For a moment, Ruby faltered and forced herself to swallow. It gave her more time to think, and pause to relax her nerves. When she felt her adrenaline waver, she cocked her head and nodded at the soldiers. “Take them away.”
“What the fuck?” Lucas muttered through his teeth.
“She will be kept under strict observation by the illustrious minister of propaganda,” Ruby said, saluting.
Bowing her head, Ruby’s eyes focused on Wren. She managed to whisper, “I’m very… I’m just sorry, okay?”
As she walked out of the room, the guards circled the alphas. One by one, they took them into custody.
“Hey!” Killian screamed. “Get the fuck off me!”
Wren’s sister did not stop walking, but her cries fed into stifled pain. “You said I was special.”
“You are special,” Ruby managed to say before slipping through the doorway. Then, allowing herself to pause without them seeing, she whispered, “And that’s why he gets you.”
“No,” she whispered, voice tightening. “My children… no, you can’t do this!”
Wren’s alphas fought tirelessly, but the guards’ skill to their craft was at the highest in the world. They were no match as over twelve blades lowered over their heads like spiked crowns.
“Arms out.”
The alphas were cuffed and taken to the holding bay where they waited assimilation. They were given a set of instructions. In twenty-four hours’ time, they were to be brought back to their respective hometowns—if an alpha was, so to say, lost, the matter would be dealt with by the wisdom of the bureaucracy.
Blindfolded. Tonsured and smacked around. Thrown into the cargo hold with the other prisoners.
Ruby ran to her office. She blocked her runny cries, though her office was near to her treatment room. He could hear every muffled syllable wallow against her throat pathetically. Whispering her prayers, Ruby focused on the one thing she could control right now. Her throne. The rest of god’s God’s grace would come later.
The trained soldiers took Wren to a new room, where she would be looked after, prepped, and supervised for a week. Neither Ruby nor Severin would see her. These were strict orders from the highest levels. A set of doctors was arranged for her.
As night fell, they took her children. When she lashed out in fear and confusion, feeling that all too familiar sorrow, they gave her a syringe of the good stuff, and Wren found herself back in her dark place.
Only, she had no one anymore. She was all alone.
As the men were in their respective lines to be sorted, they eyed the masses surrounding them. There were more survivors than they thought. People from the barracks. Dagon. Distant cities in the north. Everyone stood in line to be redistributed like trading cards.
Killian glanced back at the three. “What do you think?”
Lucas ran his fingers through the front locks of his fine hair. “I don’t think they’re bringing us back to the fields. The war is over.”
“So what the fuck do they want?” Killian asked.
Vash shook his head. “Don’t be stupid. They’re going to throw us in some two-by-four cell and never speak our names again.”
Responding to some commotion in the back quarters, the guards prodded an elderly man until he was submissive and twitching against the concrete. Vash grabbed his pack’s shoulders, bringing them in so close that their foreheads touched. He couldn’t get Wren’s angelic face out of his head.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m not going down without a fight. On three, we fuck this place up,” Vash whispered.
Lucas twisted his mouth, gnashing his fangs together. They were surrounded by guards. “You serious?” Lucas asked.
Killian chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m fuckin’ in.”
Vash felt his rage consume him. He longed for her taste, yearned to feast on her ripe cunt. Wren was their hard earned prize, and no one else was going to stand in the way. “On my count,” he growled.
“One… two…”
Three.
Afterword