Page 41 of Depraved
My throat clenches, and I look to see if Black has spotted the runner.
He has. But he doesn’t move, though I can feel fury rumbling underneath his skin like the tremors that precede an earthquake.
Black merely points a finger, and a dozen nude alphas break formation, leaving the line and springing into wolf form to chase down the fleeing pack member who streaks across the grass as fast as a lightning bolt in his mourning clothes.
The alphas howl as they hunt.
My heart pounds as fast as their feet, and I find myself grinding my teeth—leaning forward, utterly invested in this chase. I want them to catch him. I want him to bleed.
I shake myself, straightening, wondering where such dark thoughts came from.
But inside my head, Fluffy’s hackles are up. Her growl vibrates my chest. She’s furious.
In less than two minutes, the pack alphas surround the man, snarling and snapping at him, jumping on him, knocking him down repeatedly until—at last—he kneels with his hands up in supplication.
One of the alphas transforms into a human. He’s a huge, bulky dark-skinned man who gives off a vibe that shouts either military or cop. I watch as he deftly grabs the escapee’s hands and shoves them behind his back.
Vaguely, I wonder why the running man didn’t bother to shift into a wolf. I must mutter my question aloud because Black responds, “If he’d have shifted, their wolves would’ve attacked.”
“Oh.” I can’t think of anything more to say, even when Black cocks a brow like he expects a sarcastic reply from me. I know the world we live in is violent, and I know wolves are driven by angry instincts that outstrip our human morals. I just experienced them myself. But I suppose I never really thought about how much more intense it could be in wolf form.
Maybe that’s why Fluffy always disappears when things get violent. Maybe that’s why she’s never around. Perhaps she knew something I didn’t before. If I were to shift during a conflict, I’d be the weakest wolf and potentially trigger the other wolves’ instincts to dominate and control.
Glancing at Black, I feel like I already trigger those instincts in him, even in my human form. I hold his eyes for a long moment, trying to wrap my head around this strange new reality I find myself living in. For so long, I thought I knew right from wrong, and maybe I did, by their human definitions. But I’m part of the Lobos now, so all definitions from my life before are slowly being rewritten.
My wolf trots into my vision and sits on Black’s shoulder. She licks her paw in a dismissive gesture. If she were human, I’m sure she’d be saying, “Just realized all that, huh?”
There’s so much more I need to know about this world. So much I need to ask about. But I feel like we’re caught up in this whirlwind of violence, and I’m not sure when I’ll get the chance.
Soon enough, the band of alphas drags the trembling beta in front of us. He reeks of fear, and I can actually smell it even though I’m in my human form. Fluffy sends me an image of a garbage dumpster, and she’s not far off. That’s as close an image as there is to represent the stench of this guy’s trepidation. It’s incredibly potent.
Black is intimidating, but this? Maybe there’s not just fear in there. Maybe the rotten fish stink of guilt is mingling with it.
Did this guy help Thomas Stone?
We’ll soon find out.
Near the front of the line, a woman calls out in disbelief, “Mason?”
Mason doesn’t answer her but hangs his head. His hair is stringy, and his yellow suit is worn. Mason clearly isn’t one of the well-off wolves in our pack.
I turn to look at Black to see what he’s going to do. But the alpha of the pack is staring right back at me, the rage in his gaze carefully locked away like a fire in a fireplace behind a glass panel, the flames warming and warning you not to get too close.
Those burning eyes appraise me, not the way that they usually do. There’s not a hint of lust about him right now. But there’s a heavy weight to his look that makes me realize that this moment is incredibly important.
“Elena.” Black sets me down carefully, ensuring I have my balance on my cursed heels before he speaks loudly once more so that his voice carries, “Question him.”
Why do I feel like I was just handed a loaded shotgun and told to take down a flock of geese when I’ve never pulled the trigger before?
And Black wants me to do it in front of an audience.
Alpha asshole.
I tell my stupid throat to stop closing up, that this is no big deal. It’s only the judgment of everyone watching and all the friends and family they’ll tell.
Is he punishing me? I glance back at him, but his eyes give nothing away. His hands are curled into fists, though, and his posture is stiff. Maybe he’s resisting the urge to rip this beta’s head off without so much as a trial.
In that case, I do need to be the one asking the questions.
