The scent of blood was thick in the air—sweet, cloying, wrong.

Oliver Kraven moved through the shadowed hall like a ghost, his boots silent against the ancient marble. Behind him, the muffled crackle of comms filtered through his earpiece as his pack swept the manor’s lower levels, neutralizing guards, breaking enchantments. The vampire lord was already ash on the floor two stories below, his last breath a whisper Oliver didn’t bother listening to.

He was hunting something else now. Something that pulled at his gut like a blade. Something his wolf wouldn’t stop snarling about.

*A locked iron door loomed at the end of the corridor—warded, veined with old sigils that pulsed red like a dying heartbeat. Oliver placed a hand on the surface. Warm. Alive. The scent was strongest here. Starlight and crushed lavender, threaded with pain. Omega.

His omega.

The word hit him like a bullet. He froze.

No. Not possible. Not now.

But then the scent coiled deeper into him, and the bond buried in his bones stirred awake—feral, raw, aching.

With a snarl, Oliver shattered the lock, the door crashing inward.

The room inside was dark save for a single shaft of moonlight cutting across the floor. And in that light, curled on a bloodstained cot, was them—skin pale, lips parted, veins pulsing with forced magic and silver. Chains clinked softly as they shifted, barely conscious.

His mate. Bruised. Drained. Used.

Oliver's world narrowed to a single, deafening truth; They were his.

And someone had dared cage them.

He dropped to one knee, his massive frame crowding the tiny space, fingers already tearing at the restraints with a violence that made the omega flinch. He stilled instantly, voice low, gravel-smooth.

“I’ve got you now." He murmured. “You’re safe. No one’s ever touching you again.”

Behind him, footsteps pounded toward the room—his second-in-command barking orders, calling Oliver back to the mission. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t, now when his omega... His mate is in this state.