.

By the flicker of a reaction before he locked himself down, it was clear he was as surprised as I was that I was asking him this question, not only at all, but now. Were there more pressing matters? Definitely. But I needed to know, my instinct in the driving seat and ready to push him on this if necessary.

Not that it was needed, as after a quiet study of my face, he said, "I drove forty klicks west to a drop-off point."

"You were able to arrange something so soon?" Even as I asked, I felt foolish. He'd clearly arranged something quickly.

Rather than calling me out, he bobbed his head. "I called in a favour."

I quirked my brow, wondering just how extensive his reach was that he could organise everything while being thousands of kilometres away from home. We weren't exactly close to a major city either.

I settled on "Thank you."

A flicker of discomfort seemed to shroud him, his gaze darting away briefly before he peered back at me. His shrug was nowhere near as casual as I assumed he intended as he said, "I needed you on your game. The sooner we clean up this clusterfuck, the sooner I can jump on a plane."

While the bite in his tone was gone, I read his not-so-subtle request for me to let it go and move on.

That I could absolutely do.

Immediately, I set to work on the names, considering the best way to reach out to the Collection. The individuals spanned from various units within the SICB to Canberra to the Air Force to different military branches—several of which were overseas.

One name jumped out at me. I paused, taking it in.

"Who's Valeria Blackthorn?"

I closed my eyes, my fingers tingling, urging me to wipe a frustrated hand over my face. If I'd been by myself, it was what I would have done. I probably would have smashed the computer across the wall too.

"Valeria Blackthorn," Wilder repeated, and I could practically hear his brain ticking over, trying to think where he knew that name. "I've heard of Vance Blackthorn. He's the agent who took down the Lancelot Project over a decade ago. Are they related?"

I winced, wanting Valeria far, far away from this mission. Not that she wasn't beyond capable. "Vance… her name is Valeria now."

"Huh, no shit." His brows dipped. "Isn't she retired or something?"

A fizzle of warmth bloomed that Wilder immediately grasped the correct pronoun. Not that it was hard to grasp. "Or something," I answered. "That you think that is exactly what they want you to believe. She's very much active but rarely returns home." Which I knew I was responsible for, but hell if I didn't miss her with every fibre of my being.

"Oh shit, you know her know her."

I jerked quickly to face him, horror drifting over me. He jolted back in surprise at my expression.

"O-kay," he said slowly, questions filling his gaze. "So not like that then. My bad." As he spoke, his shoulders relaxed a fraction and something close to relief flickered in the depths of his eyes. "So, Valeria Blackthorn," he prompted, expectation directed my way.

I swore this man pushed buttons I didn't know I had. Worse than that, he managed to pry from me not only secrets but parts of myself I rarely offered to anyone. It had been decades since the last time.

There was no escaping the truth. Not when we were stuck in a remote cabin in the middle of nowhere. As soon as I made contact with Valeria, he'd know anyway.

"My daughter," I answered. "Valeria Blackthorn is my daughter."