Paul crouched in front of her, whispering something, and Isaac was filled with a rage so sudden and violent he’d have shifted on the spot if it wasn’t for the cuffs trapping him.
“Get the fuck away from her,” he roared, the sound bouncing off the walls.
Fletcher jumped, so did the others, but Paul didn’t so much as flinch.
“Calm down, before they do it for you. I’m not doing anything to her.” He slowly got to his feet and turned around, motioning to one of Isaac’s guards to close the door to the room. He had a water bottle in his hand, and Isaac frowned, confusion chasing away some of his rage.
Had he been giving her a drink?
“Put him over there.” He gestured to a third chair opposite, a table filled with things Isaac would rather not know about directly behind it. “Strap him in.”
Isaac growled. “I’m a fucking alpha, and I’ve done nothing wrong. You can’t treat me like this without telling me what I’m charged with,” he spat, this time resisting for all he was worth as the four guards dragged him over to the chair.
It took them four attempts to get him secured in place. The handcuffs now held him to the chair: a set on both hands and both feet. His skin burnt, but Isaac barely felt it over the rage rippling through him.
Paul leant against the table, arms crossed as Isaac glared at him, the four guards standing about ten feet away, eyes trained on Isaac like he might escape at any moment. “You’re suspected of committing treason against the Shifter Alliance, and as such will be subject to a full interrogation by any means possible.”
“You’re not serious?” Isaac grit out. He was absolutely correct, but they’d found nothing at Isaac’s house to support that charge. “On what fucking evidence?”
“I don’t know,” Paul replied, coming round to stand in front of him. He met Isaac’s gaze, but Isaac struggled to get a read on him.
Had it all been bollocks what he’d told him by the fireplace?
Isaac snarled. He’d never hated a person more. “You don’t know?”
“Simon showed the council the evidence he’s collected to get authorisation for this interrogation, but he has yet to share it with us,” Paul said, voice strangely flat.
Isaac narrowed his eyes.
What the fuck was going on?
He glanced over at Logan’s mum. She was still conscious, but barely. “Marie?”
She slowly lifted her head to look at him, eyes blinking slowly. It took a while, but eventually she managed a smile. “Isaac Mothecombe. Can’t say I’m pleased to see you here.” Her smile widened, showing off the blood coating her gums and teeth.
“Can’t say I’m pleased to be here.”
“Hospitality’s shit.” Her bitter laugh cut off as she winced, but her small smile remained. Stubborn. Determined. Brave.
He tried to smile back at her, but then he noticed the floor between her and her husband and saw the scattered fangs lying there, bloodied roots telling him exactly how they’d got there.
“What have you done to them?” he growled, yanking at his restraints, desperate to get out and fucking murder someone for what they’d done. Metal cut into his skin, but he barely noticed, a red haze colouring his vision. He glared at Paul, licking over his teeth even though he couldn’t drop his fangs. When he spoke, his voice was soft, cold, menacing, even to his own ears. “How can you do that to them? To anyone? It’s fucking barbaric.”
“It wasn’t me.”
Isaac sneered. “I don’t believe you.”
Paul shrugged. “Believe what you want. I’ve only just got here. They were already like that.”
“Simon,” Marie whisper-snarled.
Simon? Paul? Isaac didn’t care which one it had been this time. They were both as fucking awful as each other. “You’ve done it before, though, right?”
Paul looked away, and Isaac scoffed.
“That’s what I thought. You’re just as bad as he is.”
This time Paul did flinch, but Isaac didn’t care enough to wonder why.
