Page 106 of Plug and Drain

In her eyes, he was just another monster in a long series of dark creatures who preyed upon the weak.

Susie deserved better. She was noble and brave, and had stood up for Molly. She was an angelic light burning with hope in a dark place.

And he’d been the moth drawn to the flame.

Susie hadn’t wanted him. But he’d wanted her. So, he’d selfishly taken her to bed, knowing she couldn’t refuse. Hoping he could change her mind. It had been the most profound experience: wanting her; touching her; feeling her move and shudder beneath him. Her moans.

Good grief—her moans.

His own pleasure as he’d ploughed into her, wild and surging as he came undone in her arms.

His foolish romanticism, to think he could win her heart with flowers, collars, and sweet promises.

No. He was the monster, and his offer to protect her from his own machinations was now painstakingly ludicrous. It was a wonder she hadn’t laughed in his face.

But Susie was too civil to do that. She had grace, a quality so few others did. And she was thoughtful, considering every word before she spoke, even when she let down her guard. Her qualities were something he thought of often. They perplexed him. She was a source of goodness in an unlikely place—a rose in a wasteland that wanted to live.

Arken could not tell how much of his regard for her was amplified by her rejection. It had brought his own qualities into sharp perspective.

He had not thought greatly of himself before getting to know Susie, but he’d been confident in the greatness of his position. He was also accustomed to getting his way. He’d never had trouble wielding power and influence as a younger man. Now, it required no wielding.

He was the power. The authority figure.

Alas, Susie had seen through the shell of a man he was and found him lacking in substance.

Well, luckily, there was a cure for that. One that washed away all his sins.

Ale.

Rich, smooth, full-bodied ale.

Watery. Thin. Unbalanced.

Too much froth, or not enough.

It mattered not. He’d lost the ability to discern taste, and at this point, it might as well have been water. But Ernie would never do that to him.

Arken was drunk, but not enough that he could forget his responsibilities completely.

Sooner or later, once he was no longer inebriated, he would have to deal with the omegas properly—especially their ringleader. Arken had suspended the wolves and placed them on house arrest, with guards stationed outside their dorm rooms. At first, he’d told himself he was exercising patience, but that wasn’t entirely true.

If he failed to act, Oscar would find a way to enact revenge upon Susie. Arken knew his type: Oscar would never learn.

It didn’t matter how much the wolf had trembled when Arken had informed him he was suspended and confined to his room. The wolf was petty and would eventually strike again.

I cannot allow that to happen.

All of a sudden, the tavern’s atmosphere shifted noticeably and Arken’s senses prickled uncomfortably.

The piano had stopped playing, and the merrymaking abruptly ceased. He heard the tavern’s patrons filtering out, but he didn’t turn around to see why they were leaving.

Instead, he frowned down at his drink, trying to decide if it was half full, or simply empty.

He let out a heavy sigh, his thoughts circling back to Susie’s attacker.

Death was such a…final punishment.

As headmaster, he exercised restraint, and took little pleasure in dealing out punishment.