The Wilde Expedition

9. semi-sweet

Copyright © 2015. All Rights Reserved.

〮CHAPTER NINE 〮

A curious thing werewolves are. They're practically indestructible against diseases, viruses, or other illnesses that occur daily to humans. Pop 'em one in the eye, and the bruise will disappear in a few hours. Slice 'em in the arm, and the cut will heal in the blink of an eye. Shoot 'em in the shoulder, remove the bullet, and he won't even need stitches.

Cuff 'em with sturdy metal, and we've got a problem.

The silver myth isn't a thing. They cover it in the Legends and Lore of Supernaturals class at the boarding school. Anything can be dangerous if it's used as a weapon—and weaknesses? Don't even get me started on those. It's different for every werewolf, but I can say this: grapes in large quantities can really mess up a guy's kidney, lemme tell ya.

I was still loosey-goosey around the time we finally reached a road of some type. We were so far away from civilization (Thanks to the resort being in the middle of nowhere), that it took roughly twenty minutes of walking and a second dose of the tranquilizer to reach it. When Beron said "truck", I thought the Chevy was going to be the death of me, but instead, they marched me out of the forest, flopped me onto the ground, and gave me the first look at the semi parked on the shoulder of the deserted country road.

Sure, I was freaking out just thinking about everything Beron had said to me. It wasn't much to go off of—I gathered that the term "female Alphas" didn't have a nice taste in his mouth—, but I managed to come up with dozens of "colorful" things they had planned. Being tossed over the shoulder of his lackey helped me decide a few of them, but so far, I ruled out being killed.

At least, they weren't going to kill me yet.

There was some rough knowledge that leaked through the barrier of the tranquilizer, but even then it wasn't much to go off of. I tried my best to pry, but it seemed I had a very, very strong weakness to tranquilizers, but perhaps it was because they gave me a high dosage. My mind felt fuzzy and numb, and the world around me bubbled, giving me an odd perspective of the ground as they hauled me into the back of the semi.

"Ya know, she doesn't look half bad. I heard her mom's like some sort of angel or something," one of the guys mused from outside the truck peering in. Upon hearing my gibberish mumbling increase, the guys outside laughed.

Someone rolled me onto my back and spun me around, drawing me closer to where his feet kicked a hunk of metal on the ground. I knew what it was before he even hooked me with it, and I wanted to scream despite the haze my mind was in. I couldn't even register the cold of the metal around my ankles—I was too intent on crawling away from him and towards the light where the guys outside were watching and making idiotic comments.

After the cuffs were secure on my ankles, the guy yanked me back and forced me to sit up and tie my hands together with a zip-tie. I could break through it once the tranquilizer wore off, but I figured they wouldn't let that happen.

He grabbed me by the face, like Beron had earlier, and at that point I saw the rough-looking beard of his, and how his jet-black hair made him blend in with the shadows this far back in the truck. "Don't even try and shift. Just a warning—it's for your own good," he told me, and had I not already known this fact, I might have appreciated his courtesy to tell me.

The common weakness of werewolves was this: Cuffs were never a good thing (unless you're into that kind of thing). If, say, I were to be cuffed in the back of a truck while I was a human, shifting was the last thing I'd want to do because it would increase the size of my ankles by at least three, and most likely cut off circulation to the point were amputation would be necessary. Let's just say I wanted to walk out of here with both of my feet intact.