Mack 'n' Me: The Wolves of Alpha 9 by C.M. Simpson (top ebook reader txt) 📕

him, and he was hopelessly outnumbered. I watched as he moved among his foes and marveled that they hadn’t taken him down, yet.

It took me a while to realize that a quick take-down wasn’t the aim. They moved around him, landing mid- to heavy-weight blows against his torso, and then switching out and in. They’d started with fists and boots, but, as Mack started to slow, they pulled stun sticks and used those, instead—unpowered, but effective nonetheless.

By the time Mack hit the floor on all fours, I was willing to bet the worst bruises on his back wouldn’t be from the slugs he’d taken in the ambush outside the beanstalk. A well-placed kick to the gut sent him over on his side, and I watched as the soldiers took to him in as methodical a beating as any I’d seen. He tried, twice, to get back into the fight, and was put back down with calculated ferocity each time. The second time, he landed hard and didn’t get back up again.

I tried to break free and reach him, kicking back in an attempt to bust a knee-cap, only to be reminded I had bare feet—and that was before the arm around my throat tightened in a simple flex. Spots danced before my eyes, and I forced myself to relax. When I got out of this, someone was going to pay. Until then, I could only watch as Mack curled into a ball and covered his head while the blows rained down.

When he went limp the wall sprouted chains and shackles, and the squad hung him up like a slab of beef, stripping him bare-assed naked as they did so. When he was well and truly secured, I was turned so I could watch the balcony descend the wall, carrying Barangail down to my level. I forced myself to be quiet, and watched as the soldiers parted between us, to let him approach.

“You try a kick, and I’ll break both your legs,” said a familiar voice in my ear—Captain Foksall.

It was hard to keep myself relaxed as Barangail came to stand in front of me. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was taunting me into trying to do something stupid. It was strangely satisfying to deny him the opportunity. Not so many years ago, I’d have fought him, until Foksall was forced to put me under. This time, I managed to stay still and conscious, until Barangail spoke, again.

He indicated Mack.

“My captain spoke out of turn,” he told me. “If you’d have tried a kick, we’d have broken both of his legs.”

I felt my gut go cold, my eyes flicking to Mack and back to Barangail’s face. He would have, hey?

“In fact, I still might.”

I tensed, my muscles going rigid, as my eyes widened. I wanted to ask him for mercy, didn’t know if it would do an ounce of good. This was the real lord Barangail—and it didn’t take much to realize he was no puppet of the spiders; he’d probably invited them in, offered them a world in exchange for power. I swallowed, and saw him glance towards the captain of the other squad.

“Please,” I managed, as he raised his hand.

He turned his head.

“Please what?”

“Please, d... Please have mercy,” I said, having edited out the ‘don’t’ in case he took it as a challenge.

I waited, my eyes on his upraised hand, knowing I was giving him more satisfaction than I wanted, but worried about Mack. He looked from his captain, and studied my face. I returned his gaze, trying hard not to challenge him, trying hard not to beg, but too anxious to hide my fear. Whatever he read in my eyes, it was enough. He lowered his hand.

I took a breath, letting the tension ease out of my muscles. He watched me, and I closed my eyes to shut out the view of his face. No sooner had I done so, than I felt him turn, and opened my eyes to see what he was up to. I was horrified to see his hand once more upraised.

“No!”

But he didn’t spare me a glance, just snapped his fingers, caught his captain’s eye, and gave a single nod.

The sound of bones cracking wasn’t new to me, but the sound of Mack’s bones breaking wasn’t something I was going to forget in a hurry. A terrible hollowness had settled within my chest, when he turned back to me, and I just stared at him.

“Why?” I whispered, and he curled his forefinger and thumb under my chin, as he put his face close to mine.

“So you understand,” he said, and anger flashed through me.

Oh, I understood, all right. This asshole was going to die, just as soon as I could make it happen without risking Mack. He stared into my eyes, and I wondered if he’d caught that thought, but whatever he might have seen, he seemed satisfied.

He let go of my chin, and backed up a step.

“You’re the retrieval expert, I take it.”

It wasn’t a question, but he seemed to be waiting for an answer. I nodded, my eyes straying to Mack. They’d made those breaks good ones, and I wondered how long he was gonna need in a tank, before he could walk, again. Swallowing against the dryness in my mouth, and the sudden feel of nausea, I let my gaze switch back and forward between Mack and Barangail.

“And you’d rather your captain was in one piece instead of many.”

Again, it wasn’t a question, but I froze, and looked into Barangail’s face.

“Yes,” I managed, trying to ease the creakiness in my voice.

I flicked another glance at Mack, saw the captain of the other squad looking back at Barangail, his shock stick held loosely in his hand. Cold dread settled just under my ribs, and I tried to focus on the lord. He took my chin and turned my head so he was all I could see.

“I suppose you think the man needs a tank,” he said,