Chapter 21—Security Breach
Drake
I bark into the phone when my king answers.
“Fuck. Viessa isn’t here. I’ll call Nicole and be there as soon as possible. You have some place safe to go?”
“Yes. The basement is secure. Gemma is with me. I suspect they are here for her.”
“Alright. How many intruders do you see?” my king asks, trying to gather all the information.
“Half a dozen I can see on camera, anyway.”
“Copy that. I trust you to keep her safe.”
“With my life,” I vow.
“Put me down, Drake.” Gemma thumps my back when I hang up the phone.
In return, I smack her ass hard, pissed she tried to run into danger. “Stay quiet.”
“I won’t run,” she whisper yells. “I promise.”
“You’ll stay right where you are.”
Monitoring the camera feed on my phone, I descend the hidden stairs behind the pantry in the kitchen and lock the heavy steel door behind me.
The beast inside me pushes for immediate action, urging me to eliminate the threat, but I resist. I must prioritize Gemma’s safety. If she’s foolish enough to think she’s saving me by rushing into danger, then it’s imperative I keep her glued to my side.
It frustrates me to rely on my king, but Gemma’s lack of trust prevents me from taking things into my own hands, which irks me to no end.
As I watch the intruders smash my office patio door, my anger boils. Four continue to the rest of the house while the other two demolish my computer before destroying the internet router.
“Damn it,” I curse as my screen goes blank without the Wi-Fi.
“What’s happening?” Gemma squirms on my shoulder. “For the love of God, put me down.”
The basement is pure concrete with no windows and a steel door solid enough to survive a C-4 blast. Unfortunately, this space serves a dual purpose, and if I turned on the lights, it would scare my sweet little innocent mate to death.
My sexual appetite leans towards the dark side. It’s a part of me I concealed from my previous fiancée, Sky. Gemma’s enthusiastic responses earlier and her enjoyment of some light spanking in the bedroom hinted at her submissive inclinations. But that was just harmless experimentation.
If I were to turn on the lights now, Gemma would experience the true extent of my sexual preferences.
I’m not an all-or-nothing kind of guy. I enjoy sex, regardless of whether it incorporates dominance and submission dynamics. However, during any sexual encounter, I relish having control.
Dom/sub play is essentially role-playing, which I find thrilling. It can be lighthearted and fun, as it was upstairs, or delve into taboo desires like teacher-student scenarios, exploring the realm of Daddy and his little girl, or even pushing the boundaries of consent: restraints, pleasurable punishments, a spanking, or a flogging—the thrill of praise, the allure of degradation, and even the exhilaration of breath play. There’s a whole world of possibilities.
The beast loves the chasing kink. But with Gemma, I must approach it cautiously. She is not a werewolf, and the beast during the full moon on the hunt can be brutal if given control.
“Can you turn on the lights? I can’t see a damn thing.” Gemma squirms, and reluctantly, I lower her to the ground until her feet touch the floor.
As I step away, my eyes adjusting effortlessly to the darkness, she clutches my arm. “Where are you going?”
I gently caress her cheek, captivated by her wide-eyed gaze that seems to wander aimlessly in the darkness. “I’m doing as you asked, switching on the lights,” I say, running my thumb teasingly across her lip, causing her to shiver.
So fucking responsive.
“Gemma,” I breathe.
“Yeah,” she whispers back.
“Once the room is illuminated, you might find some things unsettling. We’ll discuss them when we have the time, alright?”
Her lips compress. “This conversation is unsettling. Please turn on the lights, Drake.”
Fuck. Here we go.
I adjust the recessed lights in the ceiling, setting them to a medium dim, and flick the switch. Gemma blinks a few times, allowing her eyes to adjust. Her breathing stalls, and her eyes widen like saucers as she takes a 360-degree view of the room.
“What in the Fifty Shades of Grey is this?” she whispers. “You have a… a sex dungeon?”
I shrug, watching her closely. “I prefer to call it my fun room.”
“Fun?” she chokes out. “Some of these things look more like medieval torture devices.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “I assure you, princess, everything in this room is designed to bring ultimate pleasure. If we had more time, I would go over everything in detail. But right now, we have armed men in my house hell-bent on kidnapping you.”
She shakes her head, nervously biting her lip. I’ve never desired the bond between mates more than I do now. It would allow me to feel her emotions. Is she terrified and desperate to escape from me? Or is she curious? Perhaps even aroused?
Fuck. I can’t dwell on the shift in our relationship at this moment. If they haven’t already arrived, Liam and the vampire queen will descend upon us in seconds.
“If I asked you to stay here and behave, would you?” I inquire, heading to a large panel on the far wall.
“Oh, so you’re not ordering me to be a submissive little pet and blindly obey?”
Her sarcasm grates on my nerves, but I let it slide for now. “I’m not your Dom, Gemma. And maybe I never will be. It’s entirely up to you.” I open the double doors to reveal a large security room with multiple monitors and keyboards on the circular desk. With more screens mounted on the back wall.
To the left is an evidence board with a collage of media from different sources regarding the murders. Also, a map of the United States covered in different colored stick pins with North Dakota circled in red.
Gemma stands in the doorway, her eyes wide and glassy, snapping her rubber band as she enters my private strategy room. I call it a positive sign she didn’t snap it when she took in my fun room.
I swiftly power up my computers, a clandestine network connected to the world through an array of satellites. Instead of relying on the limited confines of home internet, I’ve sought a faster, more secure alternative. Underneath the ground, a concealed and well-ventilated gas generator hums reassuringly, ready to provide a steady stream of power in case of an unexpected outage. Or douchebags cut the power.
Gemma wanders to the board, gazing wide-eyed at the crime scene photos. “What do all these pins on the map represent?”
“The blue ones are the locations of wolf packs within the Werewolf Provinces,” I mutter absently, settling into the office chair with a sense of urgency, my fingers dancing across the keyboard to establish crucial connections.
“And the red ones?”
“Vampires,” I convey matter-of-factly.
Her body stiffens. “I’m sorry. Did you say vampires?”
“Werewolves, you believe, but vampires you don’t?”
Surprise flickers across her features. “Well, I...” Her jaw snaps shut. “Did we enter another dimension when you carried me through that steel door?”
While the computer searches for an available satellite, I rise and stride over to her, but she retreats for every step forward. I halt with a concerned frown.
Her gaze lifts, and in her eyes, I witness a myriad of emotions in vivid detail. The intensity of her sapphire hues captivates me, allowing me to perceive her inner turmoil without relying on a bond. They penetrate deep, scorching my soul and asserting their claim over me.
“What do the yellow ones represent?” The fear and uncertainty in her voice gut me.
My eyes never leave hers as I reply softly, “Shifter territories. The green ones symbolize dragons, the purple signifies valkyries, silver for fae, and the black pins... they mark the presence of demons. There are more, but these are the ones I keep track of due to their population or dangerous nature.”
“And...” she licks her lips. I want to swoop in and follow it with my tongue. “... and they all live among humans?”
I take a tentative step closer, relieved when she stands her ground. “Not all. Some stay hidden because of their appearance.”
Her eyes widen, absorbing the numerous revelations before landing on the lunar calendar hanging on the wall. “The full moon is in three days, according to that calendar,” she observes astutely. “What does it mean for you, Drake?”
I clench my jaw, debating whether to answer her question, when my computer dings with an incoming message.
With a frustrated sigh, I turn my back on her and resume my seat at the console. The monitors on the wall blink to life, showcasing the various rooms inside the house and the surrounding area outside.
“Oh my God,” Gemma breathes as she moves behind me. “There are so many.”
On the screens, a visual onslaught unfolds before us. A swarm of armed men dressed in tactical gear navigates through my house and property with calculated precision, leaving a wake of devastation in their path. The comfortable sanctuary of the living room lies in tatters, its furniture shredded and mutilated. The kitchen is a mess, with cabinet doors either missing or hanging on their hinges, causing their contents to spill out. I glance at the image of my garage, cringing at the utter destruction.
“Drake, I’m so sorry. They’re tearing apart your beautiful home.”
“It’s just stuff, Gemma. Replaceable.” An incoming message captures my attention. “You, however, are not.”
I realize that if the vampires and my king were to venture down here after the intruders are taken care of, they could find out about my private “fun room.”
“No fucking way!” Gemma exclaims, her eyes fixed on the monitor displaying the living room.
My eyes follow her gaze. Rage settles in my gut, and my jaw hardens instantly. The beast clamors to be let loose, to shred this piece of shit into tiny chunks of skin and bone.
Governor Alfred Pearce strolls regally through the chaos in a three-piece suit, right up to a hidden camera, almost as if he knew the exact location.
“Come to me, Gemma,” he states calmly, although his dark eyes simmer with retribution. “And I’ll spare the sheriff’s life. You have three minutes to decide. But let me provide some incentive to hasten your decision.
He raises his phone toward the camera, revealing an image of Wenonah bound and gagged, her eyes filled with fiery hatred.
“Oh, no!” Gemma cries out, her hand flying to her mouth, attempting to stifle her horror.
Well played, asshole.