Come for Me 2 (The Hunt #2)

Chapter Nine

Dax

I know Alaina wanted all the gory details. How when I went over the edge of that cliff, I was lucky enough to pinball down the tree branches, breaking my fall and taking out a significant chunk of my foes. With room to shift, it wasn’t an easy fight, but the chips became more balanced. I fought like hell from there until an opportunity presented itself, and I did something I’ve never done before.

Ran and hid.

It was a coward thing to do. Warriors, especially kings, don’t run from a fight. Whoever created that rule never had someone like Alaina waiting for them at home. I fought for her, ran for her, hid in a dark cave in hopes to survive. And it was all for her.

The problem was my pride. I didn’t want her to know her fearless leader known for fighting skills was a coward and not willing to die honorably.

I was glad when she dropped the subject.

I healed almost fully and instantly at the completion of the mating process and enough rest, and I can almost feel my increased speed and strength.

Being with Alaina is healing. I’ve truly never felt stronger than having been mated to her.

But that’s not new information. Alaina has been my strength since I’ve met her. She’ll make a formidable queen, and our people will love her.

I can’t wait until she’s swollen with our pups.

Sam pokes at me through the mindlink.

“Sam?”

Screams of terror are heard in the background from his end. “You’re going to want to see this. It’s Alaina.”

I shoot up from the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Sam laughs. “ She’s fine.”

The echoed screams have me shaking. Damn, it sounds like someone’s dying over and over again.

Intrigued, I ask, “Who’s that screaming?”

“Come see for yourself. We’re in the dungeon. It’s—”

“I know where it is.” I close the mindlink .

Although I haven’t been to this pack in ages, I never forget where a pack’s dungeon is. My own personal playground.

* * *

This dungeon sucks compared to mine. A proper dungeon instills fear as soon as you enter, stripping away hope and rattles your intact bones. The sconces make it inviting, but the stone walls appear to have been scrubbed. There weren’t as many bloodstains on the walls or floor as there should be, and I suspect the faint smell of bleach is to blame.

Sconces shed light on the magnitude of the underground prison, illuminating the entirety of the layout. A straight hallway opposite of the sconces are a couple of cells lined with steel bars. The configuration of the room leaves little to the imagination of what could be lurking in the depths.

Everything about the atmosphere down here is wrong.

Even the silence down here is a different kind of eerie, giving a haunting, abandoned vibe, like a school after hours. It’s set up for the looming fear akin to what you feel when there’s a figure in the corner of your dark bedroom that turned out to be your robe hanging on a hook.

Psychological fear is a wonderful thing when done correctly. In that scenario, it was short lived. That’s because it relies and feeds on its environment. The perfect placement of the robe mixed with the proper lack of lighting was powerful enough to manipulate the mind into thinking a psycho killer is in the room. The blueprint of a dungeon is a delicate balance. One flick of a light switch can throw off the vibe, making the dark figure into a coat hanger again.

My interior decorating critic is halted when a scream booms from the doorway at the end of the hall in tandem with the beacons.

My interest is piqued. I’ve replicated the exact screech out of my prisoners before.

Following torture chamber etiquette, I quietly step to the entryway, and my breath is snatched from me.

Chains are suspending a vampire from a galvanized steel pipe that lines the ceiling. Upside down, his veins are bulging out of his forehead, the blood rushing to his head.

Someone’s carved my family’s royal crest into his chest.

Black-and-blue bruises plague and color the vamp’s pale body, with the most impressive being the yellow, black, and purple shiner surrounding his swollen eye.

My nose is assaulted by the stench of his urine and fear.

The vampire hanging like a bat is a beautiful display of interpretive art in itself. I lean with my back against the doorway, admiring the creative, interactive exhibit. Completely unique and a method I’m fervid to replicate myself.

But this masterpiece isn’t what has me forfeiting my role as the teacher to become the student. It’s the sexy dungeon master, with long waves pooling down her back. Holding an engraving knife dripping in the scum’s blood. Meant for oil painting, its steel tip sharpened for all intents and purposes.

Fuuuuuck meeee.

The pulse and ache in my groin increase at the sight of this feral mate of mine, yet her ferocity isn’t shocking to me. Alaina’s always had a force buried inside her capable of doing the unthinkable, it’s what drove out her maleficent nature that I wasn’t expecting.

Love.

Her love for our pack, our kingdom. And us , my wolf and I internalize.

“Impressed?” Sam asks.

He knows I am. Anyone would be.

In all the years Sam and my men have watched me torture, I never thought to bring dexterity to the table. Her barbarism in the sport couldn’t be taught—it’s natural.

“All her idea. She took her time carving the fucker, too.”

My girl.

“I have a new level of appreciation for artists. She’s ruthless,” Sam adds, raising an eyebrow.

Alaina tilts her head to the side. “Aw, you’re crying...” She meanders toward her prisoner, squatting that perfect ass to his level, which causes my cock to strain against my shorts. Tapping the steel knife to his cheek, she studies the tears fusing with his other bodily fluids. “You don’t like my art?”

He blubbers.

“That’s a shame, I worked hard on it.” She pouts into a frown. “You’re a tough one to please...” Alaina sighs, pushing her ass out, arching her back as she stands.

Those bouncing breasts in her bloodstained white tank top are mesmerizing.

My gaze is locked on her as she paces around the room. With one arm crossed, the other hand at my chin with my thumb under and my finger curled over my lip.

The thought of her dressed in black leather, a high ponytail, and stilettos, waiting for her to mount me, has me drooling.

Mistress Alaina.

My wolf’s animalistic instincts kick in, yearning to top this alpha female of mine.

“You shouldn’t tease a wild animal,” I warn my seductress.

She glances my way, our beasts recognizing each other, and smiles. “Your torture has just begun. Mate.”

My eyes roll, and I groan. Practically coming on the spot at her sultry voice.

She turns her attention to her victim. “Maybe I need a new, cleaner canvas...” Then she nods to Sam.

“Bring her in,” Sam instructs my guards.

Seconds later, two of our guards tug in the female vampire Alaina had them drag away earlier. Her mouth has been sewn shut.

Alaina admires her torture subject’s physical and audible yet muffled struggle. “I trust you remember Veronica.”

Who is she to him?

“No! Don’t! Please! I’ll tell you anything you want!” He wriggles, causing the chains to rattle and chafe his skin.

Blood drips down his face, and it to seeps into his eyes.

“Anything?” she asks.

“Yes. Anything.”

Alaina moves the hair from the female vamp’s neck, exposing two atrophic scars.

No fucking way.

Alaina nods to me briefly. “You remember my mate.”

My wolf’s tail wags so hard at our mate’s attention its butt wiggles with it of her acknowledging our presence.

She has me acting like a pubescent boy again.

“When did she become so dark?” I ask.

“When she thought you were dead,” Sam answers.

His words settle heavily in my chest. My wolf’s butt stops wiggling.

The vampire tears his glare away from his mate to me, eyes full of panic.

I don’t remember him among the many I fought. But it doesn’t matter. He is one of them.

Alaina returns her attention back to inspecting her fresh meat.

“I want to know who sent the horde after my mate and who orchestrated the attack on Bloodhound.”

“I-I don’t know!”

Alaina’s silent. Patient.

I use my powers to determine the vampire’s intent. And it isn’t to cover anything up.

“I swear it!”

“He’s telling the truth,” I relay to my mate.

She pauses. “Then, you have nothing I want.” Alaina shrugs. “Keep her still.”

Our guards tighten on the female vampire, who’s fighting like hell against their grasp, as well as trying to scream something through her sewn lips.

I hone in, using my powers, and find they had some unfinished business. Harsh words were said in their last interaction, and she wanted to rectify them.

Alaina’s intent on sewing the vampire’s mouth shut was creative symbolism to tie her search for closure altogether.

Chains rattle as the male wriggles to try to get to his mate. “No. No, please! No!”

Alaina stalks behind the female, smirking at the male from over her shoulder. Her claw elongates, and a squelch follows her punching into the back of the vampire.

“No!” He screams.

Pink tears stain the female vampire’s cheeks as she stares at her mate one last time before mine pulls the heart from her chest.

The heart glows in her hand. My little drama queen throws the delicate organ to the floor before crushing it with her foot. The female falls limp in the guards’ hands, her pale skin dulling with her eyes, which are no longer a vibrant red but a soulless black. The veins become apparent on her skin to match. Her mark remains, as she died a mated woman. But his...

“No!” The male vampire lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

The scarred skin of his mating mark turns red, bubbles, and blisters like a scalding burn, before falling off of him, turning into a pile of ash on the floor.

“You sick bi—”

Sam and I both step forward, daring him to finish his sentence.

Playing in bed is one thing, but I’ll be damned if anyone else calls her a bitch and lives. Not my girl.

He bites the inside of his bottom lip, trembling and sweating with fear before making his final decision.

“Bitch.”

A rage threatens to explode inside me, but my hardened cock helps remind me of what this could be opportunity for: foreplay with my demonic mate.

This guy wants me to kill him, which tells me he’s not familiar with my work. I don’t reward those who piss me off with mercy. Especially those who insult my mate.

I prolong their torture.

“My queen,” I rumble. “I’m impressed with your artistic ability...” I tilt my head to the side, admiring her work. “I think he could use some wings, though... don’t you think?”

With her hand on her chin, she steps back on one foot, leaning to envision it better. “You’re right.”

Unable to bear the distance any longer, I snake my arm around her waist, pulling her into me. “Darling.”

“Hm?”

She places her tiny hand on my chest, popping a little leg out so she’s straddling mine. Her pleasure from grinding her hips on my leg until completion alone could have me come.

I never wanted to please someone so badly, never thought of myself as a beta to anyone. But I’ll gladly worship her as my alpha if it means being hers.

“Think you could use your artistic skills to carve some wings for me out of this bat’s back?”