Collateral Damage

The scent of copper permeated the air as he struggled against the silver restraints that bound him to his cell. His vision was blurred, and the bones that had been shattered had slowly begun to knit back together. He learned a long time ago, shortly after he’d been changed, to embrace the pain. Pain makes you remember you’re alive; that there might just be a spark of hope in the far regions of your battered mind; that someday, somehow, you might escape the horror around you.

Cowering in the corner, naked and shrouded in the darkness of the cellar in which he was caged, Derek had never felt so alone. When he’d awoken and learned that all his men were dead, Morris had beaten him within an inch of his life to prove his alpha dominance. His family must think he was dead like all the others—especially since his captors had sent body parts back to the army.

For what seemed like an eternity, he had been forced to fight for survival, his alpha insisting only the most vicious, ruthless wolves could be in his pack. For Derek’s alpha, you either fought and killed or you were killed. Not that Derek wanted to live, but he fought a constant inner battle against his other half—a wolf who refused to let him sacrifice himself, who had now killed twenty-nine of his alpha’s best men, and who had revelled in the act.

The wolf howled inside his mind, pacing back and forth, hating the prison the man’s actions had forced upon them. Derek had refused to toe the line and bow down to the bastard who had ripped his throat out, and that both irked and pleased his wolf. It showed strength, yes; but it was also the reason why they were locked in a cell, being treated like prisoners. The wolf swiped a paw at Derek, and Derek cringed; the wolf was slightly stronger willed than him. The evil that now shimmered beneath Derek’s skin, this overwhelming need to claw and sink his canines into flesh, compelled him, and he did not need a direct order from the man who called himself his alpha to maim and kill.

He longed for the familiar scent of home—his mother’s stew simmering on the stove, his father coming in smelling of freshly cut grass and the horses he bred. He sometimes closed his eyes and imagined he was home, sitting around the dinner table, listening to his siblings quarrelling and teasing each other or watching as his father came inside to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek as she served up dinner. His heart ached to think of them in mourning for him, but he feared returning home as a son and brother who was no longer human would never lead to a happy reunion.

The door to the cellar scraped open, and a burst of light pierced his swollen eyes. Derek hissed before shielding his face, a feral growl ripping through the air. He balked when he heard a chuckle; it was a sinister sound that showed Derek this man—this monster—was not afraid of him… yet.

Hush your growling, pup. When you learn to behave and be civilized, then you can join us upstairs in the compound. But for now, you need to learn to have some respect for those who are superior.

Kill me, Derek begged the man with the salt-and-pepper hair. There was not one shred of dignity left in him. He had been changed almost two months ago, and Neville Morris had made sure Derek knew who held his life in his hands.

Morris boomed with laughter as he descended the stone steps and neared Derek’s cage. Kill you? Why would I do such a thing? I can smell your power, boy, and I can utilize your skills. Once I break you—once I make you compliant and once you show me your loyalty—then we can talk again.

Derek assessed his options. He could unleash the beast and go for Morris’s jugular. After all, his wolf was faster than the man was, and it despised the power the other wolf held over Derek. His own death afterward would be swift—the werewolf’s second in command would release him from this cursed existence quickly.

I can see the cogs in your mind turning, boy, and I approve. Maybe one day you will kill me, but today will not be that day.

He flashed a smirk and then turned his back to Derek—an ultimate show by the alpha that he held no fear of the locked-up Derek. Morris strode up the steps, paused at the door, and glanced over his shoulder at his captive. Amber flared in his eyes, and Derek shuddered under the power that flooded Morris’s body.

Rest up, pup. You’ve a busy night ahead of you. I do love watching your conscience come into play when you rip into someone’s chest with your claws and teeth. Very amusing.

Morris chortled, and a chorus of cackles sounded outside the door. Then, the door slammed shut and the darkness became his only companion.

Derek’s new hearing meant he could detect the rumble of words above him. He strained to hear, but the thick concrete encasing him prevented him from discerning more than a mumble.

Derek pulled on his restraints, relishing the bittersweet agony that seared his flesh. He wanted to wallow in the darkness, become resigned to his fate, but he was a soldier and still had a mission. The darkness around him was illuminated as his eyes flashed amber, and for the first time since he was changed, Derek grinned. He was used to being patient, to waiting for days in silence, waiting to pounce on his prey. The wolf in him now made it more enjoyable as adrenaline flooded his veins.

He would wait, and he would be patient.

And then Neville Morris would die.

The past bled into the present as consciousness came to him slowly, a wave of nausea flooding through him—although he wasn’t completely certain whether the nausea was from the drug or his haunted past. Remembering those times tended to give him a violent reaction.

Painfully, he turned on his side and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. His stomach heaved and clenched as he lay back down against the pillow and groaned. He never got sick… except for that one time Ricky had plied him with his own concocted moonshine. This was like the hangover from hell. What had happened to him?

Flashes of memories came back to him—getting jumped outside the station, being drugged, and then… nothing. Not many supes could have gotten the jump on him. If he hadn’t been so caught up thinking about Ever, then maybe he would have been paying better attention. Christ, his head hurt.

He tried to tap into the mating bond that tied him and Ever together, but not even a trace of it remained. It frayed his nerves, unsettling him. Despite the fact that the bond was new and tender, Derek found it calming. Having it tempered screwed with his balance.

A sliver of light slipped through an unshielded window. Despite the illumination, Derek found it difficult to focus. Everything sounded like he was underwater, and the only sound that could be heard was the pounding in his own ears. Whatever he’d been shot up with, it had taken away the supernatural aspect of his physiology.

Not accustomed to the stark blindness of his senses, Derek felt around on the surface he rested on, and his fingers discovered a sticky substance. He lifted up his hand, and the crimson, cold blood made his stomach lurch again.

Blinking a couple of times, he concentrated and focused on his surroundings. It appeared he was in a high-end apartment. The bedroom he was in consisted of brown walls, and he had already acquainted himself with the oak hardwood floor. The curtains were pulled slightly closed, but the small gap was where the faint sunlight was coming from.

He glanced down at himself and fought back the bile that flooded his throat. Apart from a minimalistic pair of black boxers, Derek was naked and covered in gore. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth. It came back bloody.

His eyes darted to the side, and he leapt off the bed, retreating until his back connected with the harsh coldness of the windowpane. His breathing was ragged, and for the first time in a long time, he felt an emotion that he’d pushed to the far regions of his mind.

Fear.

The body of a beautiful young woman lay on the bed. Her hair was a dyed blonde, guessing from the dark roots, and her lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, but that wasn’t what made him empty retch once again.

The woman’s body looked as if she had been vivisected, but with claws instead of medical equipment. Her ribs had been cracked open, and her insides now decorated her outside. Blood, bone, and intestine spilled from her open body, her heart visibly missing from her chest, and Derek knew with a sickening certainty that he was being set up.

Or was he?

The thought rushed to the forefront of his mind before he could stop it. Of course he was capable of this—any wolf under a bloodlust would be—but he felt calmer than he had in eons, despite the circumstances. It wasn’t the first time he had seen a body in this state, and the pit of his stomach lurched when he recalled how he had administered a death like that to many a wolf under the order of Neville Morris.

He glanced around the room again and saw that both his clothing and what he suspected was her clothing lay tossed around the room. If he had to garner a guess, whoever had devised this plan had been so organized, so meticulous in their thinking, that they’d made it look as if Derek and the woman had been embroiled in a night of passion, and after hurriedly taking off his clothes and having his way with her, Derek had gone to town on her.

But only a small circle of friends and family were in on the secret that he and Ever had mated. It had been done in a rush since they had both been dying, and he’d wanted her to get used to the supernatural side effects that came with the mating bond before he sang it from the rooftops. Wolves mated for life and would never dream of cheating on their mate, so he had an ace in his back pocket.

Spying his pants, he searched through the pockets, surprised to find his phone still there. His first instinct was to contact Ever, but he really didn’t want to alarm her just yet. Instead, he rang the one person he knew would have his back no matter what.

Yo, D, you looking for dating advice before the big night tonight? Like, I know you all chivalrous and shit, but damn! Make a move already! ‘Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen’ won’t work on your missus.

It made him smile to hear his friend’s voice.

Rick, I’m in big trouble, man.

I know. You don’t deserve a chick like that.

Derek sighed. No, Rick. I mean like get my ass put in jail, headed for a swift execution trouble.

And just like that, his friend went into cop mode.

What happened?

I was attacked last night and drugged. I woke ‘bout ten minutes ago next to a dead girl with her chest ripped open.

Jayzus, D… What the fuck?

Derek cleared his throat. A call’s gonna come through to dispatch with an anonymous tip. I say I’ve ten minutes before they storm in here and arrest me. I didn’t do it, Ricky, but it sure looks like I lost my shit and ate her.

Whether you did it or not isn’t even a question that needs answered.

And that’s why Ricky was his best friend.

I’ll give Sarge the heads up, and we will sort this out. Any idea who’s after your fine ass?

Derek snorted. You really need a list? They were wolves, I’m sure of that. But their scents were blocked somehow. Ricky, whatever they gave me, it’s knocked my supernatural senses for six. I can’t really hear or see, and I have no strength.

That’s messed up, D.

You’re telling me.

Okay, just get out of there. Run. We can cover your tracks until we figure out which SOB has it in for you.

You know I can’t do that, mate. I’ll look guilty as hell if I leave the scene.

Ricky blew out a breath at the other end of the phone. How’d I know you were gonna say that, you noble asshat? Okay, keep your shit together. We got your back, D. Never doubt that.

That wasn’t even in question.

Now stop being a soppy git and let me gather the team. We got this.

The line went dead, and Derek shivered. Damn, it wasn’t until he felt utterly human that he realized how much he liked being a wolf. The strength, the constant warmth, and the extra sensory benefits were a major bonus, though he did feel like a monster. Sometimes it disgusted him that he quite liked it—being a monster.

He pulled on his discarded pants so that at least when the uniforms burst in on him he wouldn’t be giving them a peepshow. He braced himself, then studied the woman again. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and the hair was probably to establish a link that he liked blondes, considering that Ever was a blonde.

For a devastating moment, Derek saw Ever when he looked at the body on the bed, her body broken and ripped apart, and shuddered. The vision before him was nothing that he wanted to see for real. He’d done some bad stuff in the past, but whoever had done this was a real monster.

You’re a monster, pup. Embrace it and you’ll be better for it.

Neville Morris had tried to mould him into a monster, to make him the ultimate bodyguard. Morris hadn’t been able to break Derek’s spirit, but he had created a monster.

He listened as the wail of sirens came closer. Tires screeched outside, and Derek sank to his knees. He waited until he heard the door burst in and footsteps stomping up the stairs before he linked his bloody fingers behind his head and waited.

Letting his eyes drift shut, Derek focused on Ever—her smile, her laugh, the maddening way in which he wanted her. She was a light in the dark that consumed him, and he prayed he didn’t lose her in the midst of all this madness. Yet again, he was letting her down, and he feared they would never get to go on the date he kept promising to take her on.

The thundering footsteps came into the apartment, and Derek readied himself. Since he couldn’t smell or hear anything more than his human senses allowed, the heartbeats of those who crashed into the bedroom eluded him. Behind closed lids, he listened to people vomiting, swearing, and wondering what in all hell had happened.

He’d like to know that himself.

He heard a gun click, and for a brief moment, he wished for a quick shot to the head and for his life to be over, to be free of his past. But it never came.

Doyle? Derek Doyle, is that you?

He inclined his head but remained silent.

What the fuck did you do, son?

Derek recognised the voice of the human captain of police. When Derek didn’t answer him, the captain cursed, and Derek heard him mutter an order to his subordinates to stay back. He came forward, and Derek tried to ease the tension that hunched his shoulders. Silver cuffs snapped against his skin, and Derek hissed, quietening when he heard the distinctive sound of a shotgun being pumped.

Captain Kelly slowly eased Derek’s arm behind his back, repeating the action with his right arm. More people entered the room, and Derek counted to ten as he inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth.

Okay, Doyle. Stand up slowly; no sudden moves.

Derek rose to his feet and calmly opened his eyes. The shock and disgust from men who had, only three weeks ago, followed him without so much as a questioning eyebrow made him flinch inwardly. He remained as still as possible as he didn’t relish the idea of getting shot with silver ammo.

So Doyle, the captain said softly, you and me are going to—very slowly—make our way out of here and down the stairs. Once outside, you will get in the back of my squad car, and we will head back to the station where we will talk about what happened. If you understand, nod your head.

When Derek complied, Captain Kelly began to read him his rights. Derek Doyle, under the provision of the state and the Paranormal Offenders Act of 2012, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Jane Doe. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say can and will be used against you. Do you understand?

Yes, sir.

Let’s move out.

The other uniforms stepped back against the walls as the captain led him out of the room and across the apartment. They went down the steps, and Derek winced as the mid-afternoon sun scorched his eyes. There was complete silence until those on the perimeter gasped when they caught sight of his bloodstained torso. A significant crowd had gathered and immediately began to record footage or snap pictures to upload. He imagined how he must look, blood staining his mouth and clothing while being yanked out of a building in cuffs.

Captain Kelly opened the squad car door and motioned for him to get in. Derek followed his instruction and sank into the back of the car. The captain crouched down and shielded his face with the door.

Tom Delaney is one of my good friends, and that’s the only reason why you are not riddled with bullets, Doyle. Plus, you were good police. Stay calm and keep your other half back, or I won’t be able to restrain that lot. Anything you wanna say?

Derek raised his hazel eyes to meet the stern gaze of the captain.

I didn’t do it.

Captain Kelly snorted. Sure. That’s what they all say, Doyle.

The captain retreated and slammed the car door shut. Derek hung his head and prepared to do one of the things he did oh so very well.

He would be patient and he would wait.

Derek remained silent the whole way to the station, his eyes clamped shut as he concentrated on his breathing. He needed more than ever to keep his wolf under check and to give the impression to those around him that he was indeed the epitome of calm. He knew his senses were starting to come back since he could now smell the fact that the captain was badly in need of a shower—the scent of sweat and the bacon sandwich he’d had for lunch intermingled with the smell of vomit that lingered on the floor of the squad car.

Derek cleared his mind and huffed out a breath. Meditation had always been a way to calm the storm that brewed inside him since his time with Neville Morris’s pack. Learning from monks in Thailand had helped him gain the control he so desperately needed to contain the rage, but it had come with a cost.

Nobody knew the whole truth—Derek had lied to those closest to him. Not because he wanted to hurt them, but because Derek had told himself that if they knew he had escaped Morris’s wrath two years before he’d turned up at home, they would’ve been upset.

After escaping Morris’s clutches, Derek had been overwhelmed by the rage he had been suppressing since his change. It had sent him on a downward spiral of blood and dangerous activity, until one day he happened upon a monk who offered to help him harness his anger. The monk saved his life, and after a year, Derek was reassured that he could return home and face his past.

He felt the car bump over the speed ramp at the station gates and wondered if they would parade him through the front door or be kind enough to take him through the back. The reporters should have gotten wind of his arrest by now, and since Sarge liked to brag that he was the poster boy for paranormal policing, this would be the kind of juicy story those vultures would long to sink their teeth into.

The car came to a halt, and Derek patiently waited for the captain’s instructions. The engine turned off, and a pregnant pause followed. Derek huffed out another breath, swallowing hard.

We gonna take this slowly once again, son, just like at the crime scene. I’m gonna bring you in, getcha processed, and then we’ll get ya settled in a cell. The curtains are twitching inside, and everybody’s on edge, the captain sighed, so do things nice and slowly, Doyle, and we all might scrape through this.

Yes, sir, Derek replied, opening his eyes and holding the captain’s gaze.

Captain Kelly snickered but pulled his gaze away first. You’ve got to be the politest prisoner I’ve had in the back of my squad, Doyle.

And probably the most dangerous.

Yeah, that too.

Slipping from the car, the captain strolled around the vehicle and opened Derek’s door. He motioned for him to step out, and Derek swung his long legs to the side and bowed his head to duck out of the car before straightening up. He almost felt amused when he spied the twenty strong, fully