He is without a pack,
He is without a mate,
And he is without a wolf,
He is the sanctuary of brutality, a slaughter that waits for its turn.
He is Killian, the beast built with strength, power, and chaos that yearns for a reign, not of an Alpha, but...
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○ Valerie Press ○
Ethereal.
Despite the marks of war that his features were bearing, he still managed to look hauntingly beautiful. Instead of wearing the look of agony, his face had toned down into something of tranquility, with his perfectly arched eyebrows set straight, eyes closed without pressure as his vast eyelashes rested upon his cheeks. Cuts and bruises blemished the top of his forehead, and there were also a few on the sides of his sharp jaw. The bandages wrapped securely around the large expanse of his torso tightened at every rise and fall of his muscled chest. The lower part of his body was hidden beneath the sheets, obscuring the sight of the entirety of him.
"What is he?" Emma questioned from behind me, her voice contained within as whisper. And like any other werewolf, she couldn't hold herself anywhere within a ten feet radius from the male; the threat of him loud and clear.
The only assurance of safety she had on herself was the thick silver shackles that bound his wrists and ankles onto the bed.
"I ask myself the same thing," I mumbled, standing up from the chair to check the distribution of the IV fluid hung on the side of the man's bed.
I was affected by him as well, but it never reached to the point where even the proximity of the male brought me to my submission. I wasn't sure if it was the antiserum, my wrong dosage causing its effects to increase tenfold and block my instincts as a werewolf, or maybe I was just born with a will that was not easy to bend.
The latter sounded better.
"Valerie."
I looked over my shoulder and saw Beta Reed standing beside a very flustered Emma. While he was standing with the familiar stoical posture that suited a Beta, the short female on his right had her brown eyes casted down, lower lip caught between her teeth as she tried to fight her own inner turmoil.
"Beta Reed," I turned around to greet him with a courteous nod of my head. I glanced at the unconscious male on the bed before making my way into my office. "Let's go."
Beta Reed took his place on the cushioned seat in front of my desk, leaning back against the seat with open legs before raking a hand through his dark hair.
I pawed for a certain object inside my coat pocket and successfully took it out, opening the palm of my hand to see the sharp-ended silver bullet that held the dry remnants of the outsider's blood, the appearance of it holding the promise of pain upon its victims.
I could recall how mortified Emma and I were when I pulled out the first bullet stuck inside the male's chest. The size of it was three inches long, as if it was truly meant to be buried deep through a werewolf's flesh.
"He took fourteen shots of this," I told Beta Reed and placed the single piece of ammo in front of him. His hand was quick to take the tiny piece of death and let a fingertip brush the sharp end of the bullet.
