The Ever Chace Chronicles, tome 2: Collateral Damage

For what seemed like an eternity, he had been forced to fight for survival, his alpha insisting only the most vicious, ruthless wolves could be in his pack. For Derek’s alpha, you either fought and killed or you were killed. Not that Derek wanted to live, but he fought a constant inner battle against his other half—a wolf who refused to let him sacrifice himself, who had now killed twenty-nine of his alpha’s best men, and who had revelled in the act.

The wolf howled inside his mind, pacing back and forth, hating the prison the man’s actions had forced upon them. Derek had refused to toe the line and bow down to the bastard who had ripped his throat out, and that both irked and pleased his wolf. It showed strength, yes; but it was also the reason why they were locked in a cell, being treated like prisoners. The wolf swiped a paw at Derek, and Derek cringed; the wolf was slightly stronger willed than him. The evil that now shimmered beneath Derek’s skin, this overwhelming need to claw and sink his canines into flesh, compelled him, and he did not need a direct order from the man who called himself his alpha to maim and kill.

He longed for the familiar scent of home—his mother’s stew simmering on the stove, his father coming in smelling of freshly cut grass and the horses he bred. He sometimes closed his eyes and imagined he was home, sitting around the dinner table, listening to his siblings quarrelling and teasing each other or watching as his father came inside to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek as she served up dinner. His heart ached to think of them in mourning for him, but he feared returning home as a son and brother who was no longer human would never lead to a happy reunion.

The door to the cellar scraped open, and a burst of light pierced his swollen eyes. Derek hissed before shielding his face, a feral growl ripping through the air. He balked when he heard a chuckle; it was a sinister sound that showed Derek this man—this monster—was not afraid of him… yet.

“Hush your growling, pup. When you learn to behave and be civilized, then you can join us upstairs in the compound. But for now, you need to learn to have some respect for those who are superior.”

“Kill me,” Derek begged the man with the salt-and-pepper hair. There was not one shred of dignity left in him. He had been changed almost two months ago, and Neville Morris had made sure Derek knew who held his life in his hands.

Morris boomed with laughter as he descended the stone steps and neared Derek’s cage. “Kill you? Why would I do such a thing? I can smell your power, boy, and I can utilize your skills. Once I break you—once I make you compliant and once you show me your loyalty—then we can talk again.”

Derek assessed his options. He could unleash the beast and go for Morris’s jugular. After all, his wolf was faster than the man was, and it despised the power the other wolf held over Derek. His own death afterward would be swift—the werewolf’s second in command would release him from this cursed existence quickly.

“I can see the cogs in your mind turning, boy, and I approve. Maybe one day you will kill me, but today will not be that day.”

He flashed a smirk and then turned his back to Derek—an ultimate show by the alpha that he held no fear of the locked-up Derek. Morris strode up the steps, paused at the door, and glanced over his shoulder at his captive. Amber flared in his eyes, and Derek shuddered under the power that flooded Morris’s body.

“Rest up, pup. You’ve a busy night ahead of you. I do love watching your conscience come into play when you rip into someone’s chest with your claws and teeth. Very amusing.”

Morris chortled, and a chorus of cackles sounded outside the door. Then, the door slammed shut and the darkness became his only companion.

Derek’s new hearing meant he could detect the rumble of words above him. He strained to hear, but the thick concrete encasing him prevented him from discerning more than a mumble.

Derek pulled on his restraints, relishing the bittersweet agony that seared his flesh. He wanted to wallow in the darkness, become resigned to his fate, but he was a soldier and still had a mission. The darkness around him was illuminated as his eyes flashed amber, and for the first time since he was changed, Derek grinned. He was used to being patient, to waiting for days in silence, waiting to pounce on his prey. The wolf in him now made it more enjoyable as adrenaline flooded his veins.

He would wait, and he would be patient.

And then Neville Morris would die.