Forbidden (Unfinished 1st Draft) | Discontinued

Chapter 13

           

Chapter Thirteen

(Dylan's POV)

I wake from the most peaceful slumber I've had in centuries bright and early. Careful not to disturb my little sleeping beauty, I peck her on the forehead and jump into some jeans that—even though washed—still contain dirt smudges and if you look closely enough, some splotches of blood.

            Yup, that's right. These are the jeans I torture my prisoners in.

            I proceed to throw on a tight fitting black t-shirt and slide my feet into some black converse that are also looking a bit worn down. I glance in the mirror and fix my tousled golden hair so it's slightly more presentable and check the time.

            5:37 A.M.

            Since it's the middle of February, it's still decently dark outside. The only evidence that the sun will rise in an hour or so is the navy blue lightening around the horizon and expelling the stars and moon for the day. I figure Chloe will want to sleep in, so I might as well get this over with before she wakes up.

            I can't risk her asking any more questions. My mate is a curious little thing, but I want to shield her from everything that's going on with the rogues. Also, deep down, a part of me doesn't want a Night Fury pack member getting their hands on some inside information. My wolf is dissatisfied with this part of me, as Chloe will be the Lunar Eclipse's rightful Luna, but she will return back to her pack—with her brother as the Alpha, might I add—and I can't risk her sharing anything with any of her pack members.

            "You ready to kick some rogue ass?"

            I grin at Tom as he slaps me on the back, jumping up and down in excitement.

            "Hell yes," I respond, "But I already know those pieces of shit will strip me of my good mood this morning and ruin my whole day."

            "True," Tom grimaces, "We'll be down in the basement for hours beating them senseless if they don't cave and give us some information."

            "We will be down there for hours," I say as we bound down the stairs and into the commons of my pack house.

            "Great." Tom grumbles and I silently agree with him. These particular rogues won't give their information at the drop of a hat. These rogues are smarter than we thought and we cannot underestimate them and their tactics.

            I punch in the code to the elevator to the basement and press the button for the lowest level. The pack house has four levels of basements, two of which contain prisoners. I made the executive decision to keep our most dangerous prisoners on the lowest level of the basement and our less threatening ones on the level above. Since I'm wary about these unusual rogues, we took the three rogues to the lowest level where there are also torture devices used to beat the information out of them.

            The elevator dings and I wrinkle my nose as the strong scent of body odor, blood, and seared flesh hits me. The stupid rogues did this to themselves when they decided to struggle against their restraints laced with wolfsbane.

            My eyes shift to the one female slouched over, glaring intently at the ground. The other two males, flanking her on either side in separate cells, glance up at me. One looks indifferent to my presence and the other attempts to mask the fear washing over his face and fails.

            "Now," I announce, snatching a knife off one of the shelves, "we can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

            The rogue on the right of the girl spits at my feet, but his saliva lands on the ground, not on my shoes. I smirk as I twirl the knife between my fingers, my cold blue eyes meeting his hard brown scowl.