The Bloodlust Alpha

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Motioning to the table, Isaac nods before walking around and picking out another tool. He hums to himself, crossing his arms before pondering about which to pick. Raising a gloved finger to his chin, he taps the point of his jaw thoughtfully. The choices he has set in front of him makes the rogue stare between me and the table warily.

"Which would you prefer, Alpha? Nailing his hands with silver or scraping the skin off his palms?"

I cast Isaac a glance before retuning my focus to a increasing paling Val.

"I don't know, Isaac."

My lips slowly curl into a smile,

"Surprise me."

Val glares up at me, his lips tugged up to showcase his canines. A low, rumbling growl echoing in the chamber. Even when completely drained, he still tries to put up a fight. The energy he's giving out matches one of utmost fury but even with the front of utter rage, I can still see the underlying seed of panic sprouting in those brown eyes of his. He knows that the tools on the table is no fib.

Not a moment after, Isaac walks back to where Val is sitting. I look to his gloved hands to find them both occupier. He held not one, but two things.

Nails and  the silver scraper.

Isaac catches my eyes and shrugs,

"I couldn't chose."

I shake my head in amusement and tuck my knuckles under my chin. Leaning forward at the edge of my seat, I take in the show in front of me.

When I first started training to be an Alpha, Meredith had made me watch countless interrogation sessions with the rogues they've caught. It was visual training, she'd tell me. To see firsthand one of the many things I'd have to do as Alpha. It wasnt a matter of whether I can stomach doing such a thing or not, it was a matter if I could lie about stomaching it. At least, until I was out that door and away from the person detained.

Morals, righteousness, humanity--

none of that mattered the moment I stepped inside an interrogation room. The only thing that was deemed important was getting the answers I needed. No matter the method, extraction of answers was the objective. It didn't matter if I was a saint; Alphas can't be soft.

It was their life versus the safety of my pack.

It was as simple as that.

Some of the first interrogations I've witnessed were led and executed by Meredith. Others were handled by Williams. As expected, the first time I saw one I could hardly watch for three minutes before I ran out the room to empty my stomach.

Cruel, merciless, patient and tactful.

You had to be all four.

There was no sympathy or pity when in the process of interrogation.

Sometimes I still find it hard doing that, but this time, it wasn't a problem.

Isaac squats down, taking the scraper and forces Val's hand to open. Val tries his hardest to keep his fist closed, digging his nails into his palms with every means to keep his fist clenched through his resistance but Isaac's patience wears thin. The minute Val's hand loosened, Isaac wastes no time to take one of the nails and slams it into his middle finger, effectively nailing Val's hand to the armrest. In fact, he takes all of Val's fingers and nails them down until his palm was exposed.

Val cries out, eyes shutting tight at the pain, the silver burning into his flesh as he struggles in his seat. It wasn't just the touch of silver that caused him pain. It was the fact that his body was trying to heal the wound yet still being in contact with silver that makes it unbearable. A wolves, our healing was faster. Small cuts would heal in a second, big wounds would heal in at least a day or two.