We have your mate

"The gammas caught him wandering at the edge of the woods. I believe he was trying to spy on our activities. He has no mark," Maverick, Denzel's only brother and his Beta, reported.

"A rogue?" Denzel asked, his jaw ticking as darkness settled over his expression.

"Not just any rogue. He is a member of the Blood Demons. We couldn't get him to say any more than that."

The Blood Demons consisted of rogue werewolves, who came together two years ago to form a pack separate from the twelve established packs of West Volken.

Abiding by their different laws, they were ruled by a nameless Alpha and under his leadership, did whatever they wanted without fear of consequences.

Over the last year, they threatened the diplomatic relationship between the wolves and humans through their insouciant killings and maiming of the human population of West Volken.

Through the council which consisted of Denzel, his father, the mayor of West Volken, and the catholic priest, they managed to cover up the murders and injuries as the work of a wild animal in order not to expose the supernatural faction.

However, the blood demons only grew bolder with each day that went by. Their location was still unknown but through Denzel's efforts, five of the members were caught and imprisoned.

Despite the horrific tortures inflicted on them that should have loosened their lips, they never revealed who their Alpha was or what their exact motives were.

Denzel would have preferred to kill them all but his father, the Alpha King lorded his authority over him since Denzel had to always answer to him despite being named Alpha of the Nightfall pack, and decided to send them back to wherever they came from with a message from him.

That was over a month ago.

This time, they had crossed a line by daring to come close to Nightfall territory.

"I don't need him to speak. Enough with the talks. This ends now."

Slamming his fist on the table, he rose sharply from his seat, brushed past Maverick, and began marching down the halls of the pack house, his powerful legs flexing with every purposeful stride.

Maverick followed behind him, his gait mirroring Denzel's.

The pack members practicing in the training yard hurriedly bowed before him as he passed by but he paid no mind to either of them. His focus was on getting to the dungeon where the rogue was being held.

The dungeon was a large two-story building, surrounded by a brick, wired fence manned by guards bearing guns loaded with silver bullets in the case of an escape by an inmate.

Those who went against the pack killed a fellow pack member or a human or committed any severe crime that went against the pack laws were thrown in the dungeons after a fair trial.

The dungeon had a special torture chamber where rogue wolves and trespassers from other packs were sharply questioned.

"Alpha," the guard, a tall, bulky, tanned young werewolf who was stationed outside the torture chambers, greeted Denzel's towering frame.

"I thought the king would be the one to personally—"

"You thought wrong. The king is away on official business. Step aside, Brandon."

With a visible gulp, Brandon bowed and moved out of the way. He could sense Denzel's raging mood and dared not to meet his hardened, green eyes.

Without struggle, Denzel pushed open the heavy, iron door as it squealed on its hinges.

In the dimly lit damp room, the rogue was held in a chair with chains doused with wolfsbane to keep him weakened. His hateful blue eyes glared hotly at Denzel and Maverick as they stalked toward him.

"I...already told your beta. You...cannot get any... information out of me."

His words were punctuated with grunts of pain as the wolfsbane burned his arms, chest, and legs.

"I did not come here for information."

"What?" The heat in the rogue's eyes dimmed with confusion.

"Release him," he instructed Maverick stoically.

"Alpha, he should be questioned further. We might be able to get something out of him," Maverick protested, much to Denzel's chagrin.

His gaze flickered to Maverick.

Narrowing his eyes, he asked, his tone low and dangerous. "Did my command somehow fail to be understood?"

That mild movement cut off any other protest Maverick could have wanted to put up.

"No, Alpha."

Putting on a pair of gloves from his jeans pocket, he removed the chains around the rogue's chest, arms, and legs in two tugs.

"Get up," Denzel commanded the rogue.

Shakily, he rose to his feet and within the blink of an eye, Denzel had his lean-muscular figure in a chokehold.

"What is your name?"

Gasping for air as he clawed at Denzel's arms to no effect, he sneered, "I will tell you nothing."

"It would be nice to know your name before I kill you. You know, to keep a record but since you won't tell me..." Denzel trailed off, sighing in disappointment as his green eyes began to glow vibrantly.

On noticing the change in Denzel's eyes. Maverick grabbed his arm in warning.

"Father won't be thrilled if you kill him like this, Denzel! We're supposed to send him back as a message," He whispered, his tone urgent.

Chuckling mirthlessly, Denzel turned his attention from the barely breathing rogue to focus on his brother.

"Messages have gotten us nowhere. Their leader only knows one thing and that is violence. Sending the others back alive has made us look weak in his eyes. It has only emboldened them! No more."

Turning back to the rogue, he loosened his grip slightly to allow him to catch a breath, and with a devilish grin, he declared, "Dead men tell no tales."

The rogue's eyes widened in fear when Denzel's face horrifyingly twisted and stretched with his teeth elongating and sharpening into points.

Pieces of Denzel's clothes fell to the floor as his back hunched. At the same time, his arms and legs lengthened with fur erupting from every part of his body.

His hands transformed into gigantic paws, almost the size of the rogue's head, as his nails sprouted into claws.

The rogue was used to seeing werewolves shift into their wolf form but Denzel was no ordinary werewolf. His primal beast terrified the rogue so much that urine began leaking down his legs and out of his pants to create a small puddle on the concrete floor.

Denzel stood tall on his fur-covered legs, with his paw constricting the rogue's breathing again.

With a monstrous growl, he tore the rogue's head from his body.

...

Hours later, Denzel sat at the foot of his king-sized bed, whimpering in pain from the transformation.

He thought he would have gotten used to the pain from the day he turned eighteen and first shifted into his primal firm but it got worse each time.

Other wolves of his pack were burdened with the torment of having every bone in their body break and re-shape when they shifted on the full moon but since he could shift into his lupine form at any time, he was only ever in anguish at the end of his primal transformation when he returned to his human form.

A loud knock at the door caused him to compose himself and ignore the agonizing pain he felt. With great effort, he schooled his face into an impassive mask and opened the door to meet the worried eyes of his brother.

"Are you alright?" Maverick asked, his gaze sweeping over Denzel. He knew how horrible Denzel felt whenever he shifted into his primal wolf.

"What is it?" he responded, ignoring Maverick's question.

Maverick knew not to push him. Denzel hated being vulnerable and Maverick wouldn't even have known how bad the pain was if he didn't stumble in on him six years ago, clutching his chest and fighting back tears in the basement of the pack house.

"There's a witch in the training yard. Conall brought her in. She wants to see you and only you."

"Why?"

"I'll be damned if I know," Maverick said, groaning as he ran his fingers through his cropped, dark hair. 

...

It was rare for witches to show up in Lunar Crest and even rarer for them to willingly come anywhere close to Nightfall territory.

As Denzel followed Maverick's lead, he wondered what a witch could want from him. They didn't like werewolves and mostly stayed away from them. The only time he had seen a witch around was close to twenty-two years ago when he stumbled into his father's study and overheard him arguing hotly with one of them. He could smell and recognize the aura around her, marking her as a witch.

Sophie stood rod-straight in the training yard with her hands folded in front of her as she waited for Denzel.

She could feel the eyes of the wolves around the yard and even from the windows of the pack house, boring into her from every angle. She knew they could recognize her scent but she wasn't fazed. Harming her would not end so well for them.

With Denzel's approach, the pack members began to divert their watchful stares one by one.

"What do you want?" Denzel asked sharply, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He was not one for pointless pleasantries.

The woman in front of him seemed to be in her early twenties but had a commanding presence. Clad in dark jeans and a simple, yellow blouse that complemented her flowing blonde tresses, she exuded a confident beauty.

"We have your mate. I suggest you come with me to Darah Haven and listen to our demands. Not only will you listen, but you will also have to fulfill them. Your refusal would result in a very slow, excruciating death for her and terrible consequences for you," she told him simply, her face void of emotion.

Maverick's eyes blazed with anger but as he stepped forward to deal with the insolent witch, Denzel held his hand out, stopping him mid-stride.

His eyes ran over her from top to bottom and when he was done, he threw his head back and laughed.

Sophie's emotionless mask broke as befuddlement filled her features.

Denzel's laughter ceased abruptly. A storm cloud blanketed his features.

Slowly, he began to prowl toward Sophie like a predator keen on attacking his prey.

Fear made its home in Sophie's heart. Her confident facade began to melt away with each step that brought Denzel closer to her.

Her feet started to move backward, of their own accord.

Before she could even think of ways to get out of the situation, Denzel was right in front of her.

With his hand squeezing her jaw painfully, he brought her face close to his, forcing her to gaze into his Arctic green eyes, tight and unforgiving.

"You come to my home...my territory, and dare to threaten me? I could break every single bone in your body in a split second without blinking. Do not test my patience, witch," he seethed.

Struggling to find her voice amidst the pain from his tight grip, she grasped at his hand, her blue eyes pleading.

"Gin... Negroni...the lights..." Sophie managed to choke out.

His hand dropped to his side.

"What did you just say?"

He wondered if he had heard correctly. 'Could it be?'

Rubbing her jaw, Sophie repeated, "She ordered a gin negroni. Later in the night, she requested for the lights to be turned off."

From the shocked and longing look in Denzel's eyes, Sophie gained her confidence back. She had been right to make Cinnia tell her some important details that would ensure that Denzel wouldn't be in doubt.

"How do you know of this?"

The fury in his eyes had died down by the mere mention of the memories from that night.

"Come with me and you'll see the person who told me."