The smell of the incense wafted down to the basement alerting Savage Chaucer to the time. If his pack had lit the fires, he would soon be expected to perform. Females in heat were not known for their patience.

He smiled as he stepped closer to the cage. The human inside violently shook, and the closer Savage stepped, the worse the spasms grew. It was wonderful to be frightening, especially when he knew he could live up to his well-earned reputation. He’d won San Francisco with cunning, sweat, and brutality. Holding it was a different matter altogether. His pack loved him and as long as they continued, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Savage would keep them safe. One way or another. Whatever it took.

“Doctor Robert.” Savage loved to taunt the human. Lots of nicknames, lots of ways to undermine whatever courage the filthy werewolf-killing beast still possessed. Savage would soon be done with the man. The authorities might someday pull pieces of his torn-apart body from the Pacific Ocean. By then he’d be barely a memory in anyone’s mind.

“I’m wondering if you’ve thought of any more information for me.”

“L-l-leave me alone.” The stinky human looked away from him.

When they’d first captured the balding, brown-haired, glasses-wearing peon of a man, he’d been leading a group of True Believers around the Napa Valley, ready to attack and lay havoc on Savage’s fellow Werewolves. This was after torturing Chelsea, the mate of Savage’s brother Hayden, for over a decade. Any sympathy Savage might have had for the pissing-himself human started and ended there.

Chelsea was family. Robert had hurt her. Six months in the basement of Savage’s club facing the punishments of his pack was not torture enough.

“That’s not going to happen.” Savage nodded to Archie, his second-in-command. He could be done for the night and head upstairs to get ready for their festivity. His pack so enjoyed caring for the women in heat. Robert wasn’t going to spoil their time. Archie, loyal without question, walked with a steady gait to the door. Savage liked his people happy. Happy pack meant steady Alpha. Unlike the foolish individual locked up before him.

The little man wasn’t going anywhere.

Robert stammered some more. “I don’t know anything else. I swear I don’t.”

“I’m starting to believe you, which isn’t a good thing for your life expectancy.”

Savage could smell the stink of the lie on Robert’s tongue. He still held onto some information.

“You have been relatively well kept here. Haven’t you? Fed. Bathed. You have a blanket at night. Constant company. All of this after you tortured my sister-in-law for having psychic visions.” Savage shook his head. “All I want is some information. Where are the True Believers located on my territory? Where are the children who are going missing from the Lone Wolves?”

Savage didn’t owe any allegiance to non-pack members. If he really was the heartless bastard so many named him—and sometimes he thought he really was—he’d leave those Lone Wolves to their own fates. But he could never stomach a bully. The True Believers, the scummy Werewolf killing organization that had risen up so suddenly to cause pain in their lives, were the worst kind of nasty persecutors. They hunted on his land, and they’d taken innocent children.

He would not allow them to flourish while blood flowed in his body.

“You b-beat me.” Robert managed to gasp. “When I first got here.”

“Whine. Whine. Whine.”

Savage banged his hand on the bars of the cage, and the sound reverberated throughout the otherwise empty room. Until recently, he’d never had cages in the basement. He looked forward to the day when he didn’t have to hold hostages anymore. Oh, the simple days….

“You seem to have recovered from our little abuse of you. What did you think would happen when you declared war on the Werewolves? We’re animals, and we like to play with our food. Or at least that’s how you see us. Here’s the truth, Doctor Robert—and I think this should make sense to you, one torturer to another—you are going to die soon. How your end happens is under your control. Tell me what I want to know first thing tomorrow, and I’ll make it fast. One of my men—or maybe myself, if I’m in the mood—will swiftly end your life. Make me wait any longer, and I’m going to make you the prey the next time we run. Full Moon is in one week.” Savage walked away, pausing only to switch the lights off before he exited, leaving Robert in the dark. “Think about it.”

Why did the human have to make things so hard for himself?

Savage preferred the stairs. Elevators made him claustrophobic. For safety reasons, there was no entrance or exit to the basement other than the lifts. He or a member of his pack could turn off those devices and effectively trap whoever was in the lower level down there,if need be. Starve out an enemy. Everyone who entered understood the possibility that he wouldn’t be coming up again.

Only the top members of the hierarchy were allowed entrance. He wasn’t going to risk any of the beta wolves or the juveniles.

Savage pushed the button, and the elevator ascended to the upper floors. He looked at his watch. It was seven, and he forced himself to breathe. Going into the club still tight from the need to get answers from the stupid human wasn’t going to make the heated females feel better.

The second and third weekends of every month were playtime, or at least that was the illusion he sought to foster. The women, who travelled hundreds, sometimes thousands, of miles for his heat orgies, weren’t going to be disappointed because the Alpha couldn’t get his head in the game. If they stopped coming, the pack would take a huge revenue loss, and he refused to allow any weakness, financial or otherwise, through his doors.

The elevator opened, and the smells he’d tasted in the basement moved more fluidly around him. Werewolves generally hated false scents…except for the ones he supplied here. The whole experience from lighting to aroma had been meticulously designed over the years to place the female in heat at ease. The more she relaxed, the harder she’d come. If she walked into the club, which was open only for his private events the second and third weekends of the month, then orgasm was what she wanted—no needed—more than anything else.

His pack members who volunteered for club duty, and lately it seemed his non-mated members wanted it so badly they had a waiting list, were happy—both male and female—to see to his clientele’s needs. No money exchanged hands except through the door charge, and he didn’t pay the pack to fuck. The entrance fee went directly into pack accounts, spread out for the use for the entire community. His pack mates weren’t prostitutes; they liked the chance to improve the skills so many of his fellow werewolves lacked—the art of knowing how to make a woman’s fantasy come true.

Critics saw it differently. But Savage didn’t give a fuck.

If the women were getting what they needed at home, they’d never come to his place. No one forced them to make the trip. Packs could figure out how to better handle the heated female, or they could lose them to Savage twice a year for an orgy-filled weekend where everyone had a good time.

Everyone—except, lately, for Savage himself.

He rubbed his neck. The knot in his neck could be worked out later. His wolf prowled around inside him, wanting out, but it wasn’t full moon and he didn’t have the time. Savage pressed the need down.

After winding his way through the hallways, built as a maze to keep anyone who shouldn’t be there lost, he made his way to what essentially amounted to the front of the house. In half an hour, the doors would open, and any female with a ticket could enter. They’d be set at ease. The smell, the dark lighting, the passed foods provided a heady combination of sensations to relax the ladies. Then, as always, the females would lead the way. His pack mates were available for whatever the ladies wanted, but only what they wanted—the females’ desires dictated the course of events.

Savage would wind around from group to group, making sure everyone was happy. Participating a touch here, a dab there, if the female wanted. Savage the dream maker. He knew how to add to the scene.

Yet it had been two years since he’d stuck his cock in anyone. For him, the whole thing had gotten terribly boring.

Maybe he needed to fuck to get out of his head. He did his best to hide his dissatisfaction from his scent. Soon, however, his pack was bound to notice. His phone buzzed, and he looked down at it. A message popped up from his brother, Hayden, the better of the two of them by far. Thirteen months Savage’s junior, Hayden had turned sixty-one on his last birthday. His upstanding, wine-making sibling didn’t approve of the sex club. And his lack of approval was exactly why Savage set Hayden up with his own pack when he’d finally been released from the hell which had been his life.

Hayden got to live exactly as he wanted. No more moral choices for his little brother. He was mated, successful, and in control of his own destiny. Savage could never undo the years he’d failed Hayden, but giving him peace helped.

Chelsea says you’ve entered into a very important stage in your life.

Savage shook his head. He fucking hated his sister-in-law’s visions. They were always so vague. He fired off a quick text in response.

Fantastic. I’ll look forward to the income increase.

Savage shut off his phone. As antsy as he felt, he needed all his concentration on the present. The outside world—Alpha Primes, Healer Primes, Alpha Wars, True Believers, and the screaming from the other parts of the country—would have to wait until morning. Tonight was about the ladies who came to receive attention.

He sniffed the air as his master of ceremonies, Fiona, slid next to him. The woman had no sexual boundaries. She loved her job. and since she had begun overseeing the small details of the nights, everything had gone perfectly. It had been her idea to install the fantasy rooms. Anything the females wanted behind closed doors….

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