We both turn to Stance. He quakes pathetically, his wolf keening. It's clear there's indecision, but Stance is so overwhelmed and afraid, he can barely stand up straight, and his wolf isn't faring much better.
None of our wolves could stand against me, but I expect better than this. We're going to have to take a serious look at our alphas in the enforcer program.
Stance shakes his head, subtly at first, then manically. "N-no. No. I'll leave. Just let me say goodbye to my mom—"
"Tonight," I hiss, unsurprised by his decision.
Stance nods, defeated. "Tonight. I'll be gone tonight."
I retrieve the key from my pocket. I don't feel satisfied, but I didn't expect to. "I am not known for my leniency. You're lucky I'm in a charitable mood. I should have fucking killed you for what you did." I unlock the cell. The door swings open. The squeak of the hinges brings me back to two nights ago, to the violated omega on the ground, covered in blood. To the stench in the air. Her sweet, honey-floral scent. Her cries.
I let out a disappointed sigh. "I'm ashamed of you, and our clan. But the failure lies with me. Perhaps our training hasn't been vigorous enough. That changes now. I will make reparations to the omega." To my mate. Somehow.
I step aside without another word.
Neither prisoner moves, so I tilt my head toward the exit. Cautiously, with as much distance between himself and me as possible, Stance turns and runs out of the building.
Andrea steps out with her head held high. I turn to leave, but she just can't swallow her pride.
"The timing is too convenient, Lune. I know what she smells like to you—"
I don't hesitate, pinning her back against the silver bars. Burnt hair swirls with the sharp tinge of her apple scent as the sharp tips of my fingers cut into her vulnerable flesh. This is the fourth strongest alpha in my pack, one of the most powerful wolves in the world. I shouldn't be surprised she's still arguing.
"Neverspeak of my omega. Do not look at her. Do not talk to her. She doesn't exist as far as you're concerned."
Andrea gags, eyes watering. When I ease the pressure, she wheezes, but she must have a death wish because she doesn't stop. "Where did she come from, Gray? She was all alone, and no one is missing an omega? At a time when shifters are going missing, two of our own—it makes no sense! She's a rogue, the witches have to be behind—"
I squeeze tighter as blood drips down my claw-tipped fingers. Andrea puts her hands up in surrender, and I release her throat. She coughs. "I'm sorry. I will leave her alone. But… someone should be asking these questions. Even if she is your mate—"
My answering growl detonates in a forceful wave. Andrea sucks in a breath, her limbs convulsing as her wolf claws its way to the surface. She falls to all fours as fur erupts through her skin, clothes shredded. In moments, a powerful gray wolf stands in Andrea's place.
Her wolf bows her head in a show of respect, then pivots and bounds out of the room. Finally, some sense.
I ignore the prickling doubt at her questions, the mystery surrounding the new omega, and leave. I'm stripped down andready to go for a run up the mountain by the time I reach the exit.
Chapter 15: Mona
The floor is hard. Filthy. Slick with sweat, blood, and other fluids. Ancient stone walls and silver bars cage me in. Magic hangs in the air like a storm about to break. Heavy, wet. It smells like a wolf's magic, but stronger, more concentrated—if the starry midnight sky were bottled and someone just popped the cork.
A woman's ragged breathing cuts through the darkness. Her pupils are blown. Magic pours off her, she reeks of it. But she smells like a wolf, too. Her clothes hang in tatters off her rail-thin frame. Fur erupts across her skin in patches, as if both she and her wolf have no control. Stuck in limbo, trying desperately to… dosomething. It surges and recedes as she fights the shift.
Her bare feet are filthy, all of her is, but she doesn't seem to care. She digs her near-claws into her flesh, squeezing her breasts, raking her fingers down between her legs. I jerk back, horrified, but she doesn't even care that I'm standing here.
In fact, she doesn't notice me at all.
"Please!" The word explodes from her mouth, half-sob, half-howl. "Please!"
It's raw and desperate, and she keeps begging, touching herself, and I feel embarrassed seeing her like this. But she's not looking at me. She's lookingthroughme.
I step back and follow her gaze.
Him.
It'shim.
Dread and surprise rip through me, freezing me in place.
Iknowhim. The shape of him. I know those eyes. I know that scar. And the scent. Petrichor—earth after fresh rain. Deceptively clean, with a citrus undercurrent. Lemons and oranges. For a second it seems like he's looking straight at me. And I hate myself for it, but my traitorous body ignites. There's relief in seeing him, scenting him again. It's euphoric, like a drug flooding my veins.
