My pulse gallops into high gear. “Please,” I beg. “I need water. And food. Let me out.”
“Cállate,” one of them hisses. Even I know that word. I am from Arizona, after all. Shut up.
Okay, so they’re less than sympathetic.
Two older men-also shifters, judging by their smell-dressed in Italian suits and shoes shined up like mirrors, emerge from behind a giant portcullis made of steel and carved wood.
Drug dealers.
That’s my first thought, based on the way they’re dressed, although if there was a shifter drug cartel, I would’ve heard of it. Wouldn’t I? But who else wears thousand dollar suits on a wooded mountain?
The well-heeled men speak to my captors in low tones and usher them in.
I try my naked and afraid game again. “Please help me, señor. I’m so thirsty.”
One of the older men turns and looks directly at me, and I know he understands. He says something in sharp tones to my captors, who mutter back.
Yeah, that didn’t get me very far. But they have to open this cage sometime. And when they do, I’ll be busting noses, shifting and getting the hell out of Dodge. No more nice wolf.
My stomach lurches as the cage sways. I have to clutch the metal rungs to keep from sliding with the movement.
The men follow a path along the inside of the high polished adobe walls. An enormous villa or mansion made of gleaming white marble rises up on the other side, majestic. It has an otherworldly quality, like we’re in a completely different era. Or dimension.
We arrive at a modern security door and one of the older men pulls out a keycard. He opens the door and leads my captors inside and down a flight of steps. There’s a damp coolness to the air. My nose wrinkles at the musty smell.
I blink as my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Oh lordy. I’m in a dungeon. I swear to the fates, there are iron doors with peephole windows all along the corridor. One of the old men barks something in Spanish and they stop and set the cage down to wait for him to unlock a cell door.
The minute I see what’s inside, I shift, my snarls echoing off the stone walls.
The room holds nothing but a bed with iron shackles attached to the four posts, ready to hold a prisoner. And now I know why they brought me here.
I throw myself against the cage walls. Somebody, somehow, is going to feel my fangs.
A sharp jab pricks my neck and my legs go out from under me again.
My growls echo in my ears as my vision fades once more to black.
~.~
Carlos
The back of my neck prickles as Don Jose leads me down the marble steps of the palace.
“Where are we going?” My dress shoes click on the stone, echoing against the walls of the dimly lit passageway, which glow from being scrubbed and polished daily.
The head of el consejo, the council of elders, inclines his head. “We need you to see something.” He keeps walking, expecting me to follow, like I’m still a clueless pup.
A low growl rises in my throat. Don Jose glances back and I swallow back my wolf’s response.
“Calm your wolf, Alpha, if you would. You will want to see this.” The slight deference in his words doesn’t touch his arrogant tone. I grit my teeth until he takes the turn to descend into the dungeons-the holding area for enemy wolves and insurgents.
“Enough,” I snap. My wolf’s distrust is too intense to ignore. “What is it you’re showing me?”
Don Jose hesitates.
“I’m not a pup anymore,” I say softly. “I’m your alpha.”
For a moment the old wolf’s gaze meets mine. He drops it a second before it turns into a real challenge. “You know our birth rates have been falling these past few years.”
“More like this past half a century,” I correct.
“Indeed. And many of the births produce only defectuosos,” Don Jose spits. “Weaklings, unable to shift. In days of old-”
I raise my chin, daring him to finish his point. I fucking hate the elders’ days of old proclamations.
“In days of old, a shifter who has no animal is not a shifter,” he says stiffly. “They were removed from the pack.”
Removed. A nice way to say killed.
“You know my decision on this, Don Jose. Any wolf born to the pack is part of the pack. We do not turn our back on our own.”
“Of course,” he bows his head again, his back rigid as he scowls at a point on my tie. “But the pack must remain strong. Otherwise the weak blood will dilute us until no pup has the ability to shift at all.”
“All right.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Get to the point.”
“The council has been working on a solution. While you were away at school, we had to make many difficult decisions. For the good of the pack.”
“For the good of the pack,” I murmur. “All right then. Show me.”
I prowl behind Don Jose through the dimly lit passage.
“You’ll see.” Jose’s dark eyes are cunning as he orders a guard to open the cell door.
The trouble is, I have no beta. I have Jose as part of El Consejo, the council of elders. I could easily best any of the individual members, but together, they are stronger than I am. The only reason they keep me as their puppet leader is because the pack law uses blood royalty to determine alpha. Someone from the original alpha bloodline bears the name of alpha, even if he doesn’t rule like one.
The cell door swings open and I freeze.
Cuffed spread-eagle on a bed lies a beautiful, naked female. Her long, thick brown hair fans out around her head on a pillow-less mattress. Lush breasts, a flat tummy, legs that go on for a mile. And between them-ah, carajo-a perfectly waxed mound and her tender pink center on display for all to see.