Before he knew it, he was being hit in the face with the spray of arterial blood as he killed yet another worthless beta.
His little mate had healed him, but clearly he was still a territorial bastard who had no patience for other people's shit.
Breed males, even betas, were not like drones. They did not, as a rule, experience deep emotional growth, learn from their mistakes, or become better men. Once bad behavior became a part of their character, there was no rehabilitating them.
When he recognized a threat, Darre killed it, even if it was just the potential threat. It was an instinct that would make him unable to leave places like Sector 2. He knew it, didn't pretend otherwise, and felt no remorse over it.
Should he bother with the rest of them? It was clear the men he wanted were already dead.
Narrowing his line of questioning, he talked to the rest of the black robes on the off-chance he might find some scrap of information that proved worthwhile.
He hadn't missed anything. He only added another three men to his pile.
It was odd that so many of these beta males who followed the First Alpha bore hatred for the alpha right in front of them. He'd smelled jealousy and sensed disrespect on more than one of them, even as they pissed themselves and showed their necks in submission. They tried to hide it, but the threat of death hadn't been able to erase their deep-seated disdain for the alpha dynamic—and for Darre in particular.
Trained or not, Tenbel had been gathering Darre's enemies all in one place like a half-worthless army.
And none of Darre's men had seen fit to tell him.
Once all the questioning was done, Darre left his men to clean up the mess. The rest of the betas would be fodder for the fighting pits where they would likely die in their pretentious robes at the hands of alphas. It seemed fitting.
Standing under the shower spigot as water poured over his head until it went from red, to pink, and then clear, he contemplated what the hell his next step was going to be.
He washed off the mess of blood and changed into fresh clothing. He kept a closet in the Hole specifically for this purpose and was glad of it now in a way he he'd never been before. Glad his little mate wouldn't see him with blood up to his elbows and splashed across his face.
He needed to talk to Mac. Find this Louis. And he needed to talk to every one of his alphas. Smell them. Test them. He needed answers from that pregnant beta girl. Was she a connection to Naya?
Fuckin’ needed to protect his mate.
In the end, that was the only option for his next step. Trying to get answers from Tenbel's twenty-three males, he’d left her alone most of the day. Bringing her down to the Hole with him had not been an option. It was time to get back upstairs. Smell her, touch her, reassure himself that his treasure was where and how he’d left her. That no other male had gone near her.
Meeting the eyes of every alpha he passed, he assessed them. Judged them. Were they as loyal as he had thought? He searched for hints of disrespect and betrayal in their mannerisms.
Darre had beaten the pulp out of every male in his tower to prove his superiority, and they had sworn loyalty in return for their lives. Most of them couldn't hold his gaze, too overwhelmed by his predator, unable to challenge him on any level.
He paid them a small wage, housed and fed them, and offered them a measure of safety. The other alphas of Darre's district—slumlords who were strong enough to own property—might offer their employees perks like drone slaves, drugs, and cheap homemade alcohol to lure them into loyalty. But very few slumlords offered any predictable routine or food for a man's self-respect.
Darre had spent too many years in the Administration army to not want order in his territory. The men who worked for him had the same kind of need. He gained their loyalty through fear. He’d always thought he'd kept it because they liked how he ran things.
Maybe he'd been fucking stupid to think that. Maybe he was surrounded by males who just wanted to take him down and be top of the alpha pile.
The back of his neck felt twitchy. Something was coming—a storm. Just when he was at his most vulnerable with a young, pregnant mate.
Darre was crossing through the dining hall when Alreck approached him. Since the other man was often on the twelfth floor guarding Darre's private space, Darre assumed the man was off-duty. He took long steps straight toward Darre, determination in the set of his jaw.
"Sir." He tipped his head. "I want a chance to court a beta woman." Direct and plain-spoken in both words and personality, Alreck didn't waste time with ass-kissing.
"Nothing but trouble," Darre muttered, looking the other man up and down. Alreck was younger than Darre by several decades. The two long slashes down his face that bisected his eyebrow and cut down his cheek had come courtesy of the monster when Darre established his leadership.
The cocky boy had been mouthing off during the battle, called him a freak or some shit, so Darre had decided to make him a member of the freak club. Alreck turned out to be a decent soldier, however, who obeyed orders and kept everyone in his detail in line.
Clawed hand sweeping out, Darre gripped Alreck's neck, points to jugular, and pulled him in close for a sniff test. Surprise bloomed with fear, and then the sweet smell of full submission. Alreck's own inner predator had been tamed by a greater one.
He hadn't betrayed Darre and had no plans to.
Satisfied, Darre shoved him back a step and waited until Alreck met his eyes.
It took him a moment.
