Page 58 of Alpha Hunt

Reaching out with my mind, I try to pick up on the thoughts of those inside, but they’re murky and unclear. It’s like a fog has settled over their minds, obscuring them.

Pressing closer, I put my nose to the earth, inching along until I find a gap in the fence line. The high fence around the perimeter seems to be more of a failsafe than an actual measure to hold wolves in. Basically the outer boundary of the sanctuary. I slip in and keep to the shadows, flitting along the more densely vegetated areas to keep out of sight.

As I explore the grounds, I notice the hidden security checkpoints and monitoring devices along the trails – there’s a whole lot of security here for what is essentially a zoo.

Now that night has fallen, I become aware of a new set of occupants. Shapes emerged from the buildings – rougher, more dangerous men than the game rangers I’d seen earlier.

These are them. The ones who run the real operation.

Keeping a careful eye on their activities, I duck into the cover of a dense thicket and sink onto my haunches. In front of one of the larger buildings is a pen constructed from heavy metal bars encased in thick mesh fencing. High-voltage signs affixed to the mesh explain the low buzz of electricity that hums from it. It makes me shudder.

Everything tells me that this is what I need to keep in sight.

Nestling back into the bushes, I lie low and silent. I stay this way for at least a couple of hours before something changes. There’s a shout from within and then the sound of metal grating. Men call out to each other. A door swings open.

My heart pounds as I watch them lead a shape from one of the structures. There are two men in front and another two at the back, all holding what look like thick chain leashes. And what they’re dragging – snapping and slavering – is a heavily bound gray wolf.

Not a wild wolf.

Even from a distance, I can tell it’s a shifter.

Fuck!

Barrett was right. I hadn’t doubted his words, but seeing the concrete evidence with my own eyes makes the grim reality all the more undeniable. My heart pounds as I take in the scene unfolding before me. There’s no mistaking what lies within those harsh metal walls – a prison designed to contain the most dangerous of captives.

My jaw clenches as one of the men aims a kick at the beast, which snarls and thrashes at him. It’s been muzzled, but that doesn’t diminish the flash of anger behind its glowing eyes. I can see the unfettered fury from where I’m hiding. As it lunges forward, one of the others shoves it hard with a stick, which releases a jolt of energy.

Cattle prod.

Motherfuckers!

The animal jerks violently, huge paws raking claws against the raw concrete floor leading to the enclosure. I reach out to its thoughts, hoping to pick up something…anything…about it, but all I get is blind rage and hatred.

This beast is feral.

“Stop messing with it, you dick!” one of the men yells. He appears to be some sort of supervisor. He’s standing to one side, dressed in black leather and heavy boots. His hair’s slicked back beneath a dark bandana. It looks like the outfit of choice because most of the others are dressed similarly.

“C’mon, let us have a little bit of fun,” the guy with the cattle prod responds. I stifle a rattling growl as he jabs the wolf again. It snarls and tries to spin on him but is hampered by the chains around its throat. The bastard whoops and leaps out of the way, laughing wildly.

“If that thing gets you, I’m not dragging you to the hospital, asshole,” Bossguy says. “You saw what happened to Carl when that last one got loose.”

“No hospital was ever gonna put Carl back together,” another one snorts.

“That’s coz he was an idiot,” Cattle Prod Guy says. “I’m light on my feet.”

“Right now, you’re a live idiot. Try to keep it that way. We don’t have time for more shit.”

“I think Carl’s lucky he got iced,” someone mumbles. “The head honchos woulda killed him nice and slow for letting one of these things go. They’re worth big bucks.”

The guy with the prod waves it in the direction of the wolf again.

“I said quit it!” The leader seems to have reached his tolerance level because his fists are clenched, and his voice has dropped to a growl. “The big chief said fifteen minutes each, and there are still six more.”

Six more…they have more than half a dozen shifters in there. How the fuck have they managed to stay hidden for so long?

“He’s right; we need to get out of here in a couple of hours if we want to get ready for that new shipment,” one of the other handlers says.

My blood curdles.