Page 68 of The Pack

In the dream, my brother had already been taken. In the minutes following, I stared at the empty space where the hidden panel used to be. It was wide open, exposing the small, secret room I’d built for Logan.

In the dream, I remembered what happened to me.

“Zara Yorke,” a sharp voice barked from behind me.

I spun around to see two soldiers standing in the doorway, their black uniforms gleaming under the dim light of the hallway outside the bedroom. One of them held a rifle, the other a heavy baton. Both looked at me like I was nothing more than a bug to be squished underneath their boots.

“You are under arrest for harboring a shifter and obstructing justice,” one of them said, his voice clipped and mechanical through the modulator in his helmet.

My heart pounded as they stepped closer, their boots loud against the floorboards. “Wait—please—you don’t understand,” I stammered, holding up my hands.

They didn’t listen.

After that, they dragged me through the streets, my wrists bound with cold, unyielding metal. People watched from their windows, their faces blank, their expressions carefully controlled. No one stopped to help. No one even looked at me for more than a second. I was just another criminal to them, a terrorist that had harbored a shifter.

The soldiers brought me to a towering structure of steel and glass that loomed over the city like a monolith. Its windows were dark, and the faint hum of electricity filled the air.

Inside, the walls were cold and clinical, lined with pipes that hissed and clanked with every step we took. The air smelled of antiseptic and something acrid, metallic.

They led me to a room—a stark, windowless space with a single metal table bolted to the floor. The walls were lined with strange machines, their dials and switches glowing faintly.

I was shoved into a chair, my arms strapped down before I could even think to resist. A bright light clicked on above me, blinding me for a moment.

“She’s ready,” a male voice boomed near me.

I blinked, trying to focus as a figure stepped into the light. A man in a tailored black coat with a high collar loomed at the edge of the table. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, his face clean-shaven, and his eyes cold, like shards of ice. He carried himself with the kind of authority that demanded obedience without a single word.

“Zara Yorke,” he said, his voice disinterested, like he was reading my name from a dull report. “You’ve caused quite a stir, hiding a shifter here in the heart of London.”

My throat tightened, but I forced myself to speak. “He wasn’t dangerous. He didn’t go feral. You didn’t need to take him.”

His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s not your decision to make,” he said in clipped tones.

He turned toward one of the machines, his long fingers flipping a switch. A low hum filled the room, the sound vibrating in my bones like a warning.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice trembling as panic began to creep into my chest.

“You’ll see,” he said, his tone calm and clinical, like a surgeon about to make the first incision. “The drug is still experimental, but I’m told it’s quite effective.”

“Drug?” I repeated, my stomach twisting.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he motioned to someone behind me, and I felt a sharp prick in my arm.

Panic surged through me, white-hot and all-consuming. “Wait—what is this? What are you doing to me?”

The man leaned in close, his expression cold and unfeeling, his icy stare boring into mine. “You wanted to protect a wolf, Miss Yorke,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the air like a crack of thunder. “Now you’ll know what it feels like to be one.”

His words hit me like a slap, and I thrashed against the restraints, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. “You can’t do this!” I screamed, my voice breaking. “You can’t?—”

He straightened, his expression just as emotionless as before. “It’s already done.”

The drug was already taking hold. Heat spread through my veins, starting in my chest and radiating outward, consuming me. My vision blurred, and the last thing I heard before everything went dark was the man’s voice.

“She’ll go into heat soon enough. She’ll get what she deserves.”

The memory lingered, harsh and vivid.

They’d drugged me.

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