Collateral Damage

by Susan Harris

  They continued to ask him questions, and Melanie felt compelled to get closer. With her nose almost pressed against the glass, she studied the scene before her as the other griffin moved to stand by her partner.

  “Have you ever killed someone before?”

  Melanie shivered when Derek lifted his head and flashed the griffins a feral smile.

  “Yes.”

  Truth, but that didn’t surprise her, not one bit.

  “How many?”

  Derek didn’t answer. He let a smug expression slide over his face.

  “I asked how many, Agent Doyle.”

  Still Derek didn’t answer, but his eyes never strayed from the griffins’.

  Derek’s niece, Chloe, cleared her throat and said, “According to the rules you set forth, my client is only to answer yes or no to questions unless asked to elaborate. He is only abiding by the rules and refusing to speak, as you have stated he cannot do so unless asked a yes or no question. Do you need to be reminded of your own rules again, Agent, or is this interview suspended?”

  If Melanie could have given the woman a high five and not have gone for her jugular, she would have.

  The griffin who seemed to have it in for Derek almost burst with anger. “Agent Doyle,” she grunted, “do you know how many people you have killed in your lifetime?”

  “Yes.”

  “Care to elaborate as to how many?”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?” she spluttered.

  “No.”

  Melanie couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled to the surface. She was horrified that she couldn’t remain professional until she heard the familiar tone of Donnie’s chuckle and Caitlyn’s husky laughter behind her.

  Again, Chloe advised the griffins to be specific with their questions.

  Playtime was over—Melanie could read it in the griffins’ expressions and body language. She had spent the majority of her previous life hidden behind her computer, but observing interviews and working a case made her feel like she was meant to do this. Would Caitlyn let her?

  Melanie cast her eyes in Donnie’s direction. He raised an eyebrow and said, “I’ll talk to her.”

  Attention back on Derek, Melanie wet her lips as the griffin asked, “Have you ever killed someone in the manner in which this woman was killed?”

  Derek hesitated with his response, and Melanie told herself that the sudden rapid beating of his heart didn’t mean anything at all.

  “Agent Doyle, please answer the question.”

  The griffin pressed him for an answer, but it wasn’t one Melanie was expecting.

  “Yes.”

  Melanie jerked away from the window. As the image of the poor girl who had died so violently rushed through her head, she mumbled, “He’s telling the truth. He killed someone just like those pictures before.”

  She really wished she had refrained from asking Caitlyn to show her the crime scene pics on the way to the station. Sarge hushed her, and she reluctantly turned back to the interview before her. Ashamed of her reaction, though, Melanie could not bring her eyes to meet Derek’s again.

  She listened as Derek explained what he meant, about how the wolf who had bitten him had forced him to compete in fights to the death, had forced him to inflict such a death on the losers in order to stay alive. Pity and surprise flooded her, and she felt a tear slip from her eyes. Derek was one of the nicest people she knew, and she felt a great sadness that this had happened to him.

  “I know exactly how many wolves I killed in that manner. Seventy-two. As the runt of the pack, I fought my way to beta of the pack after seventy-two dominance fights.”

  Seventy-two wolves killed by Derek…

  “How many of those were you forced to do? And before you get all smart-assed, you have free rein to speak.”

  Derek folded his arm across his chest. “Morris forced me to endure fifty-nine in my first five years as a wolf. The rest I did to gain access to Morris so I could eat his sadistic heart.”

  Truth, truth, truth.

  Hands came down on the table in front of Derek. With her nose almost touching his, the griffin asked with a smirk, “And tell us, dear wolf… did you enjoy it?”

  Chloe straightened, arguing against the line of questioning and asking if they were free to leave. The other griffin said no, that she wanted to hear his answer. Chloe began to protest once again, but Derek squeezed her hand to quiet her.

  Emotion fled his face, and there was a cold, hard look in his eyes as he said, “I’ll answer your question, Agent Gober, no problem.”

  He bared his teeth, and Gober sprang back, a hiss on her lips.

  “Yes, I enjoyed killing them. I enjoyed the feel of their flesh underneath my nails and teeth. I savoured the taste of their blood as it worked down my throat, and you know what else? I so fucking enjoyed the moments when my bare hands ripped their heart from their chest and it gave one last twitch in my hand. That honest enough for you?”

  Shock coursed through the room, and Melanie staggered back. He was being honest, so brutally honest that it frightened her to think of Derek like that. But an unbelievably strong scent overpowered that emotion, bringing forth the monster in her as the viewing-room door sprang open and the object of her hunger sauntered in.

  “Hey guys, how’s it… Lanie, you look g—”

  His words were cut off as Melanie sprang forward and pinned Ricky against the wall. She brushed her nose against the curve of his neck and inhaled the scent of him—leather and motorcycle oil and just him, just Ricky. Her fangs sprang free of their own accord, and she fought against the urge to sink them into the curve of his neck where that delicious vein pulsed.

  “You just had to come back early, didn’t you?” Donnie growled.

  “Well, if you had fucking told me why I was sent on babysitting duty, then I might have had the sense to stay away.”

  Melanie snarled at the idea that he would have stayed away from her. She pressed herself closer to him, her body flush against his, and felt his arousal. Her lips peeled back, and she whimpered, “Donnie, help me…”

  Ricky set his hands on either side of her hips as Caitlyn inched forward. Melanie hissed at Caitlyn, her fingers wrapping around Ricky’s throat. When Caitlyn took another step, Melanie heard a guttural voice coming from her own lips.

  “Mine.”

  Caitlyn guffawed. “I have no interest in your paramour, Melanie. I just don’t wish for you to do something you may regret.”

  Hunger punched her stomach, lust curled inside her, and she lifted her gaze to meet Ricky’s own. She was surprised to see him grin.

  When Donnie made to grab her, Ricky shook his head. “She can do this on her own, Donnie. Can’t you, Lanie? Once you think about it, you’ll step back, and I’ll leave until it’s easier for ya, babe.”

  Her grip tightened on his throat.

  “Possessive little vampire. I like it. Nice to know you still have that fire in you, babe.”

  “It hurts.”

  His hand squeezed her hip, and she shuddered. “I know babe, and I’m sorry. If I’d known this was why they were keeping you away, then I’d have listened, I promise. Now, wanna let me go so Donnie isn’t forced to do something he really doesn’t want to do?”

  She growled again, not wanting to let him go. She wanted to sink her fangs into his neck and taste him.

  A slow, sexy smile crept across the warlock’s face, and he lowered his voice. “I know, babe, but think about it. The first time you sink those pretty little fangs into my neck, I wanna be inside you, too.”

  Truth.

  Shocked by the bluntness in his voice, Melanie staggered back, releasing him and storming over to stand by Donnie. Her body trembled, but she dug her heels in as Ricky rubbed his throat.

  He stared daggers at Caitlyn and Donnie before coming forward. “See? I told you that you were stronger.”

  Donnie grabbed his arm as he came closer, and the tension drew another whimper from Melanie.


  Shaking his arm free of Donnie’s grasp, Ricky leaned in and brushed his lips over Melanie’s, the warmth of his touch a harsh contrast to her own coldness. “See ya soon, babe.” And with another sexy smile, Ricky spun and scarpered from the room.

  Once his scent had vanished, Melanie’s knees almost buckled, and she hid her face behind her hair.

  Donnie gripped her chin and pulled her eyes up. “Remind me later to tell you what I did to Caitlyn when I awoke as a vampire. And how she kicked my ass for it. You’re not the first vampire to succumb to lust.”

  Melanie peered into the viewing room and saw Derek being escorted from the room. The griffins remained, the one who had been seated rising from her chair.

  “You were harsh on him, Rebecca.”

  “I was only doing my job, Courtney. It’s our job to decipher truth from lie.”

  “Then why does it feel like you had an ulterior motive?”

  Rebecca snorted, her yellow eyes shining. “We both know Derek Doyle mauled that girl and deserves to die. I don’t know how he lied, but he did, and I will get justice for the girl.”

  The other griffin sighed. “And you are telling me everything?”

  “Of course I am.”

  A sickly sweet taste coated Melanie’s tongue. “She’s lying… that bitch is hiding something.”

  After Ricky’s sudden reappearance, Derek was quickly ushered from the interview room. The griffins wanted him sent back down to the cells, but Sarge had snarled and ordered that Derek be left to him until it was decided if he was to be charged or not. Derek had hesitated, but when Sarge ordered him into the P.I.T. office, he complied. Chloe followed, telling him she needed to head out, but she assured him she was only a phone call away if he needed her. Derek pulled his niece in for a hug and thanked her.

  “You are family, Derek, and we look after our own. Try not to get in any more trouble while I’m gone, though, okay?”

  After Chloe left, Derek replayed the interview over and over in his head. Of course, the griffins would drag up his blood-soaked past—it’s exactly what he would’ve done. It made sense that anyone wishing to frame him for murder would delve into his past with Neville Morris, and once they discovered how Morris liked wolves to be killed, that would make the perfect means to get under his skin.

  And of course he hadn’t lied. There was no point omitting the truth when the griffins could sense a lie. It sickened him to remember how much he had revelled in the bloodlust, how the feel of flesh ripping apart under his very human teeth had felt. But what he didn’t say was that every single time he had killed in that way, he’d imagined his opponent was Neville Morris himself, and that it was Neville’s heart in the palm of his hand at the end of the fight.

  It was exactly how he pictured he would kill Neville in the future.

  Rounding his desk, Derek breathed in the lingering scent of Ever and sighed. He didn’t want her to see this side of him, the evil that lurked beneath the surface. Ever was sunshine on a rainy day, and as corny as it sounded, he felt that the darkness in him could taint that. But the selfish part of him didn’t care as long as she remained by his side.

  He growled at himself, sliding down the wall until he hit the floor. Pulling his knees up, the coldness of the floor under his feet calmed the lick of fiery temper seeping from his bones. He rested his head back against the wall and scrubbed a hand down his stubbled face. Derek tried to focus on figuring out who might be behind this, but his thoughts kept dragging back to the murky waters of his past and the demons he couldn’t drown.

  Closing his eyes, Derek hoped he wouldn’t sink.

  His broken nose had yet to fix itself after last night’s round of beatings, and the crack in his ribs stung like a mother as it knitted itself back together. It had taken a lot to break his ribs, thanks to his werewolf healing, but the downside was that Morris considered him fighting fit after a mere twenty-four-hours’ rest. Derek blinked away the crusts of congealed blood that had pooled at the corners of his eyes, his hair drenched in sweat. He despised what he had become, a monster who killed with relish and glee. Glancing down at the blood that stained his hands, he fisted them, trying to block out the lingering screams of the wolf he had killed last night.

  His stomach flipped, and he bit back the urge to vomit, having learned quickly that any sign of weakness would be used against him. If the sight of blood made him ill, then Morris would up the ante, leading to more bloodshed and murder. He had killed fifteen people in the last month under Morris’s orders. Survival of the fittest, that’s what his alpha wanted, and since Derek had taken out the weaker of the pack members, he fully understood that he now had to move up a tier. The fights would get longer and nastier.

  Despite the fact that he had the physical strength of a wolf and was a trained soldier, he lacked the killer instinct of most of the wolves, and his transformation had left his muscles weak and his timing off. He needed to get strong again, to stop wallowing in this pit of self-hatred and claw his way out of this hellhole by whatever means necessary.

  Derek rose to a standing position, ignoring the sharp pain from his ribs. He stripped off his bloodstained T-shirt and braced his feet against the concrete floor. The side bars of his cage were laced with silver, but not the ones across the top. Bending his knees, Derek pushed off the ground, leaping up until his fingers grasped the bars tightly. The metal groaned under his weight, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think he could escape.

  Instead, he lifted himself up by his arms, crossing one ankle behind the other, and continued to hoist himself up and down, feeding on the delicious burn in his arms and the determination in his chest as he continued working on his upper body strength.

  After almost an hour had passed, Derek heard the door to the cellar open. The scent of his alpha almost wrung a snarl from him, but he calmly managed to bite it back. He continued with his efforts, trying to ignore the sadist watching him.

  “Novel idea, mate, but if you would only promise to behave, then you could have full access to our state-of-the-art training room. Weights, treadmills, and punching bags—everything you would need to ensure you won all your bouts.”

  “I’m fine,” Derek grunted, not wanting any favours from Neville.

  With a wave of his hand, Morris grinned. “How do you expect to get close enough to challenge me, Derek? Isn’t that what you want? A means to get to me? Training is the best possible way to do that.”

  “I’m fine,” Derek repeated.

  “Do you really think you can stand up against Matthias, or even Andrei? They will crush you before you even bleed them. Be sensible, Derek. Can you not see that I am trying to help you? That I want you to stop bucking my authority and join me in my inner circle?”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Neville glared at Derek, and his wolf enjoyed the fact that he’d gotten under the alpha’s skin. Derek let his fingers slip free of the bars and gracefully landed on the balls of his feet. Taller than Neville by a good couple of feet, Derek looked down on him when standing on level ground.

  Neville leaned back against the wall and tugged on the greying whiskers under his nose. “If you feel so confident, then I supposed you won’t mind accepting another challenge this eve. Seems like there are quite a few wanting to make a name for themselves by ridding me of the thorn in my side. I can say no, Derek—give you time to recover—but only if you’re willing to meet me halfway.”

  The wolf’s hackles rose, and it snarled in Derek’s head, reminding the man that they did not back down. Derek snorted, and for the third time said, “I’m fine.”

  A snarl escaped Neville’s lips before he caught himself. “So be it, Derek. Andrei, please escort Derek outside to the arena.”

  The big brute of a wolf stormed into the room and stepped aside, his gaze down as Neville strode out of the cellar. Derek kept his feet planted to the ground as Andrei opened the cage and yanked him out by the arm, yet Derek made no move to retaliate.

  Once Andrei had stro
ng-armed Derek through the compound and outside, the Russian wolf tossed him down to his knees in the dirt. Catcalls and jeers echoed around him, but Derek only had eyes for his opponent. His nostrils caught the scent of fear and urine; the wolf opposite him no more wanted to face Derek than Derek wanted to kill him.

  Though older than him in wolf years, the man in front of him appeared to be no more than twenty—but Derek knew that a pretty face could hide a lot of things about a person. He steadily rose to his feet as the din quietened and Neville entered the arena. He took his throne and motioned for Andrei to set up the fight. But in a fight to the death, there was only one rule: kill or be killed.

  Andrei nudged the other man forward, and he circled Derek, trying to catch him off guard. The wolf feigned a punch with his left and struck out with his right, but Derek easily spotted the ruse and sidestepped it. When the wolf fumbled forward, Derek kicked out with his right foot, using the momentum of the wolf’s lurch to send him to his knees.

  Derek allowed him to get back up, a snarl ripping from the wolf’s lips as he did so. He came at Derek again, who blocked his blows with precision. The wolf telegraphed his moves before he struck—Derek could read it in his opponent’s eyes whenever he made to lash out—giving Derek an advantage.

  Derek slammed a fist into the wolf’s face and felt bone crunch under the force. He winced inwardly, knowing how much it hurt to have his nose broken… hell, his own had been broken five times already.

  The wolf howled and staggered back, blood gushing from his face. Regathering himself, the wolf spat blood on the ground, and his eyes darted to a female wolf looking horrified in the corner, two wolves restraining her. Derek tried not to think of the female as her mate surged forward again.

  With one simple move, Derek hooked his arm under the man and flipped him over onto his back. He heard his back break, and the wolf on the ground’s eyes glazed over, paralyzed. The surrounding wolves howled in glee, and Derek shuddered at the sound—hounds baying at the scent of blood.

  Derek lifted his eyes to Morris’s. The alpha inclined his head and motioned for Derek to end it. Derek refused to move, for the first time holding the gaze of the man who had created the monster in him without feeling an instinctual need to lower his eyes. Neville blinked first and then realized his mistake.