The True Alpha: Bad Blood //jjk

03: Aftermath

Arne was standing frozen in front of the steel door. His hesitant hand was clutching onto the door handle. It was cold, piercing his skin with daggers. The male's feet were almost glued to the floor, stuck in that same place for the past hour. Time after time, minute after minute, he would try to make his body move – all in vain. All of him was focused on the sounds. The excruciating sounds, the screams, the sound of flesh, the gooey sound of blood, the splitting of limbs and the angry screams that hid behind that door. Ulric had locked himself in that small, cold, dark room ever since that day. A day that, neither Arne or anyone else was allowed to mention. Arne knew what was happening inside that room, that's why his body wouldn't move. Fear and sweat coated his whole self. He felt like he was the one being dismembered, ate, being screamed at and kicked and punched. Arne could feel the pain, the fear, although it was not him the meal. Truthfully, what assured him that he wouldn't be next? Judging from how Ulric had been so angry, violent, furious at the world ever since that day... Arne knew no one was safe.

A body was thrown against the steel door. The metal vibrated, clanked, thundered. The sound echoed around the dark, empty hallway becoming even bigger than it seemed to be. Arne's hands left the handle instinctively, his body stepped away from the door. A big dent was on it, now. Mimicking the shape of body that had been run over by an aggressive storm. Arne's heart was on his throat, beating rapidly, furiously scared – utterly terrified. He scanned around the place. Incredulous at how he hadn't been thrown too. Arne felt like he had. Like his whole body had been crushed by an external force.

The door opened. Arne froze at the sight of the Alpha. He hadn't seen him since that day. He only came down there because he was delivered a task, an important one. His hands were shaking as he held the brown box in his arms. Ulric was covered, drenched, completely soaked in blood. His hair was wet and sticky against his forehead, his chest went up and down as he breathed heavily. He had a stern, devilish, glow in his eyes, yet, an angry frown was on his face.

"How much f*cking long do I need to wait?" The Alpha snapped, growling and snarling at Arne. The male was loss for words, fear had even consumed his speech. "Just give me that f*cking thing"

Ulric dropped the limb that he was holding. Arne couldn't take his eyes off of it. It was fresh, red, still vibrantly and vividly spilling blood to the floor. The box was snatched from him. Ulric's hands grazed his arms, tainting his skin with their blood as if sharing the kill, the thrill, with him in an unwelcomed generosity.

"You found them?" Ulric asked as he opened the box, not even waiting to see for himself what was inside it. "You found my father's journals?"

Arne nodded his head rapidly, just wanting to get away from that place and that image as fast as possible. That had been the important task Ulric had relied to him. The day after they came, Ulric stormed into Arne's cabin and threateningly delivered the task, saying that if he didn't find it, he would no longer be kind to him. Very specific demands and steps were delivered to him. Ulric knew where those journals were, he just didn't have the courage to go fetch them himself. There was a place, far from the pack, in which not even Ulric himself stepped in. Arne had been the first to go there. The first wolf to visit that haunted, diabolical, dreadful place. He wasn't really sure what had happened there, nor did he have the right or courage to ask. Some had done it before, only to end up at the pit of Ulric's stomach. It was only when he saw it, with his own eyes, that Arne understood what catastrophe, what curse, what devilish creature had lived in that place. It was a pack. Destroyed. There were still ashes around, people decomposing all over the ground, different body parts hanging from the trees, cabins completely torn apart and ruined. If hell was a place, Arne was sure it would look like it. Quickly, he ran through the area, desperately wanting to reach his destination. It was the wreckage of, what Arne assumed to be, an old cabin. Carefully, he moved the pieces of wood, the furniture and toys to another place. In the midst of them, he found a group of journals, tied by a red strip, that were surprisingly still in good shape.