Lone Wolf (The Wulf Pack Book 1)

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Chapter Nineteen

Rage had strapped the alpha to a metal chair in the center of the concrete room. The man did not protest as he buckled each leather strap, securing his arms and legs into place.

The room was made for torture, the dirt floor black with the layers of blood that had soaked into it. The earthy smell was long gone, now replaced by the smell of death and the little she-wolf. Though Rage doubted it was only her blood that painted the ground.

It did make him wonder how deep the blood had soaked into the soil, how many years, how many wolves, how many deaths had occurred in this dirt basement.

One wall was lined with cages, all of which were empty, dried blood and other bodily fluids coated each of them, only adding to the rotting smell of death that hung heavy in the air. While the opposite side of the room held many tools, most of which were often used in horror movies. They were surprisingly clean, considering the condition of their home. The far wall, opposite the stairwell, held a trough like sink that was brown and rusted, barely holding onto the wall it was once secured to.

The center of the room was where the action happened, the blood stains spiderweb from the metal chair and a metal table like they used in morgues.

The dim light illuminated the space around them from a single light bulb. The light shinning off of the tools as if they were new.

Rage examined the wall decorated in weapons, letting his mind wonder over the many things he could use to torture and kill this male.

With a wicked grin and a glint in his eye, he grabbed some of his favorites, ones he knew would be painful but not do too much damage.

Setting each tool onto the table, each causing a clink to echo along the walls. The Alpha was shaking, his bitter smell of his fear reminded Rage of lemonade.

When he turned, he found the male, with his face as white as his knuckles, all the blood leaving in fear as he gripped the arms of the chair.

“First things first,” Rage stepped up to the shaking male, he reached out and gripped his jaw, using his fingers to force his mouth open.

The Alpha tried to pull away, he tried to shake his head loose from the vice like grip that held him in place.

Rage only watched, waiting for his moment. He smiled when it came, the male tried to scream.

As soon as his tongue moved, Rage sliced, blood gushing from the wound.

The smell of urine filled the air as the man, tried to scream, only to choke on his own blood. Rage release him, having done what he intended, he moved back to the table, to set the scalpel onto the shinny surface, a small drop of blood dripping from the blade.

He didn’t turn as a choking noise filled the room, as the blood was coughed up. The wet plop was what Rage had been waiting for, the possibility of the man choking on his tongue now gone.

“That should keep you quiet enough for me to have my fun, without interruptions,”

Rage turned to the wide-eyed, now mute, male. Gripping the next tool in his hand, he smiled, letting the leather unravel itself, drawing scared eyes to the set of daggers nestled into their own little pockets.

Faster then could be registered, a dagger was removed and made itself at home in the targets shoulder.

The man scream was cut off by his own choking as the blood ran down throat.

The second dagger found itself in the targets knee, perfectly slipping into the soft spot below the kneecap.

Once more the attempt to scream was stopped by the flow of blood, drawing it from its path, between lips and down the chin. With each attempted scream he only made it harder on himself.

Rage let the last four daggers go, in quick concession. Each one buried deep into the flesh, a few into bone.

Tossing the, now, empty leather case, onto the table, he pulled off another tool. He paused to look at the pliers, wondering if it would cause him to choke and end this sooner than planned.

Rage looked back at the table wondering if anything else would be better.

With another wicked idea, he moved over to the ballpien hammer. Something he used mostly for interrogations, but it was painful, and that was the point, after all.

The past Alpha’s head hung, chin pushed to his chest as he bled from the many wounds.

Rage was surprised he lasted this long, he had been sure that by now he would have passed out. Yet he was still wide awake, blood still spewing from his mouth. His skin was pale now, the loss of blood causing him to weaken.

Rage knew when it was time to stop, time to end the life of his target.

This one had endured hours of torture, blood loss and pain. Had taken daggers like a dartboard, withstood a hammer to his hands, knees and feet. He had hundreds of cuts from knives, missing fingers and toes and handled the beating Rage gave him, resulting in bruises, a black eye and broken jaw.

It was the blowtorch that did him in. The moment the blue flame hit his skin, his body convulsed. His body no longer having control of his bodily functions. That’s when Rage knew this all had come to an end.

Setting the hand held blowtorch onto the table, now covered in blotches of red. He grabbed the last, untouched item placed there.

Stepping around the chair to stand behind the male, he leaned down, his face close to his ear so he was sure he was heard.

“Say hello to the Moon Goddess for me, if she allows you to lay eyes upon her,” there was no response as he righted him self, gripping the hatchet in both hands, he swong.

With a thump, the head rolled, stopping not far from the chair.

Rage rounded the chair, his bare feet sinking into the bloody mud, he gripped the head by the hair, taking it over to the table.

He set the hatchet down and picked up the pliers, before he placed the head down aswell.

Prying the blood filled mouth open, he gripped the fangs, pulling each out with a swift tug of the pliers. They would be his gift to Willow, the proof that her old alpha was now gone.

With teeth in hand, he bound up the steps, stopping at the door, only for a moment, to listen for movement. When he heard none, he moved through the house, leaving bloody footprints back to the dead alpha.

The clearing was silent as he crossed it. The sun was just rising, most of the sky still navy blue with a peak of purple at the tips of the trees.

Quickly he reached the tree line, retrieved his bag and shifted after securing the teeth inside.

He was gone before a single person awoke, successfully killing the alpha and surprisingly no one else.

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