Braiden
Five hours have flown by. Thirty-two adults and eleven children are now comfortably situated in the rehabilitation
center's A and B wings of the special recovery unit. While Mary was with Dr. Adams in room B, assessing the
children, I was in room A, along with a doctor from a neighboring pack and some nurses.
Samuel, Nick, and some of the members of my intel team were busy getting as much information from those adults
that could talk. Though, so far, we were getting more of the same story we always got.
The Underground snatched them from the street or their homes at night, blindfolding them until they arrived at
secure locations before torturing them. Initially, there were nearly eighty of them, according to one of the survivors
who had been there the longest. But they died. Leaving only those we now see. Luckily, we had received a tip-off
on this location when we did, as most of these wolves were on the brink of death.
Malnutrition. Severe blood loss. Excessive wolfsbane exposure.
Prolonged exposure to silver, the wounds of which would not heal. Leaving them scarred both physically and
emotionally. It was disturbing. As their King, I was supposed to protect my people. This made me feel like I was
failing. My wolf was tugging at my restraints with every new issue the doctors highlighted, especially with the
children.
What was apparent was that The Underground was looking for a way to take our healing ability and make it into
medicine for humans. They seemed to be inflicting various ailments and injuries on those held captive and then
monitoring how they healed and how much they could take before it was too much. We were just guinea pigs being
used in the development of something the human race could benefit from.
It would also make the organisation a ton of money which was probably the underlying reason to do this. Imagine
what someone would pay to heal instantly. It could be used as a weapon in the human wars that are still waged
between some countries. The winning side, no doubt, would be the highest bidder if whatever The Underground
was trying to achieve ever came to fruition.
That thought sends a shiver down my spine. What would stop them then from waging a war against us? At the
moment, we were still feared by the humans, our strength and ability to heal making us far superior. If we no longer
had that edge, what would stop us from being eliminated next?
“My King?” Samuel prompts, my thoughts so consuming that they had pulled me from the conversation.
“Let’s call it a day. We can continue the questioning once the survivors have had a chance to rest and recuperate. I
want round-the-clock care and an update every few hours.”
Samuel nods before heading off to carry out my request.
Where is Ava? While everything happening here had been my main focus, the constant pull to be around Ava was
in the back of my mind. It’s like having something on the tip of your tongue. It's there, but not. In my peripheral, I
had spotted her now and then. Chatting to a survivor. Helping a nurse as she attends to someone's wounds.
People responded to her. Her empathy, and at some subconscious level, her past trauma, allowed her to connect
with the survivors.
My heart pinches tightly when I look around the room and don’t see her.
Finding her, though, is not an issue. My wolf could track her scent a mile away. What I don’t expect is to find her
in a tiny cupboard in the corridor, a small girl of only eight, cradled in her arms, asle ep.
“She was hiding in here. Scared,” she whispers, her hand gently stroking the brown hair, knotted and dirty. This
clearly indicates the utter neglect that
befell this innocent child at the hands of The Underground. They would pay. The Butcher would die, and I
wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse.
I gently lift the child from Ava’s arms before returning to B wing, where an open bed is ready and waiting. Ava
gives the girl a peck on the forehead and promises Mary she will return later to check in on everyone.
As soon as we leave, exhaustion settles in, and Ava looks like she might fall asle ep on her feet.
In one fell swoop, I lift her in my arms, reminding me of the last time I had her like this. When she tried to run
away from me. A lot has changed since then.
“Braiden, what are you doing?” She is less shocked than usual, alluding to how tired she is.
“Holding my Queen. You look tired.” My gaze travels her face, which is slightly pale. Strained.
“I’m not.” As the words leave her mouth, she yawns, her hand flying to her mouth to hide it.
“Maybe a little,” she says she epishly, relaxing more in my arms as we walk the path back to our house.
With it being five in the morning, no one is around. Luckily, else Ava would be protesting this public display of
affection lest someone see us.
However, after her little exhibit with Selene, the pack had already started acc epting her as their Queen. I could feel
the shift. It was just Ava that needed to welcome who she was meant to be.
“Is this how it always is?” Ava’s worried expression tells me where her thoughts are—the group of survivors.
“It is getting worse. Usually, more survive.” Their deaths were on my hands. The longer it took me to discover the
head of the organization, the more wolves died.
“It’s not your fault, Braiden. I can see the guilt coating you. It is an emotion often misplaced and worn by the
wrong people. Believe me. I know.” Her words are accompanied by her hand gently cupping my face, these little
acts of affection initiated from her side becoming more frequent and sending a jolt of euphoria through me.
“I am the King.” She smiles, dropping her hand to lie in her lap.
“Yes. I know. But you are also Braiden—one person. You didn’t torture those wolves. Someone else did. Someone
you are actively looking for. You
are doing your best, Braiden. That’s all any of us can do.” Her words only slightly ease my guilt. While I had
successfully uncovered and closed many of these organizations, this one proved trickier than the rest. The longer it
took me, the more damage was done.
When we get to the front door of our house, I lower her to her feet.
Instead of opening the door, she turns around, looking up at me with those gorgeous green eyes.
“Thank you for taking me with you, Braiden. I want to be in volved in this. In the pack.” She then rises on the tips
of her toes and kisses me. It starts slowly but de epens as I pull her against me, her body a perfect match for mine.
As I push her backward, I expect the front door to stop our progress, not to swing wide open.
I immediately pull Ava behind me, my senses on high alert.
“What is it?” Ava peers around me as I glance around the room. Nothing is amiss, but there is a strange scent in the
room.
“This scent, it seems so familiar,” Ava says quietly as we follow it, its path taking us through the house, all the way
upstairs, into our bedroom, and even into Ava’s painting room.
How did someone get in here? We suspected a traitor in the pack, but this last week, Samuel and I had been through
the files of every pack member, with no apparent suspects identified.
“Oh my god, Braiden. I know this scent.” Before I know what is happening, Ava runs through the house and back
down the path. She is surprisingly fast. In my human form, I am just behind her. My anger rises when I realize
where she is headed—the rehabilitation center.
Was it someone we brought in?
As we enter the rehabilitation center, the scent from our house can be identified. Faint and diluted amongst the
others, but definitely here. Fuck, I should have recognized it, I scold myself.
“There was a short, thin man with dirty brown hair. He was sitting in the corner of the room. Do you remember
him?” Ava asks me as we run towards the A wing, my mind sifting through all the survivors brought in. I don’t
recall seeing a man with this description.
Samuel bursts through doors on the opposite side of the corridor.
“My King! You need to come to see this.” Samuel waits for us on the other side before leading Ava and me out of
the building and through the forest toward the edge of the Southern border.
A group of guards are standing in a semi-circle, their expressions severe.
As I approach them, the stench of blood is overwhelming.
Ava gasps as they part.
There, on the floor, is the man matching Ava’s description. Blood dripped from his ears, nose, and lifeless brown
eyes. Written in a dark shade of redon his chest are three little words that make my blood turn to ice.
You’re mine, Ava.