Watching as the blonde stomped outside, Ally called out, “Before you go, I was just wondering . . . do you like how I taste?”
Rachelle’s eyes bugged, and her cheeks turned purple. “You bitch!”
Laughing more than she’d laughed in a long time, Ally slammed the door shut.
CHAPTER TWO
I’m calling in a favor.”
That was all the message had said.
The sooner Derren Hudson found out what his friend meant by that, the better. Because, despite being on the visitor’s side of the protective glass, Derren wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of there. Being in this place, surrounded by guards; bare walls; the bleak atmosphere; and the scents of fear, oppression, and dejection . . . it all brought back memories that he didn’t want to think about. Memories that had his wolf pacing with angst.
A door far behind the glass opened, and a number of shifters in orange jumpsuits began to file out, each heading to their visitors. Derren straightened in his seat when a wolf he hadn’t seen in five years came striding toward him wearing a crooked grin.
It was never good to owe a sociopath a favor, and there was no doubting that Cain Holt had become exactly that. Bearing in mind the things that had happened to him long ago in a juvenile detention at the hands of abusive human guards, it was no real surprise that the guy had shut off emotionally. Derren and Cain had watched each other’s backs in that hellhole, which was why Derren would always consider him a friend . . . even if the guy had lost his moral compass.
Cain’s hatred and disgust of prejudiced humans had led him to join The Movement—a band of shifters that worked to protect their kind from human anti-shifter extremists who attempted to introduce laws such as sequestering shifters to their own territories, inhibiting them from mating with humans, placing each one on a register, and limiting shifter couples to one child.
These extremists argued that shifters were too dangerous, violent, and animalistic to be around humans. Some of those laws might have come to pass—thus starting a war—if the extremists hadn’t been exposed for running a hunting preserve that allowed them to hunt, brutalize, and ultimately kill shifters, including their pups. The brutality had shocked the nation and, as such, discredited the extremists’ argument.
However, that hadn’t stopped the extremists from continuing to press for restrictive laws and committing random acts of violence, and so The Movement had been formed and was growing in power each day. It wasn’t what anyone would call “subtle;” they liked to make public statements to convey that prejudice and violence wouldn’t be tolerated.
In sum, shifters were doing exactly what all predators did when under attack: they were fighting back. If the extremists had expected shifters to be victims, that was their mistake.
The human law enforcement agencies thought they’d identified the key players within The Movement. In truth, they didn’t have a damn clue. Shifters like Cain acted as a front, a face for people to point at, which placed Cain and others like him under the constant watch of law enforcement . . . thus enabling the true key players to remain under the radar.
Although Cain and others acted as faces of The Movement, they never did anything that would enable the humans to pin serious charges on them. As such, the humans had arrested Cain and a few other shifters on minor charges, determined to have them serve some time in confinement. Derren honestly didn’t know how Cain was coping with being cooped up all over again. He had to give the guy credit where it was due.
As Cain took the seat behind the glass and put the telephone receiver to his ear, his guard backed away—fear shimmering in his eyes. Yeah, Cain’s reputation had a way of inspiring fear in people. Lifting his own receiver, Derren greeted him simply: “Cain.”
The wolf nodded. “Been a long time.” Although they had remained in contact over the last five years, they hadn’t spoken in person. “We can talk freely. My guard kindly removed the bug from this phone.”
Most likely out of blind terror, thought Derren.
Cain glanced around. “Brings back a lot of memories for you, doesn’t it?”
Too many.
“Heard you were made Beta of the Mercury Pack. I’d say congratulations, but I’m doubting you’re happy about it.”
Cain was right. Derren disliked responsibilities. Why? Because responsibilities meant being committed to something, and being committed to something meant losing freedom and choices. If there was one thing that Derren wasn’t good with—thanks to spending much of his youth in juvie—it was being trapped or hemmed in. And that was exactly how his position made him feel.
So many responsibilities came with being Beta, including advising his Alpha on important issues and acting as a negotiator when dealing with other packs. Derren’s average day involved patrolling the border of pack territory, helping to train and lead the enforcers, spending time in his office doing paperwork, and dealing with any grievances from the pack. In a nutshell, his job was to sustain the emotional and physical protection of each and every one of his twelve pack mates.
It was a lot to take on for someone who was particularly averse to responsibilities. He would have turned the job down if his Alpha, Nick Axton, hadn’t been one of the people who watched his back in juvie. Derren owed him. He supposed he should be thankful the pack was relatively small. Many of his pack mates had commented on how well he “fit” the role, given his personality and temperament.
“It takes a particular kind of wolf to be Beta,” his Alpha female, Shaya, had said. “Someone who’s observant, good at giving advice, and commands obedience; someone who’ll confront issues head-on, who’s extremely protective by nature, and who is perfectly in tune with the Alpha male. That’s you, sweetie.”