If there was anyone Alaric and Griffin hated with every fiber of their being, it was the man standing before them.
Patrick Vale.
The bastard doctor.
Patrick still had the same smug, polished appearance, the same unsettling detached amusement in his expression, like he was dissecting them with his eyes, assessing them as nothing more than test subjects.
His youthful appearance might have deceived anyone else, might have made one believe he hadn’t aged a day, but Alaric and Griffin knew better. The bastard had carved up enough bodies to know how to preserve his own.
Yet, even though the surgeries had been flawless, it was not perfect.
The procedures couldn’t completely erase the grotesque, jagged scars marring the side of his right face—a permanent signature of Asher’s wrath and a reminder of his past failure. It was the delightful legacy of the night Asher had compelled him to stab himself with a scalpel.
The stitches had been neat and the tissue repaired fine, but the skin remained slightly warped. Hence, the scarred flesh stretched in places where it shouldn’t, pulling ever so slightly whenever he smirked.
Alaric had never been a fan of Asher’s methods. But this? He agreed for once.
And if only Asher had killed the bastard that day, things would have been so much better.
But then again, even Alaric knew that if Patrick had died, Elijah would have simply found another sadist to take his place.
Perhaps even someone worse.
Alaric’s blue gaze connected with Patrick’s dark, beady eyes. But it was his right eye—the unnatural one—that made his stomach twist.
He knew Patrick had stabbed that eye out that day thanks to Asher’s compulsion. And yet, here it was.
The bastard must have had it replaced. Whatever it was now, it wasn’t normal, and staring at it sent a prickle of unease down his spine.
A deep, instinctual revulsion crept up Alaric’s spine, and his disgust manifested physically with lightning crackling between his fingertips, the air around him charged with volatile energy.
Patrick noticed. He always noticed. And the bastard had the audacity to smirk.
"Easy there," Patrick crooned, taking a leisurely step forward. "Easy, thunder boy. You’ve already put one person in a hospital bed. We wouldn’t want another unfortunate victim, would we?"
Although Patrick’s words dripped with false sympathy, his eyes gleamed with accusation, obviously blaming Alaric for the incident.
And the small reminder was enough to make Alaric’s breath hitch.
Elsie.
Alaric’s fury was instantly dimmed, his jaw unclenching and his cracking fingers lowering slightly. But the moment Patrick took another step closer, his fangs bared in warning.
Yet Patrick didn’t stop, saying instead,
"Whether you like it or not, I have to take a look at her."
"The others have already examined her. She’s fine. Elsie’s a werewolf. She’s strong. An ordinary shock can’t take her down." Alaric snarled at him.
Patrick tilted his head, something dark gleaming behind his eyes. His voice dropped, dripping with sick amusement.
"Look at you, Alaric," he mused. "All strong and protective. Standing over your precious eligible mate."
Then, the bastard chuckled.
"Unfortunately for you," Patrick’s voice turned low, sly, "my hands have already been on her body."
His words were carefully chosen and deliberately misleading. Alaric knew what the bastard was doing. He was provoking him on purpose.
But it didn’t matter because it worked.
A violent snarl tore from his throat, his fangs lengthening, and his blue eyes glowing with power.
And as if to reinforce the threat, Griffin let out a thunderous roar, the sheer force of it sending a ripple of wind that whipped across Patrick’s face.
For a brief second, Patrick actually flinched.
But it was brief. Too brief.
He recovered far too quickly for a man who should have been terrified out of his pants. Not that he had ever been, else he wouldn’t have risked his life to experiment on them from the beginning.
Patrick’s lip curled. "And yes, you too, Griffin, I didn’t forget you."
Then his voice suddenly carried a sudden edge. "All of you are so impressive now. Such powerful Alphas." His eyes gleamed sharply. "Though I can’t say I didn’t have a hand in shaping you."
Something inside of Alaric snapped as the memory returned. He recalled being strapped to a cold table, screaming, wires piercing his skin as they experimented on him.
His fists clenched. "Get out." Alaric’s voice was lethal.
Patrick grinned.
"That’s quite disappointing, considering I’m actually glad to see you."
Griffin’s snarl rumbled deeper, vibrating through the walls. The man was really pushing his luck now.
"Fine, I’ll take my leave then." The doctor
turned, reaching for the door, when—
"Ah." He paused.
The air changed.
"Oh, right," Patrick drawled, turning back with lazy amusement. "Before I go... I don’t suppose you know a Violet Purple, do you?"
Alaric and Griffin stiffened.
The brewing storm inside Alaric soared violently. While Griffin’s growl deepened, his whole muscles tensed like a coiled spring.
But even with the two alphas exuding auras and a stance that was considered threatening and dangerous, the doctor was totally unfazed even though he was a mere human with no extra lives.
"Of course, you do," Patrick smirked. "She’s your girlfriend, after all." He gave a sleazy grin, his next words filled with malice.
"And I can’t wait to get my hands on her."
Alaric snapped.
Lightning roared to life in his hands but before he could unleash hell, Patrick casually clicked a pen.
Except it wasn’t just a pen.
It was a frequency disruptor. A finely engineered bio-sonic emitter designed specifically for werewolves.
The moment it was activated, waves of piercing, ultrasonic frequencies shattered through the air, tuned to the precise neurological sensitivities of werewolves.
Alaric and Griffin collapsed on the floor immediately. The vicious, piercing noise shattered through their skulls making their ears ring and their heads to split with sharp, pulsating agony.
Their bodies spasmed, their teeth elongating, claws unsheathing involuntarily as their wolves manifested with a howl of pain. It was like being torn apart from the inside out.
Patrick stood over them, watching them writhing.
Then, casually, he said, "Tell Adele she can’t steal my patients forever."
With that, he dropped the device onto the ground and walked away.
The moment he left, Griffin dragged himself forward, his face twisted with fury and pain.
With a feral snarl, he slammed his fist into the device, shattering it to pieces. The noise stopped at once.
Both Alaric and Griffin lay there, gasping, their chests heaving from the sheer agony of the experience
Then there was a soft groan and their heads snapped up.
Elsie finally stirred, blinking blearily. She looked disoriented.
"What... happened?" she mumbled, her voice weak.
But then she reached for her ear and
when she pulled her hand back, her finger was covered in blood.
Alaric’s stomach twisted.
That fucking bastard.