Chapter 44 Warren
WARREN
Warren was in a small white room, similar to what he’d always imagined a police interrogation room would look like. There was a single fluorescent lamp on the ceiling, humming and flickering every few seconds, and the little table that Warren was handcuffed to was bolted to the floor.
There was no air-conditioning, and the air was both stuffy and unpleasantly hot.
After what felt like hours of waiting and no one coming in to see him, Warren was so thirsty that he would have drunk from a toilet if given the chance. He slumped down and rested his forehead against the metal table.
A lock turning had him sitting up and staring at the door. A second later it opened and a man in a camo uniform entered. He was tall – at least six-foot-six – and handsome in a stern, older-man kind of way.
The shape of his eyes reminded Warren of Max.
“Where’s my sister?” he demanded.
The man ignored the question, so Warren tried again.
“My sister doesn’t have anything to do with this, where-”
“Tell me how you’re involved in this, Mr. Master,” the man interrupted, taking a seat across from him and leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
If he was trying to be intimidating, it was working.
Warren licked his dry lips. “Involved in what?”
The man reached across the table, grabbed Warren by his hair, and slammed his head down on the table. “Do not get smart with me,” he said, his voice all the more terrifying for how calm it was.
Warren sat up, dazed and blinking blood out of his eye as it dripped down from his forehead and ran down his face.
No one had ever hit him before, much less slammed him into a table. He was completely unprepared for the shocking violence.
The man rose up and leaned forward, grabbing Warren by his ear and pushing him down, grinding his face into the metal surface of the table with a fist against the side of his head. He leaned down with a low growl. “What is a vampire bloodbag doing on a plane out of Orlando with my werewolves?”
Warren cried out. The man was squeezing his ear, but it was the force he exerted on the side of his head that was truly painful. It felt like Warren’s skull was about to give, the pressure was so great.
Terror filled Warren’s body and it took him several seconds of increasing pain to be able to gather a thought.
He finally cried out, “My alpha arranged it.”
The pressure disappeared and the man let go, sitting back down and looking at him with an assessing gaze.
Warren couldn’t help the big hulking sob that wrenched from his throat.
“Your alpha?” the man asked.
He was so terrifyingly calm.
“Marcus Miller,” Warren said, not wanting his head to be slammed into the table a second time.
The man crossed his arms, though Warren thought he caught a flicker of worry across his face.
“Marcus Miller, the alpha of the Northwestern pack?”
Warren nodded. He was dizzy, and it was hard to think.
“And he’s trying to steal my werewolves?”
“He said it wasn’t safe for them here.” Warren wished his hands were free so that he could wipe the blood away from his eye. It was still dripping, moving past his chin and down his throat.
“So, he decided to take them?”
“He didn’t force them, if that’s what you mean.”
It didn’t occur to Warren that he was throwing Max’s brothers under the bus until he saw how angry the comment made his interrogator. The man clenched his jaw, and Warren wished he could take the words back.
It was so hard to think with the way the room was spinning.
“Right. They went willingly. I’m going to have to punish them for that.” The man glanced at Warren, looking him up and down. “Those are mating bites on your neck. Are your alphas anyone important?”
The mention of his mating bites was abrupt enough that it took Warren a second to register what he was asking.
Warren was sure he had a concussion.
“Important?” he asked, trying to understand why the man was asking. His head was throbbing.
The man leaned forward, and Warren jerked back in fear as the man reached across the table to commit more violence.
“What are their names?”
“Marcus,” he said, terror making him forget his plan to be smart. “Marcus Miller. Harland Hill-”
The man retracted his hand before Warren could mention Max, and Warren clamped his jaw shut.
“You’re mated to Marcus Miller?”
Warren nodded.
The man clapped his hands together. “Well, that’s not a bad bargaining chip,” he said, rising to his feet. “If he wants you back, he’ll have to negotiate. Sit tight and don’t go anywhere.”
The man left the room, leaving Warren to once again sit and worry in silence – though this time he had a blinding headache to keep him company.
He hoped Vivian was okay.
It was hours before someone came to get him. Warren lay slumped on the table, arm shielding his eyes, the flickering light from the fluorescent lamp making him feel like little needles were being stabbed into his skull.
The door opened, but Warren didn’t have the energy to lift his head.
“Fucking hell,” a familiar voice exclaimed.
For a beautiful moment, Warren thought that Max had somehow come to get him. His relief shattered when he turned his head and saw that the man rushing toward him had a big scar across his nose.
It was Brendan.
“Hey, you’re going to be okay. I’m sorry about the general. He’s a little panicked right now.” Brendan unlocked the cuffs from around Warren’s wrists and helped him to his feet. His legs immediately collapsed and he would have crashed to the floor if Brendan hadn’t deftly caught him.
“They took my phone,” Warren muttered.
He wanted to call Harland and tell him to come get him and Vivian.
“Yeah, they’re in damage control mode. This is so fucked. The brass are calling and demanding answers, but the general is stalling them. He’s convinced that he can fix things.”
Warren had no idea what any of that meant.
“My sister?” he asked.
Brendan had him in a princess carry, and the way he was holding him was so similar to how Max would hold him that it made him want to cry.
“She’s fine,” Brendan assured him. “Furious and crying a lot, but she’s not hurt. My brother Caleb is watching her.”
Warren relaxed.
Brendan carried him down a long hallway and into the outside. The sun had gone down, but the paths around them were lit up by bright lamps mounted on the top of the buildings.
They looked like they were on some sort of campus.
“Is this a school?” Warren asked.
It was hard to stay conscious.
“No, a military base.” Brendan sounded both amused and stressed. “If I got you a phone, could you call your alpha?”
The question was asked in a low voice, Brendan’s head bent and his lips barely moving.
“Yes,” Warren said. Then he hesitated. He didn’t know any actual phone numbers aside from his own. They were just stored in his phone. “Don’t remember their numbers.”
“I can get the number,” Brendan said. “If you can just talk to them, that might diffuse the situation.”
Warren didn’t know about that. He knew deep in his bones that seeing him right now would drive his alphas into a murderous rage.
Hurrying down the road, Brendan took a left at the next corner and carried Warren into a large building. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and entered a studio apartment.
A bed was pushed up against the far wall, with a couch and desk next to it. The setup was similar to how Warren had arranged the furniture in his studio.
Unlike Warren’s studio, however, this one did not look lived in.
Brendan set him down on the bed, sitting him up on the edge of the mattress.
“Stay there, I’ll get you some water and we can clean your face.”
Brendan let go of him, and Warren started to sway.
He woke up to the sensation of Brendan helping him back up into a sitting position and holding a bottle of water to his lips.
“Come on, you need to drink something before you sleep.”
Water trickling into his mouth, Warren grabbed the bottle and drank it down with a vengeance.
When he finished, he was exhausted.
Brendan looked at him, expression conflicted. He took a deep breath. “You can call them in the morning.”
Warren didn’t want to wait to call his alphas, but when Brendan lowered him down onto the mattress, reaching for his legs and lifting them up on the bed, he couldn’t help the heaviness of his eyelids.
Sleep pulled him under.