Page 6 of Wanted By the Wolves

Dex

The pit is empty, but it reeks of her terror and rage. Old food rots along the wall. In the corner next to the mounted shackles is a singular blanket.

My wolf tries to take my skin, and I force myself to retract my claws.

Briggs bends down and inspects the chains, sniffing. “Blood.” He looks at me, his eyes reflecting the outrage I feel. “From wolfsbane.”

Fuck.

Wolfsbane is used to magically suppress a wolf. It hurts like a bitch. It’s inhumane torture, the way it muzzles a shifter’s beast. If given long enough or in high doses, it severs the soul bond to our wolf.

We’re hired fangs, and we don’t even use wolfsbane to subdue ferals.We take out ferals because someone has to keep us safe, and the lost wolves deserve dignity in their deaths. There is no dignity or honor in using wolfsbane.

Typically, we keep our noses down and don’t interfere much with pack politics. Most of our time is spent far away from the wolves we’ve sworn to protect. But caging an omega? Withwolfsbane? Forcing her to bond? I can’t ignore this. I give my brother a look, and he nods.

He turns to Maverick and assesses him. The boy looks nervous, backing away. How someone could smell this and be okay with whatever happened here is beyond me. They tortured her.

“I didn’t see you guys. I’m going back to my post.” Maverick’s words are shaky, his movements tense as he scurries out of the hallway and sprints to the door.

I growl, half tempted to chase him and ensure he doesn’t squeal.

Briggs pats my shoulder. “Leave it. He’s too scared of you to talk.”He hands me the ratty blanket. “I’ll find us an out. You track her scent, get her outta there, and we haul ass. We can worry about the rest later.”

My nostrils flare as I let my wolf scent fully. Behind the acrid fear and the stink of filth is tart apples and spicy cinnamon. I follow the trace out of the pit and through the back entrance of the compound.

Briggs takes the lead, making small talk with those who stop us as we move through the halls. The place is busy in anticipation of the king’s planned celebration. No one bothers to address me. Briggs is the mouth of our operation, and we use this to our advantage.

I split off and follow the trace until I’m in the wing of personal rooms downstairs.

A young wolf darts off a trio of guardsmen, holding out an arm. “This area is off limits.”

My words sound gruff after so long without much use, but I force them out anyway. “That’s why they sent me.”

The dark-haired wolf looks down the hallway and over his shoulder. A crash makes him wince. The other two guards shift nervously on their feet.

These guards are a joke. It looks as if the king plucked the pups right out of the tents and plopped them here.

“You’re the feral hunter? The king thinks you can tame her?” the braver of the three asks, already selling the lie for me.

I nod.

One of the other guards cocks his head. “Did you just get back?”

I nod again.

“You don’t talk much,” the first one points out.

I growl in warning, already done with these pups and their questions. Forcing myself to keep my alpha leashed and speak instead of using my fists, I grumble, “Can I get to it?”

The first guard nervously steps aside, and the others nod me through.

“Good luck. She’s sent another half dozen to the healer today,” the kid warns.

His words piss me off, but he isn’t the root of the problem. I brush past him and down the hall. Her scent is getting stronger. I know I've found her when I stop before a set of double doors that smell like the coming of fall.

The room is wrecked. Curtains lay in tatters on the floor. The furniture is overturned. Among the macabre streaks of blood and shredded bedding, pillows spit their feathers.

The sound of running water draws me to the bathroom, where two guardsmen have their backs to me. Their weapons are raised, pointed at a hissing woman backed into a corner by an overflowing tub.

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