Chains to Crowns

Marc composed himself after nearly killing the Alpha... that would have done him no good. It would be easier for him to pledge, automatically making his pack loyal, than getting every one of his wolves to give their loyalty individually.

He sighed quietly to himself before turning back to Charlie.

“Where is the one brought in this morning?” Charlie gave a short nod, turning before he led Marc further down the dirt corridor. He stopped a few cells down.

“Fucking bastard,” the oak haired man Klara had identified as Derrek sneered, being as close to the silver bars as he dared. “You’ve committed treason. What do you say?” Marc asked mildly, keeping the hellfire of fury from his voice.

“It’s not treason, you pathetic excuse of a King. We don’t recognise your rank. All I did was to save a poor defenceless girl from a bloodthirsty maniac!”

“Believe what you wish. We both know who’s a disgusting excuse for a wolf here.” Marc’s lip curled in revulsion. “She told me all about you, you know?”

“And I bet you ignored her pleading to get back to me.”

“I’m starting to think you believe your lies, no matter…” Marc grasped the silver bars with his bare hands. Derek’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “I’ll get the truth out of you.” Marc’s lips twisted into an evil sneer.

“Get my father’s favourite bag.” Marc’s eyes flashed in the low flickering light, Charlie stilled

“Ar-are you s-sure my King?” he whispered, a tiny slither of concern coming from the other male. Marc nodded slowly, turning his attention back to the male in the cell before him. Charlie stumbled from view, coming back a minute later with a black duffle bag.

Marc crouched opening the zips, unveiling a sea of silver inside. He held up a silver thumbscrew in his, again, barehanded. “Hmm…” Marc unlocked the door, “Here you go.” He held out the metal object. Derrek frowned but held out his hand. Mark dropped it into his palm, instantly his skin fizzled. He yelled and dropped the thumbscrew.

“W-what are you?” Derek spluttered wide-eyed as he backed away from Marc.

“Oh… didn’t you know? My family are immune to silver, it’s a brilliant gene. Now...” He struck Derrek hard with the sole of his foot. Derek stumbled until he fell into the chair behind him.

He yelped when his hands gripped the silver cuff attached to the arm. Quick as a flash, Marc had placed both the male’s wrists within the cuffs, locking them in place. The cuffs were just large enough that the silver didn’t bite unless he moved. Marc retrieved the bag and placed it on the cot. He tapped his chin as he took the items of torture from the bag, lining them neatly on the cot for Derrek to see.

“Don’t worry, it’ll only last as long as Klara’s torture… What was it? Eleven years?” Marc stated as his hand trailed over the objects.

“I helped her!” panic clutching at Derrek’s voice.

“Yes well, what you call help. I call rape.” Marc picked up one of the pairs of knuckle dusters, these had no silver, they just hurt with their claw imitation. “What do we think?” He slipped them on approaching Derek. “I think you’re fucking crazy!” He struggled in the chair which caused his wrists to sizzle and burn as they touched the cuffs.

Marc swung, Derrek’s head flung to the side, his cheek sliced open. “Tell me how you helped my mate.”

“She’s not your mate, I picked her first.”

“Nothing you can do about it. She’s fully mated.” Marc watched as the skin began to heal before swinging again. Marc dropped the dusters, he wasn’t his father, he took no pleasure in inflicting pain (the Alpha aside… he just deserved it). He took the poker, ripping Derrek’s shirt open.

“You fucked her? She’s mine!” He struggled again, appearing to ignore the silver burning his wrists.

“No, she’s definitely mine.” Mark placed the rod to Derrek’s chest. He yelled and hissed as if it were a red hot poker. “Unlike you, I got permission.” He moved the poker lower, skin melting and retracting like plastic under a flame under its touch. “Has she ever moaned your name, Derrek?” He gripped the man’s face, his claws elongating into his skin. “Have her eyes ever rolled back for you?”

“C-course.” Derrek’s eyes wildly trying to look down to where the poker was headed. He struggled as the line of burning flesh reached his belt “P-please, n-no,” he whimpered.

“Answer me truthfully, has she moaned your name?”

His fearful blue eyes connected with the furious gold. “At least I got her drunk first! I wanted her to enjoy it!” Marc stopped the poker, keeping it to the skin just below his belt.

“You wait for permiss-”

“As soon as I marked her she’d have loved it!”

Marc shoved the poker down. Derrek screamed.