Bad Love An Alpha’s Regret

It’s been hours since the Enforcers marched me down to the basement of the Council building where they have silver–barred cells they use for rogue wolves, and anyone else either being punished or awaiting punishment at the leisure of the Council.

In the cell across from me is a rogue wolf named Axel Sawyer.

He’s an Alpha who blew in from Texas after reportedly slaughtering a whole bunch of wolves down South, including his own pack if rumors are to be believed. I’d heard the Council were hunting him, but I’d also heard he’d moved on to North Dakota.

That was months ago.

Have the Council been holding him this whole time?

I wonder why, but I’m not going to make conversation with a psychopath who slaughters his own pack, and I obviously have plenty of my own problems to occupy my mind.

Eventually, Samsen comes down and stands outside the bars

to regard me like I’m some new exotic zoo animal.

“Where’s my mate?” I bite out impatiently.

Because they certainly didn’t bring her down to the cells, and I’m worried about what’s happening to her.

Not knowing is making my wolf crazy.

bars underground like this, purposefully depriving them of any natural light or air–but the added element of my mate possibly being in danger and not being able to help her is making my wolf

than usual.

chance it’ll make my wolf so crazed, I won’t be able to restrain it anymore–even with all my considerable self–control–and I’ll end up going

exactly what the

easier to condemn a rogue wolf than a powerful Alpha who is in full control of himself and his

regarding your role in the death of Alpha Tobin Havelock and they will

until you tell

step forward and wrap my

burning reaction. For

Samsen that ultimately this cell won’t hold

was suddenly no longer

I growl at him. “You really want to find

furious but takes a large step back. “When you decide to cooperate and answer our questions, Alpha Rathborn, then maybe you’ll learn

mate.”

that, samsen turns on his

the power of three

Axel drawls from the other side of the

hallway.

wraps his hands

little, but he doesn’t so much as blink.

his own pack,” I reply in a clipped tone. “Glad we