Mr. Baskerville studies me with watery eyes.
The warden looks like he’s someone’s eccentric Alpha grandad, who should be sitting safely at the Christmas fireside surrounded by his cute pack, rather than here running the most secret government facility and committing atrocities.
I know more than anyone how deceptive appearances can be.
Mr. Baskerville is in his late seventies with snow-white hair and deep wrinkles. His suit is shabby and stained. But he holds more authority than any Alpha I have met.
And I’ve met senators, mafia dons, and serial killers.
They’re all pretty much the same thing.
“I’m s-s-sorry, Mr. Baskerville, I was only d-d-isciplining her,” the much larger Alpha guard stutters in fear.
“Go home,” Mr. Baskerville says softly, patting Greco on the elbow. “And be glad that I am imbued with enough Christmas spirit not to bury you for messing with my process. Do you understand what will happen if you do that again?”
“Yes, sir.”
I shake my head, trying to clear the ringing in my ears.
My vision is still haloed with light. I can’t see what’s going on properly in the shadows.
Are there more guards out there?
Why are they gathered at my cell? Don’t they have the day off?
I try to push myself up, but my muscles are too weak.
“I founded this facility. The work here is sacrosanct,” Mr. Baskerville continues to lecture. “You have no idea how important the experiments here are to me. They are at a crucial stage. No one will mess with them for petty reasons like vengeance.”
“Of course, sir.”
My eyes narrow.
What are these mysterious, secret experiments?
It can’t be good.
Why does Mr. Baskerville need me?
“Open the cell door,” Mr. Baskerville orders.
I hear keys jangle, before the door clangs open for the first time since I was dragged here.
I slam my aching palm against the floor.
This is my first escape chance, and my muscles won’t even cooperate enough for me to raise my head off the floor.
Fucking typical.
“Blink three times if you can hear me, Seventy,” Mr. Baskerville orders.
I consider ignoring him. But today has just become interesting.
Mr. Baskerville hasn’t lowered himself to address me directly before.
So, I blink three times.
“Good,” he replies. “I have a Christmas gift for you. Don’t say I don’t give you Rogues anything. This...Seventy-one…is a male Omega.”
