Alpha Batista
When I woke up, my head throbbed like it had been split open. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I was lying on the cold, hard ground, wrists tied behind my back. My vision blurred, but shapes slowly came into focus.
A young man sat on a throne-like seat carved out of black wood and bone. Dark hair, pale skin, sharp gray eyes that glittered like ice. A cruel, lazy smirk on his face.
Mira was bound, two huge men holding her arms. Eric too, his face bloodied, one eye swollen shut.
The young man spoke. His voice smooth, almost kind. Almost.
"Welcome to my throne, Alpha Batista," he said softly.
My stomach dropped. How the hell did he know my name?
"How do you—" I started.
He chuckled, tilting his head. "Oh… that? I made him sing."
He flicked his gaze to the side, and my heart stopped.
There, mounted on a spike, was Greg's head. Blood still dripping from his open mouth. His eyes frozen in terror.
