Chapter36
Saverio
Whatever it was or whoever it was moved behind me without a sound. I felt its presence on my neck. A chill that had come and suddenly gone. Someone walking on my grave.
My neck suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable. My heart seemed too loud in my ears, even though I was calm. I didn’t want my blood to pump harder in my veins, making me hallucinate. It was wearing off; I could feel it. I was saturated with sweat, like someone had doused me with water, and it was purging my system. But I could also feel it lingering. The fucking drug had claws.
Sweat ran into my eyes, but I didn’t move. I was still bracing myself for the attack. If they went for my neck, it was to paralyze me.
If that was the case—fuck bringing me in alive. Whoever it was behind me probably wanted me dead.
The torch in the cell seemed to take a breath as it burned to life. The light pushed out the darkness in increments, heat licking slowly. Two amber eyes, the same color as the flames, revealed themselves to me first.
Ears. Snout. Thick black coat of fur.
“Fuck,” I said, keeping even more still than before. The pieces came together, and the form stood from a sitting position and started pacing the cell.
The form. A mammoth black wolf, like the one on my hand, with the same amber eyes. Standing on its hind legs, it would have been around my height, maybe taller.
With the fire in his eyes, there was no doubt in my mind where the lure of werewolves came from. The motherfucker was gorgeous but also wicked looking. In the snow, he’d be majestic.
I hoped he noticed his picture inked on my hand and took it easy on me. It was like he came to life through my tattoo.
The drugs. I was fucking hallucinating again. I closed my eyes, forcing him out of my thoughts. If not, my mind might start sending me a warning that he was about to rip me apart, limb by limb.
Real things. Solid things. My wife. My old man and our men in the darkness with me. Russia. My feet on the floor. Survival.
Oscar made a noise. He didn’t cry, but it almost sounded like he was pleading without using words.
When I opened my eyes, my men surrounded me, and I was staring into the face of a man. It was hard to tell in the hazy darkness, or maybe it was the drugs, but his eyes seemed black. His hair was dark, but his skin was fair, which contrasted with his black clothes. Even his boots. He dropped a black bag on the floor.
Elio Ascari lay next to the bag. His shirt had been removed. He had slices along his ribs, and meat and bone showed. His body smoked, like they’d taken him straight from the freezer and put him into the pan.
Hard to tell if he was dead or not.
The man said something in Russian, bringing my attention back to him, then whistled. The wolf walked away from Oscar, brushing my hand on his way. He walked up to my old man and met his eyes. My old man didn’t blink at him. The man said something else, and the wolf finally turned, taking his side.
Maybe from the puzzled looks on our faces, the man repeated the words in Russian-accented English. “We move.”
“I will break you,” Vincenzo said, snapping a fake twig.
Vincenzo’s comedic timing was always off.
“Nah,” I said, mentally and physically preparing to fight this motherfucker. He wasn’t like the rest of the men we’d encountered. I could feel that about him. He was more dangerous. And with that wolf? “I don’t think so, padna.”
He narrowed his eyes—at the term? It meant buddy, friend,partner. Mia’s brothers used it from time to time.
He shrugged. “I will give Lev your best regards.” He whistled to the wolf, and it followed him like a deadly dog. Cujo on steroids. It walked beside him once it caught up, and they were swallowed up by the darkness.
My old man had a gleam in his eyes—he was sizing up the situation. “We know who the alpha is,” he said, staring in their direction.
It wasn’t the wolf.
Vincenzo took Ascari’s pulse. “He will live.”
“Tine to move,” my old man said, going for the bag the man had dropped.
My old man flung a gun at me, another at Vincenzo, and took one for himself. He placed one in Oscar’s hand and felt for Nino’s pulse. His eyebrows drew in. I had no clue what that meant.
