Read Online Alpha Pack 02 - Savage Awakening by J.D. Tyler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J.D. Tyler
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he tumbled away from the bars, panting.
Silver. The bastards had used motherfucking silver bars to line the cage. Why the metal had burned him, however, was baffling; simply coming into contact with silver wasn’t supposed to hurt in his human form. Being stabbed or shot with it? Sure. So this went down as one more torment to face, the fact that even if he regained the power to shift or use his other gifts, he couldn’t bust out.
He couldn’t take this much longer. He and his wolf were already going out of their collective minds at being held against their will. Hunched over, he concentrated on calming himself. Taking in air, exhaling. As he did, awful smells began to invade his battered senses.
Urine. Feces. Unwashed bodies and the stale, untouched crap that doubled as food. The stench turned his stomach and he concentrated on not being sick. That would only make things worse and—
Another smell seeped into his consciousness and Aric slowly raised his head.
I know that scent. Oh, my God.
“Micah,” he whispered. Then louder. “Micah?”
No answer. For the first time, Aric took stock of the area outside his own prison. His cage was one of many in a row against the wall, and several other figures lay crumpled in theirs much as he’d been when he’d awakened, naked and hopeless. Closing his eyes, he inhaled through his nose, desperately shutting out all but the one scent he wanted to discern, following the trail to the end.
Behind him. Somewhere close. Scooting around to face the opposite direction took forever and left him panting, aching as though he’d been beaten with hammers. But he had to learn the answer to the question that had haunted the Pack since they’d discovered their brother might be alive—where was Micah?
And the answer was right in the next cage. His old friend lay on the dirty floor, curled into himself as though that would keep the monsters at bay. Micah’s brown hair, once a rich sable color worn to his collar, was now filthy and matted, so long it pooled on the concrete around his head. Strands hung over his angular face and his eyes were closed. The man’s breathing was ragged, the horrible rattle in his lungs attesting to his lack of medical care. That fact plus a plate of uneaten dry dog food by the barred door—fuck those assholes for giving his friend that shit—and Micah’s pronounced ribs, hip bones, and concave stomach, told the story of just how critical his situation had become.
His friend was on the brink of death, and Aric could only sit and do nothing.
The urge to reach through the bars, offer comfort, was overwhelming. It hit him that this was likely part of the reason the metal was made of silver, to keep the “test subjects” from having any sort of positive contact, to kill all hope, and it made his blood boil with rage.
“Micah? We’re gonna get the fuck out of here, soon as the Pack comes,” he whispered. “And they
will
come. You hear me?”
His friend didn’t stir.
Aric lowered his head. And for the first time he could recall, tears dripped off his chin to mix with the filth on the floor.
Talk was scarce on the helicopter, given the noise. Rowan would’ve felt a little better with a few more details about where they were going and the plan of action on arrival, but that would have to wait. For now, she sat and eyed her group, still amazed that they were oblivious to her presence.
Guess there’s something to be said for magic after all.
Which brought to mind the gift Sariel said she possessed. Days ago, she’d have dismissed the idea as insane. Now? She’d seen so much in the short time since she’d arrived at the compound, it was mind-blowing. She wasn’t crazy, so that left only one other option.
And she was beginning to believe.
Micah was a Dreamwalker, Nick had claimed. She and her brother had shared dreams since their childhood. Were they able to do that because they shared the same gift? How could she find out?
A headache began to
Silver. The bastards had used motherfucking silver bars to line the cage. Why the metal had burned him, however, was baffling; simply coming into contact with silver wasn’t supposed to hurt in his human form. Being stabbed or shot with it? Sure. So this went down as one more torment to face, the fact that even if he regained the power to shift or use his other gifts, he couldn’t bust out.
He couldn’t take this much longer. He and his wolf were already going out of their collective minds at being held against their will. Hunched over, he concentrated on calming himself. Taking in air, exhaling. As he did, awful smells began to invade his battered senses.
Urine. Feces. Unwashed bodies and the stale, untouched crap that doubled as food. The stench turned his stomach and he concentrated on not being sick. That would only make things worse and—
Another smell seeped into his consciousness and Aric slowly raised his head.
I know that scent. Oh, my God.
“Micah,” he whispered. Then louder. “Micah?”
No answer. For the first time, Aric took stock of the area outside his own prison. His cage was one of many in a row against the wall, and several other figures lay crumpled in theirs much as he’d been when he’d awakened, naked and hopeless. Closing his eyes, he inhaled through his nose, desperately shutting out all but the one scent he wanted to discern, following the trail to the end.
Behind him. Somewhere close. Scooting around to face the opposite direction took forever and left him panting, aching as though he’d been beaten with hammers. But he had to learn the answer to the question that had haunted the Pack since they’d discovered their brother might be alive—where was Micah?
And the answer was right in the next cage. His old friend lay on the dirty floor, curled into himself as though that would keep the monsters at bay. Micah’s brown hair, once a rich sable color worn to his collar, was now filthy and matted, so long it pooled on the concrete around his head. Strands hung over his angular face and his eyes were closed. The man’s breathing was ragged, the horrible rattle in his lungs attesting to his lack of medical care. That fact plus a plate of uneaten dry dog food by the barred door—fuck those assholes for giving his friend that shit—and Micah’s pronounced ribs, hip bones, and concave stomach, told the story of just how critical his situation had become.
His friend was on the brink of death, and Aric could only sit and do nothing.
The urge to reach through the bars, offer comfort, was overwhelming. It hit him that this was likely part of the reason the metal was made of silver, to keep the “test subjects” from having any sort of positive contact, to kill all hope, and it made his blood boil with rage.
“Micah? We’re gonna get the fuck out of here, soon as the Pack comes,” he whispered. “And they
will
come. You hear me?”
His friend didn’t stir.
Aric lowered his head. And for the first time he could recall, tears dripped off his chin to mix with the filth on the floor.
Talk was scarce on the helicopter, given the noise. Rowan would’ve felt a little better with a few more details about where they were going and the plan of action on arrival, but that would have to wait. For now, she sat and eyed her group, still amazed that they were oblivious to her presence.
Guess there’s something to be said for magic after all.
Which brought to mind the gift Sariel said she possessed. Days ago, she’d have dismissed the idea as insane. Now? She’d seen so much in the short time since she’d arrived at the compound, it was mind-blowing. She wasn’t crazy, so that left only one other option.
And she was beginning to believe.
Micah was a Dreamwalker, Nick had claimed. She and her brother had shared dreams since their childhood. Were they able to do that because they shared the same gift? How could she find out?
A headache began to
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