This will suck.
Mr. Baskerville pushes me in the back. “Up onto the bed.”
“Why? Is it time for my jabs?” I joke.
“Something like that. Be a good Alpha.” He pats my shoulder, firmly.
I swagger to the table because no one is dragging me to my fate or seeing my fear.
When I throw myself onto my back on the table, Dr. Gill hums to herself as she straps down my neck, waist, ankles, and wrists.
She does it in the same way that a barista cleans the nozzle of a coffee machine.
This is habit to her. Something that she does daily to Rogues.
When I growl deep in my throat, as a Beta, she should drop to her knees or bare her neck in submission.
Instead, she doesn’t even flinch.
She starts to sort through the instruments on a mobile cart that is placed next to the table. It is ranked with frighteningly large needles, which are filled with cloudy liquid, data pads, and monitoring devices.
“What are you testing for?” I can’t help pulling on the straps. They are made of thick, unyielding leather. Even in a fevered rut, the strongest Alpha wouldn’t be able to break free. I take deep breaths to control my racing heart. I’ve been trainedto withstand torture.This is nothing. “To see if Rogues have rabies?”
I bare my teeth.
Mr. Baskerville sighs. “Please understand that this isn’t personal.”
“Oh, this is very personal.”
Anger flashes through the warden’s eyes. “You think that you’re special. But dozens of Rogues have lain where you are now. You’re young. But I have worked on the Rogue problem for fifty long years. I have dedicated my life to you.”
“I’d clap but I’m a bit tied up right now.”
Mr. Baskerville prowls closer.
I swallow, unable to pull back when he leans over me.
He pats my cheek. “I don’t need your applause or anyone’s, in fact. My pack has been devoted to the hunting and destruction of Rogues for centuries. I am proud that Baskervilles caught and burned more Rogues than anyone else in the purges of the seventeenth century.”
I stare at him in horror, as he smiles, as if at a fond memory.
My skin crawls that this Alpha has touched me.
Suddenly, it dawns that I am at the mercy of an Alpha from the pack who has haunted my nightmares my entire life.
He has stepped out ofThe Rogue Scare.
My instructors would often drill me on runs that ended with me holding my aching sides and hurling. I would drive myself to keep going on those runs, despite the pain, by imagining that I could travel back in time to those Hunts, armed with an entire arsenal. I would find those packs who hunted the Rogues and fucking destroy them.
Now, one of their descendants is in front of me.
He is proud of his ancestor’s genocide.
He is proud that he is following in their footsteps.
I turn my head and sink my teeth into the palm of his hand.
Mr. Baskerville howls satisfyingly. I hear the crack of his bones. His blood gushes into my mouth.
