Page 62 of Fated to the Wolf Prince

“You see, I am high alpha now. And there isnothingI want more than justice for my father’s death.” I lifted the tip of the blade, tracing it lightly over the skin on my fingertip. “And I think”—I let the blade trail down, across my palm—“that you just need a little more motivation to tell the truth.” I skated the blade up to the pad of my thumb and let it dig in just enough to start a fat drop of blood welling there. I grinned and held up the bead for him to see, then began walking toward him.

He bucked against his restraints, his boot-clad feet scrabbling uselessly against the loose shavings coating the floor, doing nothing but kicking up dust as the acrid scent of his fear billowed around him.

He better not piss himself in my chair.

Julius beat me to him, locking his leg down in a vise grip to still him for my approach. I planted my bloody thumb on his forehead, just above his eye, smearing it into his skin. He tried to jerk back, his breaths growing ragged through his nose, but I flicked the blade up and over my shoulder, letting it bury itself in the wall of the barn, and clutched his jaw in my other fist. His bones squealed under the pressure as I let my thumb shift, the wolf’s claw pricking his skin as my blood smeared against him.

“Are you ready to swear fealty to your new high alpha, or do I need my healer to administer the wolfsbane?”

“I’ll do it! I’ll swear fealty! Please! Just not the wolfsbane, you crazy fucker!”

I paused, not lifting my razor-like claw from his flesh, waiting for the words that bound him under my authority.

“I, Shane, of Pack Russo…” I squeezed, and his jaw creaked again. He hurried to finish the oath. “I—I accept your bond and covenant. I pledge my life to your service.” He glared up at me sullenly, but I didn’t let go until he finished it, every last word. “Long live Kane, high alpha of the wolves.”

I released my grip on his jaw and watched as he worked it slowly up and down to erase the feeling of my hand on his flesh. “Now, let’s try that again. What do you know about my father’s death?”

“Nothing, I swear.”

The burgeoning pack bond to Pack Russo was an angry red beacon in my chest, a hint of green around the fringes. He was lying, but now I had visceral confirmation. I also had an alpha blood bond he wasn’t aware of, courtesy of my already-healed thumb.

“Ahh, but Shane. I know you’re lying now.” I tapped my chest and looked over my shoulder at John Henry’s approaching footsteps. Strangely, Reed walked at his side. He gave me a weighty look, but kept silent as he stopped just inside the open barn doors.

“Thank you for joining us, John. Our guest is going to get one last chance to tell the truth, and if he doesn’t answer every single question truthfully, you’re going to dose him with wolfsbane to loosen his tongue.”

John Henry nodded and dug a syringe and vial of murky, green-tinted fluid from his healer’s bag.

“Please, don’t do this. I don’t know anything!”

I shook my head sadly at the mess of a wolf. “You do. Now we just need to know what. Are you ready, John?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“Shane Russo, did you or any member of Pack Russo kill my father?”

“No! I swear it!”

The green tinge faded from the bond, showing he was telling the truth. Damn.

“Do you know who did?”

“No!” Still clear. “I’ve been telling you, I don’t know anything!” The green tinge returned, showing his lie.

“You don’t know who killed him, but you know something. What is it?”

He ground his teeth and began kicking uselessly again and snatching at his restraints.

“Okay, John, you know the drill. Julius, hold his head, please.”

Julius held his shoulder and shoved his head to the side, the tendons in Shane’s neck standing out as John Henry approached with the vile wolfsbane. I waved my hand behind my back for him to slow down, take his time.

Even I didn’t like to see wolfsbane used, and if the anticipation would get him to talk, I’d be equally happy.

John Henry approached Shane’s side and pressed a cold alcohol wipe to his skin, rubbing it in a practiced circle over his jugular. The acrid stench of Shane’s piss filled the air as John Henry disposed of the wipe.

As he lowered the needle toward Shane’s neck, I stopped him with a question. “How long will I have left to question him before he passes out from the poison?”

He paused, rubbing his chin as he considered it. “Probably a good hour. Three more after that, give or take, before the bond begins to sever. He’s pretty banged up already, so maybe less.” With one last bored shrug, John Henry inserted the needle.

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