FIVE

Orion was beyond livid when he learned that the filthy little human had single-handedly murdered a Lycan in cold blood-a crime punishable by death, one of his own-and was trying to escape, not that she could succeed.

Even as he sat in the meeting with his council, he was distracted by the thought of her, and rightly so. The filthy human was unpredictable, but now he had her exactly where he wanted. He knew it was low of him to use her little brother as leverage, but he brushed off those thoughts as soon as they came.

He reminded himself that she was just a filthy little human and he could do with her as he pleased.

"Alpha Orion," he snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of his name, his heated gaze meeting the eyes of the Clan Head who'd disrupted his train of thoughts.

The older Lycan cowered at the intensity of the Alpha's gaze fixated on him and sputtered his words while the other six Clan Heads seated across the oval table grew quiet.

"W-we just got news that one of our food reserves was raided by human hunters," he stuttered, his eyes glued to Orion's chest, too afraid to meet the Lycan's eyes. Orion sat up, his brow arched so high it almost touched his hairline.

"Which one of our reserves was raided?" he asked in a guttural tone, leaning over the table to pin the older Lycan with an expectant stare.

"The clan 6 reserve," the chieftain responded, and his eyes snapped to the Lycan male, who was seated two seats away from him. "Isn't that your jurisdiction, Larkin?" he sneered at the Chieftain, who cowered under the intensity of his scrutiny; his lips were glued shut in fear.

"How the hell does a bunch of measly humans attack and raid a reserve guarded by Lycan warriors under your command!" His voice boomed across the spacious room, bouncing off the arched ceilings and reverberating through Larkin's bones that he barely held himself back from bolting out of there.

How could he answer the Alpha's question when he knew it would only sound like an excuse? His clan was the smallest, residing at the very edge of the Northern territory. But what they lacked in size they made up for in defence, as they had one of the best-trained Lycan warriors in the entire Northern Territory.

When he said nothing but continued to cower in silence, it infuriated Orion to no end; he barely held back from punching a hole through his face.

"I want a full report on the damages we suffered and a rundown of your security details." "I want every detail of this information; nothing should be left out," he ordered in a deadly calm tone, but he was all but raging inside.

In all his thirty years of life, his self-control had never been tested as much as it was at that moment, but he held back from lashing out because he knew he had to deal with that situation with a level head, knowing that the thieving human trash were going to plan another attack, but this time he'd be ready.

When Larkin made no move to carry out his orders, he slammed his fist against the wooden table, splintering it from the force of his fist. "Now!" he roared.

Larkin all but jumped out of his chair and ran towards the exit of the room as fast as his feet could carry him. When he was out of the room, Orion slowly turned to the others seated around the table, his calm facade slipping back into place, but the clan heads weren't fooled; they knew firsthand the full extent of his fury.

"I suggest we double the warriors working the shift around the perimeter and reserves," General Iver started but then turned to the Lycan seated at his left extreme.

"Except yours, chieftain Seth," he said, his gaze lingering on the Lycan whose green eyes were wide with confusion as everyone's attention fixated on him.

The Lycan male cleared his throat, sitting up in his seat as his forest green eyes flitted across the room and settled on Iver. "What should I do, General?" Seth asked, inclined to carry out his orders as expected of him.

It had only been about six months since he was appointed chieftain of his clan, but he still hadn't gotten used to the suffocating presence of the Alpha, but he was sure no one could. As the youngest chieftain to ever be appointed after the previous chieftain was removed, he wanted nothing more than to prove himself worthy to his Alpha.

"Do nothing," Iver said, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips as the gears visibly turned in his head.

"What happens then? You leave the perimeters open for those scum?" Chieftain Magnus of clan 3 spoke, this time his brows pinched together in worry, and Iver shrugged.

"Yes, that is the plan," Iver clarified and Magnus's eyes widened in disbelief at the general's response, and immediately his eyes snapped to Orion, who was leaning back in his seat with his fingers drumming repeatedly against the table in front of him as he listened wordlessly.

"Alpha, surely you can't allow General Iver to carry out such precarious plans," the middle-aged man deadpanned, and the other four older chieftains nodded in consecutive agreement. Orion's steely gaze flitted across the room, heavy and intense, as he stroked his stubbled jawline.

He wasn't worried about his general's plans, but he was more worried that the man underestimated the humans, and that was a big mistake on his part.

"You underestimate the humans, Iver," Orion murmured, his tone low and gravelly. Iver frowned, meeting the Alpha's gaze briefly before settling on the others in the room.

"I do not underestimate them, Alpha; I merely want to make them think that the perimeter is loosely guarded," he explained calmly, and Orion nodded without batting an eyelash.

"I'll leave that to you," he murmured before rising to his feet and walking out of the room. As he shut the door behind him, his feet quickly carrying him to the basement door in the east wing.

He placed his thumb against the biometric scanner by the door, and the door clicked open. Steadily he descended the stairs, walking right into the dungeons, passing by rows of empty cells.

These cells weren't empty because he had no prisoners; it was simply because he didn't keep his prisoners alive long enough to lock them up. His people knew not to break the rules, and when they did, they were punished immediately, while the ones unfortunate enough to cross him just didn't get as much lenient punishments.

As he got closer to the very last cell, Rey's scent hit him with the force of a truck, filling up his lungs, clouding his senses, and driving him near delirium. He stopped in front of the very last cell where he had her thrown in.

Even in the dim lighting, he could make out her petite form, huddled in the corner of the concrete floor. If he didn't possess heightened hearing, he'd have thought she was dead by how still she lay across the cold concrete floor.

Her scent grew even stronger, literally wrapping around him in a vice-like grip. He gritted his teeth, biting back the urge to rip out the doors of the cell and take her in his arms, but he knew these feelings weren't his; it was the mate bond pushing him to complete the mating process.

He could smell the dried blood on her open wounds, her faint, ragged breath as she slept. He realised she was dreaming, and for some reason, he itched to know what exactly the dream was that had her heart hammering against her ribcage. He frowned deeply, unlocking the door to her cell with the swipe of a key card before stepping in.

She was still unconscious, her breath hitching every now and then in her sleep with every step he took closer to her unconscious form. He crouched before her, noting the thin sheen of sweat coating her skin and plastering her unruly curls to her neck even though the temperature down there was below ten degrees.

He didn't want to touch her—no, he wanted to destroy whatever made him want to.

But Goddess, he itched to touch her, to soothe her pain and bring her comfort, and he almost succumbed as his fingers hovered over her, but then he realised he didn't know the filthy little human's name.

***