The wrong sort of package
1401 Words
CASPIAN
It’s been days since Serapha, or whatever name she goes by now—stumbled into not only my territory, but also every f*****g part of my head. At first, the innocence in her face, the pure shock and confusion had almost been deceiving. But I know her better than that, know the poison that runs through her veins even if centuries have passed since I last laid eyes on her. She only proved me right when she tried to stick that measly knife into me.
I hate her. That much I know with absolute certainty, have known it for so long that the hatred has become part of my bones. But the fact that she’s so close now, after all these centuries of agony, is too much for my wolf to bear. He wants his mate with a desperation that borders on madness, clawing at my insides with a ferocity that makes it nearly impossible to think straight. Even if accepting her means my own destruction, he doesn’t care. He only knows that she’s here, real, within reach after an eternity of her absence burning like acid in my veins.
The guard’s torture had given me the desired effect. I’d watched her break in front of me, watched the horror wash over her face as I’d torn out his heart. She’d had to be punished, if only to maintain my standing in the eyes of my subjects. They can never perceive me as weak or uncertain. And the truth is, I wanted to punish her—but not in the way people would expect. I wanted to prove to myself just how ill-matched she is for me, how weak and breakable she is. This female has infuriated me, confused me, and tied me up in knots I can’t seem to unravel. I want to break her like I would a wild horse, to strip away every layer of defiance until she’s as raw and exposed as I feel whenever she looks at me with those eyes that still haunt my dreams.
I look at my watch—it’s 7:10 a.m., and I feel like hell. I barely slept all night, her presence thrumming through the mate bond like a constant electric current under my skin. With Serapha in my room, I’ve taken to retiring to the study, telling myself it’ll enable me to get more work done. But the truth is I can’t trust myself around her. Never have.
Even with the recent distractions, there are more pressing matters on ground right now. I remember the assassin caught on the palace grounds just days ago, the cold determination in his eyes when he’d refused to talk until I’d made it clear that his silence would cost him more than his life. I quickly freshen up, splashing cold water on my face and trying to wash away the memory of how Serapha had looked tied to that chair, her skin luminous in the dim light, her eyes blazing with defiance.
I make my way to my office, footsteps echoing down empty corridors as the palace slowly comes to life. While I’m waiting for Marcus, my beta, who’s supposed to come with an update, I check my messages. I see a series of texts from Viktor , one of the younger soldiers I’d deployed to stake out the rogue pack. His last text was from late last night: “I think I’ve stumbled upon something. I’m going to go in and check it out.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. Viktor is reckless and hubristic, as all young people are. But I’d clearly stated for him not to do anything without a go-ahead from me.
I simply text: Where are you?
I wait, watching the screen with growing unease, but I don’t see the three dots that indicate he’s about to respond. Before I can send another message, there’s a sharp knock on my door, and Soren, my commander, walks in with Marcus close behind him.
Soren’s expression is grim, while Marcus looks tense and jumpy.
“We found the weapons,” Soren says at once. “They were hijacked by a rogue pack up north, just like the assassin said.”
“Good,” I say. “Let’s go get them back.”
“Alright,” Soren says, but I can see the hesitation on his face. He glances at Marcus.
“What is it?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.
“The pack was empty,” Marcus says, the words rushing out. “We scoped it out at dawn.
The weapons are there, just sitting in a warehouse like they’re waiting for us, but there’s no one around. No guards, no lookouts, nothing.”
“So?” I say, though I can already feel the pieces clicking together, forming a picture I don’t like.
“It just seems… a little too easy, you know? Like they want us to find them.”
“Those rogues are not the normal ones you encounter,” I say, thinking back to the assassin’s countenance.
“They took those weapons for a reason, and they’re smart enough to know we’d come looking.”
“Those weapons are worth a lot,” I add, trying to convince myself as much as them.
“Maybe they got spooked and abandoned them.”
Marcus nods, but he’s not convinced, and neither am I. I think about the recent attacks on our shipments—first our food stores, then medical supplies, and now weapons. At first, I’d thought it was just opportunistic rogues.
But then they’d taken a shot at me during the last ambush, a silver bullet that had come within inches of my head, and I’d known this was something more coordinated, more dangerous.
“Alright,” I say. “We won’t attack today.
We’ll keep watch and bide our time. I want surveillance teams on that warehouse around the clock, and make sure they stay hidden—if this is a trap, I don’t want to spring it until we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Sure,” Marcus says, relief flooding his face.
My phone vibrates. It’s a guard from the pack gate.
“What is it?” I ask, already moving toward the door.
“A car pulled up to the gate a few minutes ago,” the guard says, his voice tight. “We approached, but it just dropped off a package and sped away before we could get close enough to see the plates.”
“What kind of package?”
“Just a box, Alpha. Maybe two feet tall. Plain cardboard. But given everything that’s been happening—”
“Don’t touch it,” I cut him off, already heading out with Marcus and Soren on my heels. “I’m on my way. Keep everyone back from it.”
The drive takes less than five minutes, but it feels like an eternity. I can feel Serapha’s presence even from this distance, a constant pull at the back of my mind.
I get out when we arrive, gravel crunching under my boots as Soren and Marcus fall into step behind me. The guards have opened the main gates, standing in a loose semicircle, weapons ready.
I can see the plain cardboard box sitting in the middle of the road about twenty feet beyond the gate. It’s not even taped shut—the top flaps are just tucked into each other, casual and careless in a way that makes my instincts scream a warning.
I nod at Soren.
“Check it out,” I say.
Soren walks forward with careful steps, his entire body coiled and ready to spring back. His hand trails unconsciously to the gun at his waist.
He reaches the box and crouches beside it, his hand hovering over the flaps. Then, in one quick motion, he lifts the top flap and looks inside.
He stumbles backward immediately, cursing viciously as he nearly trips over his own feet. The color has drained from his face, and I can see his hands shaking.
Without thinking, I’ve already strode across the distance to join him.
“Alpha—” Soren starts to say, but I’m already looking inside.
I see Viktor’s head staring up at me. Eyes open. Face horribly bruised and beaten.
- Writer
