She's Human but Alpha Wants Her Back.

Chapter Fifteen.

Rea's POV.

First, I needed to get to the garden, find a wolfsbane, and figure out how to get out of this hellhole… alive.

I never would have guessed that such a place, so quiet like a commentary, was close to me all this time. Which area around the pack was left unguarded? It made no sense that this place was free from the presence of wardens who would usually patrol from place to place endlessly. Or perhaps they only did it at night, and this was morning, so maybe this was my chance to do it once and for all.

Upon hearing the man's wailing from afar, my heart sank, but I chose to peep first, spinning around to the opposite direction since that was where the voice was coming from. But time wasn't on my side; I should find the garden and forget about anything else. It was probably Alpha Damien or his men, taking retribution upon those who rebelled against him or the pack laws—none of it of my business.

But no. The yowls kept crawling into my ears, making it impossible to focus, my skin prickling, eyes darting around the place, keeping alert and ready to bolt anytime. One wrong move, and I might be sent back into the cage with chain and handcuffs around me, or at worst forced to face harsher conditions with Alpha Damien. He would be mad, and the repercussions would definitely be disastrous. The mere thought of facing Alpha Damien after being caught escaping or rebelling returned a dizzying ache in my head, which I last felt since he left.

I thought of returning to the dining room and maybe just sit there and wait for him to return, fully aware of the consequences of going against Damien.

Held by my own thoughts and fear of repercussions, I spun again towards the oak door of the mansion—the small back door, exactly where I had come out of. But on my way, I found a small creak on the wall, too small for even a bottle to slip through, where I peeked through and found what sent terror clawing up my guts.

A discarded body of an aged, full-bearded man lay faced up, sprawled in a pool of blood at the corner of the expanse of space.

Then it prompted my curiosity and made me peer further.

Werewolves in their number circled around four men who were bound with heavy chains and made to remain on their knees, minus the one who had already been killed and discarded at one corner of the empty house.

The men were unmistakably… humans.

Some were thirty-something, others looked like men in their mid-forties, with moustaches and well-trimmed goatees flecked with gray. The one whose body was motionless and tossed aside was definitely the oldest.

Their faces were covered with transparent plastic bags, adding cruel heat to their punishment, and even though they wailed and pleaded for their lives, their voices only came out muffled, choked by the bags around their faces.

Were they travellers who lost their way and needed refuge? Or hunters who came to hunt? Or thieves who needed something valuable from the pack? Damien's fortunes and establishments? Oh, they wouldn't dare. Or worst, did they owe him money, secrets, or truths—anything?

They ordered one up and removed the plastic bag from his face before leaning him against an old wooden table, already stained with blood. Behind it sat no one else but Alpha Damien.

Blood dried from my face.

This was where he left to?

And warned that he was waiting and watching.

I found myself struggling with the need to either bolt immediately and get myself the main reason I had come here. After all, he was focused on something different now, which could take longer than it would me to walk around the mansion and find a wolfsbane. Since the men were four in number and by the look of things, he was attending to each of them one after the other, tormenting and inflicting pain.

The whole scene felt confusing for a split second. Why were they in such a horrible gathering? The one who was groaning some minutes back was probably the one dead on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

Who would intentionally want to do anything to provoke Damien's wrath? Even a kid in a creche knew how deadly the pack was for humans.

The men were probably fresh invaders. They didn't look like the ones I had met at the gate earlier. Those ones were probably lucky sets—lucky to have themselves as laborers only. Their clothes were clean and intact, not torn by sharp edges during labor or by sharp claws of the wolves when they attacked, not stained with blood from merciless beatings when they failed to do a job well, or by motor oil in the engine rooms, or dust when they fell down, pressed under heavy objects they were often subjected to carry.

I kept my composure, even though my heartbeat thudded in my chest like it wanted to exit—loud, wild, and uncontrollable. I even feared the men at the far end could hear how loud it was, watching as the other man was brought forward to the blood-stained old wooden table. Only then did he begin to wail, dread filling his eyes as he watched helplessly while the men bound him to the table. His fingers stretched and ready to be taken down anytime. Wolves circled him, making sure his face always lifted to meet Damien's.

Alpha Damien spoke to the man in his usual calm, relaxed mood and tone, one that makes you never anticipate the intensity of what comes next. However, I wasn't able to hear what he said, but I did hear the man: "I swear I'm not working with anyone...please spare the girl." He cried.

Damien chuckled low and motioned for a blood-stained axe.

I watched the man's face light up in horror as he pleaded and wailed. But it all fell on deaf ears as Damien lifted the axe with brutal force, slamming it down on the mans finger, severing it instantly.

A hot ripple tore through me instantly as my whole body jerked violently. It wasn't me, neither was it my blood, but I felt so sorry for the man.

Poor guy!

He was either not warned, or the reason for invading was more important than life itself; if not, there was no reason for coming here in the first place.

The sound of his wails cut through me like a thousand knives pressed deep inside my chest. It was suffocating, humiliating, and yet I couldn't do anything to help him other than watch and pray to remain unnoticed—or I'd be next.

Alpha Damien retreated, jaw clenching, eyes darkening with cold dismissal, interest dead, as if the man no longer deserved his energy. The moment he stepped away, he signaled his men to finish up.

And they did. Instantly. In an instant, the man was dead, right at the back of his skull, and immediately tossed aside, just like the other man.

The gunshot rattled the walls, and everything else went muffled for a dead five seconds.

The other men, seeing what had happened to two of their peers, shifted uncomfortably, their wails louder but still muffled.

It all felt like a movie scene.

It all felt freaking unreal.

I never believed I would witness a murder scene from which the hitman was the same man I let screw me on the very first day I saw him, thinking it was going to be my safest way out. Now it was clear he was not the kind of man who could easily be pleased or convinced with a short fling.

The other man was next. He was pulled to the table, the plastic bag removed from his face.

I froze in place immediately on getting a clear view of his face.

Dad's close friend Andy!

Then it clicked: Dad must have sent them to come for me!

Tears.