The air in the forest was thick with a silence heavier than any storm, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of boots and the dry rustle of dead leaves. The defectives shuffled forward, a procession of condemned sinners boxed in by the pack's Warriors, who led them toward their retribution. Every member of the group—from the old man whose bowed shoulders spoke of decades of labor to the young woman with damp wisps of hair clinging to her temples—moved with a weary, mechanical stride. In her father's arms, a toddler rested her head against his shoulder, sleeping peacefully and blissfully unaware of the torture to come.
A surface-level calmness had settled over them—the false, unnerving peace of people too exhausted for panic. Yet beneath the surface, a palpable tension radiated, an electrical current of dread that tightened jaws and dulled eyes. Even so, beneath the trepidation, a quiet sense of unity was beginning to take root.
"Here," Steven murmured, his voice a dry rasp. He kept his eyes forward, discreetly nudging a small, white pill into the hand of the woman walking beside him. "I managed to get some oxy from the pack clinic."
"I have never been so glad to have drugs offered to me," she whispered back, her fingers closing tightly around the tiny comfort. Her voice dropped to a barely audible breath. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."
Nearby, another man walked with unfocused eyes, voicing the question plaguing all their minds. "How long will this go on?" His face was gaunt, the skin stretched so tightly over his cheekbones that he looked like a hollowed-out ghost of a man who hadn't slept in months.
Jess's eyes flickered toward Ryan, guilt building in her chest alongside a growing, desperate need. She wondered if the anticipation of the whip cracking across her back would provide enough fear to trigger her change. Would the pain be the catalyst for the transformation? She wouldn't know until she felt the bite of the leather against her skin.
"You know, you don't have to—" Jess started, but Ryan cut her off.
"I can heal now. There's no need for you to go through anything." He looked down at her, a warm smile softening his features as he patted her shoulder. He remembered her earlier squabble with Mona and didn't want her to feel like she had to toughen up or take on more than she could handle.
"I really can't take this anymore. I'd rather them just kill me!" A boy's voice rose in a shrill, panicked spike, alerting the defectives to his breaking point. He lunged away from the group, running toward the guarding circle of Warriors. He collapsed to his knees, sobbing and begging, "Kill me! Please just kill me! Please!" His words were a harsh scream, jagged with hopelessness.
Mariela sighed as she stepped toward the boy. She reached down and gripped him by the base of his neck, dragging him back to his feet. She gave a curt, light nod to the silent Warriors before looking at the kid.
"Calm down, kid. I'll take the punishment for you. Just shut up," she commanded. She reached into her pack, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, taking a long, hard drag. Ever since she had become a wolf, she felt almost invincible, though she didn't feel superior to anyone else. If anything, her sense of empathy had only deepened.
"What? But you don't even know me!" the boy stammered, wiping snot from his nose with his sleeve. He looked up at her with blurry eyes, recognizing her face but nothing more.
"What's your name?" Mariela raised an expectant eyebrow, continuing to puff on the cigarette.
"Brody," he said quietly. His shoulders hunched forward, defeated and disgusted that a woman barely older than himself was stepping in to take his lashing.
"Cool, now I know you." Resuming her steady pace, she walked past him, her anxiety seemingly vanished.
Ryan gave Mariela a nod of approval as she kept pace with him. A few of the other defectives who had recently turned into their wolf forms huddled together, forming a tight grouping—a first line of defense for their weaker brethren.
As they approached the field, the gleaming jade-white platform came into view. The defectives didn't need to be told what to do. They all dropped to their knees, facing the erected podium. Not a single word was uttered—no crying, no sniffling. It was as if they had made a silent pact to face this burden with stoicism.
Alpha Adrian stood beside the platform. His eagle-eyed gaze swept over them, noting which defectives had finally accessed their wolf spirits. They waited in the heavy silence for the familiar routine to begin. Then, the sound of crushed leaves drew their attention as two Warriors guided Trinity Carter past the kneeling defectives.
Trinity felt sweat drip down her back as she surveyed the scene. They were all kneeling as if they'd committed a grave sin deserving of such public humiliation. During her first walk, she hadn't been able to make eye contact, her chest tight with guilt. It never got easier, but this time she didn't shy away. She met their eyes, offering not pity, but silent comfort. Her steps slowed as she passed her friends, her gaze lingering. Ryan gave her a quick wink and a classic smile as if nothing were wrong, but they both knew better. As she passed Jess, however, Jess refused to look back, keeping her eyes focused anywhere but on Trinity.
"Come! Dinner is going to get cold," Alpha Adrian said with a pleasant, chilling smile. He rested a palm on Trinity's shoulder, guiding her toward the Alpha's house.
"Traitor!"
"She should be punished too."
"What makes her better than us?"
"Sell out!"
"She may be the biggest daughter, but she's a defective, too!"
The whispers swirled around Ryan, all directed at Trinity. He knew they didn't understand; they didn't see that she had no choice. They were all at the mercy of the Alpha. None of them knew what she was enduring in private, but Ryan knew her as well as he knew himself. He could see her pain. Her punishment just wasn't as public as theirs.
"Quiet!" Ryan's harsh whisper sent a ripple through the group, silencing the dissenters. He sighed deeply. He hated their circumstances, but he was smart enough to see that the Alpha was holding them all hostage. Trinity was an unstoppable force—she could practically teleport—and the Alpha knew he couldn't fight that directly. Instead, he held them as ransom. Ryan knew his brother, Grayson, was sitting in the cells, and the only reason he was alive was because Trinity would become feral if something happened to either of them. He wouldn't allow anyone to speak ill of her.
"Are you all stupid? Does the Alpha seem like a generous wolf?" Mariela laughed, but it was a hollow, patronizing sound.
"Trinity doesn't have a lot of self-preservation," Jess added in Trinity's defense. She wasn't on good terms with her friend, but she wouldn't lie about her character.
"Does anyone else wonder why all the doctors are here?" George asked, ignoring the talk about Trinity. The pack doctors were lingering nearby with clipboards and equipment, watching the group with clinical precision.
At George's words, the defectives turned to look at the doctors, who were busily scribbling notes.
"Who's first?" a Warrior called out, the whip swinging loosely in his grasp.
Ryan stood up without hesitation. He walked to the platform and allowed the Warriors to clamp his arms and legs into place. He took a single deep breath, steadying himself before the whip cracked against his back. It ripped his shirt open, splitting the skin and sending blood dripping down his spine. Ryan kept his eyes tightly shut, his breath hitching.
"Wait!" Dr. Quincy shouted abruptly. He rushed forward and crouched behind Ryan, staring at the torn flesh. He watched in astonishment as the skin began to stitch itself back together and the blood clotted instantly. He licked his dry lips. "What was that? Ten, maybe fifteen seconds?"
In his mind, Quincy calculated the pack averages. Silver wounds usually took much longer; a single lash might take five or six minutes to heal for a standard wolf. This defective was healing in seconds. "Young man, internally, do you feel any pain? Discomfort?" he asked, his voice alight with scientific fervor.
Ryan said nothing. He wasn't a lab rat or a mouse to be poked for exploration. He wouldn't help them.
"Boy!" Dr. Quincy insisted, looking to the Warrior when he received no answer. "What is this one's name?"
"Ryan Hunt!" the Warrior answered crisply, clearly irritated by the interruption.
"Mr. Hunt, I mean you no harm, but your body is acting remarkably," Dr. Quincy said, walking around the platform until he was face-to-face with Ryan. "Because you were not born like the rest of us, there could be something in the genetic makeup of defectives that is... dare I say, remarkable. I am not your jailer. I am a doctor. I took an oath to do no harm."
Ryan gave the man a flat, dead-eyed stare. He didn't understand how the doctor could be so enamored by the discovery that he didn't realize he was causing harm just by being there. He was in the way. The anticipation of the whip was always worse than the strike itself, and now Ryan had to endure that wait all over again because of this babbling man. Rolling his shoulders, Ryan took another breath.
"Keep going," Ryan commanded.
"Move!" the Warrior growled at Dr. Quincy. The Alpha had permitted the doctors to observe, not to stall the proceedings.
Dr. Quincy backed away, though he didn't give up. He watched as the Warrior prepared to strike again, swearing to himself that he would speak to this defective—and any others—who showed such incredible healing.
Author's note:
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