Page 36 of The Renegade Mate

“How is Arabella doing?” I knew Mai couldn’t stop thinking about her, how much she had changed from the fun, happy girl in the photos to the shell of a person she was when we found her.

Michael shook his head. “It’s not going well. The detox is having some unforeseen effects. Our doctor believes that if she Shifts, we’d have a better chance of purging ripple from her system, but she is unable to Shift. We don’t know why, but it’s like she’s lost that ability.”

“Because of the drug?”

“Perhaps. She may be able to Shift when it’s all out of her system, and the withdrawal has passed. But if she doesn’t Shift, we’re not sure she will survive that long.”

“Do you have contacts in the southern Packs? They might have some ideas; they’ve been dealing with ripple for longer than we have. I know some people if you want me to call them.”

Michael inclined his head. “Thank you, but no need. We’re waiting for someone I trust to send me information. Is that what you wanted to see me about?”

I shook my head. “It’s Tristan. He’s been seen in Three Rivers. It looks like he’s working with Brock again. Openly this time.”

“That dickhead,” Shya spat out, her anger erupting as she jumped out of her chair. “I knew he wouldn’t just disappear. That utter cockroach! He must have had this as a backup plan all along.”

“Perhaps,” Michael replied. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance, as if he could see the unfolding future. “But we couldn’t do anything until we confirmed where he was first.” Michael looked at me. “You need to up your timetable. Strike now while they are all together.”

I stared at Michael, his words sinking in slowly. “Up our timetable?” I echoed. “Just barge into Three Rivers without any clear plan?” I was a fighter, yes, but I also knew the importance of strategy.

“We don’t have the luxury of time, Ryan,” Michael said, his gaze never wavering. “If Tristan is in Three Rivers, it means they’re preparing for something big. We need to take them by surprise.”

“Michael, they have enforcers everywhere. They have all the entrances monitored. This would be suicide.”

“I get it, Ryan.” Michael’s voice softened. “I really do. But if we wait too long, they will attack us here, and it will be war between our Packs. The loss of life will be enormous.”

I looked at Mai, and when she spoke, her voice was calm and steady. “Ryan’s right. We can’t just go in without a plan. That’s how we lose. We need to know what they’re planning, how many fighters they have, where they are likely to strike, and where they are vulnerable.”

“I have an idea,” Shya chimed in.

“Yes?” I said, glancing at Shya. Her fingers played idly with a pendant around her neck.

“I know someone who might be able to help us,” she began. “He’s a bit of a shadowy character, but he deals in information. And he’s had dealings with both Brock and Tristan in the past. There’s no love lost between them. If anyone knows what’s going on and what Brock and Tristan are up to, he’ll know.”

“You trust this man?”

“I trust him to honor a deal. If we can offer something he wants, he’ll stick to it. Plus, he’s absolutely dedicated to protecting his own skin,” Shya replied. “It won’t go well for him if Brock and Tristan are in charge in these parts. If he thinks we have a shot at taking them down, he’ll help us.”

I felt my jaw clench. We were treading on thin ice, but Shya’s plan felt like the only viable option. I turned to Michael, our eyes meeting across the room. “We have to try,” I said. “We need more information. Then we decide.”

Chapter twenty-one

Mai

Danni led Ryan and me down the sterile white hallway, the rhythmic beeping of machines echoing off the walls. The air smelled strongly of harsh cleaning products, barely masking the stale undertones of illness and suffering. The fluorescent lights lent everything a cold, clinical feel. We were deep in the medical wing of the Alpha House, where both Shifters and humans in Bridgetown were treated, heading to see Arabella. Shya was currently setting up a meeting with her contact, and I wanted to see how Arabella was doing before we left.

“How’s Noreen doing?” I asked.

Danni paused outside a door labeled 217B.

She sighed. “Not good. This is difficult for everyone involved. I’ve sent Noreen home to get some sleep. She was exhausted, and we’re going to need her later on when Arabella might be more cooperative. I have to warn you that Arabella has deteriorated since you saw her.”

Ryan gave my hand a reassuring squeeze as Danni opened the door. The scent hit me first—the sharp sting of antiseptics poorly masking the stale odor of sweat and sickness. Then I saw her.

Arabella was strapped to a hospital bed, her wrists and ankles bound. Her skin was sallow, dark circles ringing her sunken eyes. She was rail-thin, her hospital gown hanging loosely off her frame.

As we walked in, her head lolled to the side, glassy eyes struggling to focus. Recognition sparked, and she let out an anguished wail, her body contorting against the restraints. My heart broke at the sight of her wild-eyed despair.

“Ripple,” she rasped. “I need it. Please, please …”

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