Hungry Like a Wolf (Claws Clause 1)

ver as he fought the urge to shift. They were traitors, in his opinion, all of those who chose to side with the Ants.

He might be forced to interact with asshole humans like Wright because it was his duty to keep in touch with his brother; as long as Maddox was trapped in this hellhole, Colt would be there. Witches did it solely for the money. Without all of their enchantments and their wards, the Cages probably wouldn’t even exist.

Colt was reminded of that every time he came back here.

Wright flicked his blunt pointer finger against the edge of Colt’s identification, back and forth, back and forth. The rasping of his skin against the plastic set Colt’s teeth on edge. He had a sudden longing to shove his P.I.D. down Wright’s throat.

They both knew that the cop was going to let him in—Colt was on the shortlist approved to see Maddox and, regardless of what Wright implied, his identification was legit—but the game was to see how long he could keep Colt waiting. And how close he could get the wolf shifter to going rogue.

Too damn close, and the bastard knew it.

Colt figured Wright had something against the Wolfe brothers, even if he couldn't put his claw on the why. As a pack animal, Colt was born with an innate knowledge of alpha males and hierarchies. It was obvious that nothing would make the arrogant officer happier than to see Colt rotting in the same cell as Maddox and fuck if he would give him that satisfaction.

He pulled all of his aggression back and, with a grin that lit up his boyishly handsome face, he leaned in toward Wright. A dimple popped in his left cheek.

Then he remembered being called Pretty Boy. His grin turned feral, his fangs lengthening until they bit into his bottom lip. Wright went as pale as a ghost. And, since Colt's best friend was one, he considered himself an expert.

“You questioning my government-issued P.I.D.? Again? Maybe you should call your supervisor down here. Get a second opinion. Check if I’m allowed to see my brother or not.” His grin widened as he made sure to bare his fangs. “It’s okay. I’ll wait.”

In response, Wright slapped Colt’s identification on the counter before shoving it roughly back through the glass partition. Irrationally pleased, Colt pulled his wallet out and put his P.I.D. away while Wright leaned over. With more force than was necessary, the cop slammed his palm against the red button off to his side.

Even though the alarm sounded on another floor, the piercing shriek was still too much for Colt’s sensitive shifter hearing. He point-blank refused to let Wright see how much it hurt, though, so, like he usually did, he swallowed roughly until the ringing in his ears became more tolerable.

It didn’t matter how many times he heard it, the shrill whistle never got any easier. He decided long ago that it was on purpose.

He grumbled under his breath. Fucking Ants.

A few minutes later, a bald-headed officer about twenty years Wright’s senior appeared behind the glass partition. He nodded at Wright. The younger man scowled and jerked his head at Colt. Some color was beginning to return to Wright’s face; a nice, angry red, Colt was glad to note. The bald officer appeared surprised and almost happy to see the wolf shifter standing at attention in the waiting area.

Colt relaxed a little further. Okay. Now that was the kind of welcome he liked to get.

This time, when Colt offered Officer Bennett a smile, he hid his fangs again.

He liked the older cop. Since the Cage was technically considered a very dangerous prison—whether a majority of the inmates were “voluntary” or not—the government refused to staff them with ordinary correction officers; except for the civilian warden, a never-ending rotation of tenured police officers ran the place instead. No matter what department they were from, what precinct, each and every cop had to do at least one year’s time in a Cage as a reminder that “protect and serve” referred to paranormals, too.

Bennett seemed like an honest man. Even Maddox had a good word or two for the officer over the years and, considering his brother didn’t like too many people, that was saying something. Bennett did his year about a decade and a half ago and decided to stay even when he didn’t have to. And, unlike Wright, he didn’t give Colt any grief whenever he came to see Maddox.

Bennett already had his keys in hand when he left the guards’ side in favor of joining Colt. “Hey, Wolfe,” he greeted genuinely. “How are you?”

There was a door built into the far side of the waiting area. It was locked, since it led further into the maximum security facility, and Bennett needed two separate keys from the ring—plus a palm print—to open it. Once he had, he swung the thick door in before gesturing for Colt to step through.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Good. Say, didn’t I just see you not too long ago?”

Colt was wondering if anyone would call him out on that. He was aware his visits drained Maddox so, on his brother’s orders, he kept them to once a month. And, like Bennett noted, it had only been a handful of days since the last time he took the trip out.

“Something came up,” he grunted.

“Pack business?” Bennett asked. There was no trace of disgust or irony in his question. He was actually interested.

Shaking his head, Colt told him, “Personal, but important. It couldn't wait until next month. I know it's late.” No thanks to Wright giving him the runaround, he thought. Colt rolled his head on his neck, his fingers stretching and cracking. “I’ll try to be quick.”

Bennett nodded and, while curiosity colored his hangdog face, he left it at that. His ring of keys tucked securely onto his belt again, the older cop led the way down the empty, dark hall.

Not that Colt needed a guide. Even without his tracking senses, he could find his way through the hidden nooks and less-traveled paths of the Cage blindfolded.

In the three years that he’d been visiting his brother, Colt lost track of how many times he’d gone down this empty hall. It always smelled strongly of chemicals—probably the industrial cleaners the maintenance crews used—and he snuffled gently, trying to keep the acrid stench from burning his nose. Between that and the way the hall narrowed continuously as he walked, he knew that it was a subtle warning for paranormal visitors, especially shifters.