Chapter 33
The hallways around us were cold and dark. I was in an abandoned penitentiary that hadn’t seen life in a long time.
Eric had appeared outside its walls, just beyond the door I was dragging him to right now. Right now, my aura was out as I hauled him into the room, hand clamped over his mouth. His aura was pathetic compared to mine, and it wasn’t a struggle.
If Shatter was in this building, I would be better off getting the answer out of Eric instead of trying to hunt her down. Eric would tell me, and the size of the place meant no one would hear his screams.
Or perhaps they were close and they’d come for me. I welcomed that.
I shoved him to the ground, aiming a kick into his stomach that sent him crashing against the wall. He groaned, clearly winded as I reached for the bent metal chair that was toppled over in the corner.
Setting it down before him, I took a seat, letting him catch his breath as I glanced around. The walls were concrete with scratches through worn down paint. The corners of the room had gathered years of dust, and there was a long window across one wall, reinforced by metal, that showed another room beyond. It looked like a viewing window, one built strong enough to keep alphas out—or in.
It was dim in here, the only lights leaking from hallway windows beyond.
It was a surprisingly poetic location, reminiscent of my earliest memories. Of the place Eric had known me last. But even in the dim light, I could see that his pale face had completely drained of what colour it usually had.
“Where is she?” I asked, turning back to Eric.
She was safe enough for now. Through the bond she would occasionally surface, terror making it impossible to keep her out, but I knew she wasn’t bitten.
Not yet.
I would get to her before anything happened.
Not Flynn, not even Mord Sato would be enough to stop me.
“You’ve gone mad,” Eric spat. He tried to pick himself up, but I made to stand, and he froze. He wasn’t chained or tied up. I didn’t have a weapon. But Eric was a coward, and he knew the threats my aura held.
“You took her,” I said quietly.
“She’s… she’s our scent match?—”
“No.” My voice was cold. “You stole my scent match.”
Eric went still, eyes wide as he took me in. “You’re… insane,” he spluttered.
But he was taking me in now, truly taking me in. Dusk was the one for the dramatics, but today I’d tumbled into my void, compulsions leading me.
I was seated on the old metal chair, watching as his green eyes scanned me again and again. Brows slowly creasing, uncertainty deepening in his expression.
What was he seeing?
The alpha he’d known through the flickering video, tortured and suffering?
I needed that alpha. The one I’d once been. He had paid. Had known no joy, had existed before Shatter, and I needed him to remind the universe of what I’d given so that she could walk away free.
So Dusk could survive.
More payments ached, more than I’d ever done before in one sitting. It was as if I could feel the blood seeping from those wounds.
“Tell me who I am.” My voice was low and rough, dead compared to the voice I used around her. I had to claw back everything I’d once been.
“This is some kind of joke…” Eric stammered.
“It was,” I said. “I was. To you, to your brothers. A number. A bet.”
Eric dragged himself to his feet, gaze sliding to the door, before looking back to me equal parts confused as he was afraid. He didn’t take one step before I got to my feet. I saw the movement of the swallow down his neck as he considered me.
“Tell me who I am.” I spoke each word slowly this time.
It took him a while.
It was almost satisfying, as he reached the answer. I underestimated the satisfaction I got from watching the dawning recognition in his eyes. I wanted to see his fear as he finally realised who we were.
“I d-don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Fuck with me, Eric, and I will break every finger, just to hear the sound of them snapping.”
It was a promise I wasn’t far from.
His lips drew back in a snarl, and his aura split the air. He made for the door in an instant, but I mirrored his movement, my aura smothering his with ease. I slammed him against the wall, not caring how hard his head hit it.
“You’re m-mad,” he said.
“And why is that?” My grip tightened at his neck, and blood trickled down the side of his head. His lips were still drawn back, but he looked more terrified than arrogant now. “Tell. Me.”
“You’re…” His voice was choked as he stared at me. “You’re 66.”