Page 11 of Monsters After Dark

An Alpha for the Pack

Merel Pierce

The communication device on Moira’s wrist blared an alert, and the ears of every werewolf in sight flattened with displeasure. She made an apologetic face before hitting the button to accept the page.

“Dawkins, report to briefing room two forthwith.”

“Yes, sir.”

Moira frowned. The pack of werewolves she’d tended for the past few years had just come back from a mission—a mission where they’d lost their Alpha and team leader, Finn, in an explosion.

Losing Finn wasn’t catastrophic, at least not in the way most people would think. The pack would still function as a cohesive, efficient group. But a somber air hung over the werewolves’ containment cell. They’d grown to like one another for the most part, Moira thought. She knew they must be sad, even if the only outward signs were drooping ears and sedated demeanors. Comradery seemed to be as strong between the weres as it was between soldiers.

The loss had been hardest on the newest pack member, a young wolf named William, or 28-DPACK, as the ID scrawled on his control collar read. William had only been a were for two cycles, and they had caught him only a few weeks after he’d turned. This had been his first actual mission, and Finn’s death weighed heavily on him. He’d been hiding in the den since they’d returned and had grumbled at Moira when she’d tried to talk to him.

Tanner, or 23-DPACK, the tawny second-in-command who was lying on his back with his head in her lap, sighed. Moira tugged the plush fur of his chest between her fingers and looked down into his sea glass-colored eyes. “You’d think they’d have enough decency to let us mourn.”

He narrowed his eyes, then sneezed, a sure sign he thought she was being silly.

“Yeah, you’re right. Why would they care about that?”

Brande Defenses had forcibly recruited Moira a little over two years ago when she’d peacefully defused a chance encounter with an escaped were. They’d offered her a job, then an ultimatum, then systematically destroyed her life until she had no choice but to agree.

Compared to the weres, she had it easy. As if the curse itself wasn’t traumatic enough, Brande Defenses hunted them down and enslaved them with technology so advanced Moira had never seen anything like it. The weres spent ninety-five percent of their lives in a dismal underground facility, only let out for drills or missions. At least Moira had a warm bed and a television to go home to, even if Brande constantly monitored her apartment.

But the ugly truth remained: They were all slaves.

“I guess I’d better go before they send someone down,” she murmured. They would send someone if she wasn’t upstairs in the next ten minutes, and given the agitated state the boys were in, it would only end in pain for the pack. She pushed at Tanner’s chest. “If you don’t mind?”

The pinched, not-quite-a-snarl wrinkling of his muzzle told her he minded, but Tanner was one of the most levelheaded weres in the group. They both knew what would happen if she took too long. With a grunt, he sat up and leaned against the wall.

Moira stood and squeezed his shoulder as she looked around the enclosure. The three other wolves in sight—Jackson, Danny, and Micha—were trying to rest. A few ears swiveled, and an eye or two slid her way, but no one got up or acknowledged her movements otherwise. It was unlike them.

They were definitely grieving.

She picked her way around the broken-down machinery that served as landscaping and walked to the den at the back. She knew William would have heard the com conversation, but wanted to tell him goodbye anyway. Moira stepped into the dark den, using the wall as guidance, and stopped a few feet away from his outline curled up against the wall.

He was so young, only nineteen when he’d turned. Contrary to what pop culture presented, the curse of a werewolf forced the affected individual to live in their were form twenty-four-seven, only reverting to their human form for brief periods during the full moon. It was a lot for a young man to deal with, and being captured and forced into areas full of gunfire, explosions, and danger—especially when his entire life had already been irrevocably altered by the curse—was a tragedy.

“I’ve got to go, William,” she said. “I just… I just wanted you to know I’ll be thinking about you, bud.”

She waited for a few seconds, but he didn’t respond. She knew he’d heard her, though, and that would have to do.

Moira sped through the enclosure, slowing as she passed the others. She wanted to say something about Finn, but condolences seemed so shallow. Her throat tightened as she looked her boys over, her eyes prickling with heat. She’d put so much blood, sweat, and tears into bonding with them. They were hers, yet Brande could separate them on a whim. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

“I’ll try to come back as soon as I can, guys.”

Tanner chuffed and jerked his chin in acknowledgement, the corner of his lip lifting in a faint smile, albeit a sad one. Moira cleared her throat and waved as she resumed her walking. She didn’t bother to check whether anyone was watching as she punched in her code; they all knew there was no escaping this facility, and they wouldn’t risk putting her in harm's way to try.

The first set of secure doors opened, and she passed through into the waiting dock. The doors closed behind her before the light flashed green above her head. She removed the collar controller from her wrist and hung it up, then picked up her badge and slipped it around her neck. After she flashed it in front of the reader at the opposite end of the room, the reinforced doors slid back, revealing the stairs that would take her to the observation deck above the enclosure.

The trip through the dismal lower levels to the whitewashed upper floors took only a few minutes, but it was long enough for her to start worrying about what her boss wanted. They rarely ever called her in outside of their weekly briefings. It might be about Finn, but she doubted it. She’d never lost one of her own pack before, but other people had, and her general impression was that management just went on like said man/were had never existed.

She paused outside the briefing room, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders before stepping through the door. The men in this facility were impossibly chauvinistic and elitist, but appearing demure or agreeable didn’t win a woman any points with them. She always tried to hold her own and not let them affect her, even if she didn’t have the same training or experience they did. After all, they wanted her enough to threaten her livelihood if she didn’t work for them, so she was obviously an asset, despite how they treated her.

Two men sat at the long rectangular table: her supervisor, Richard Mooreland, and the manager of the facility, Patrick North. Moira swallowed hard. Goosebumps prickled her skin as unease settled in her stomach. She rarely saw the facility manager. He only came down from his office when serious shit went wrong. This couldn’t be good.

Her supervisor motioned at the seat across from him. “Have a seat, Dawkins.”

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