Revolting
Chapter 59 -

Chapter Twenty One - A Proprietary Blend William

I felt cold bands of dread wrapping around my chest, constricting my ribs, even as Michael smiled like a kid with a new toy. He went to the desk and pulled a set of keys from his pocket, before carefully unlocking and opening the bottom most drawer. He pulled out a glass bottle with a rubber stopper on the top. "Here it is," he said, his eyes sparkling as though he was holding his greatest treasure. I saw nothing through the dark glass. "What is in it?" I asked again.

"It is a proprietary blend made from compounds of wolfsbane, amaryllis belladona, and colloidal silver."

I wrinkled my brow. "But how can just coating the arrowhead be enough to kill?"

"Oh no, that's the magic... it doesn't kill you right away," Michael lowered his voice to a sultry whisper. "It poisons both the wolf and the man. The rogue can not shift, and he can not heal. Even his human immune system is shut down. Even the tiniest scratch will fester, the flesh will die, infection sets in, sepsis, and ultimately, death."

I shuddered, "What an absolutely dreadful way to die!" I watched Michael replace the bottle into the drawer. "Where did you get it?" I wanted him to say he discovered it by accident. Maybe he recovered it from a hunter.

"I order it from a Canadian chemist, for an obscene amount of money." He boasted.

Oh God, he hadn't acquired the vile poison by chance or by accident. He had commissioned it on purpose. I wanted to gag. "And you've been using this? On your own people?"

He laughed, but it was a cold, terrible laugh. "What? No! Rogues are NOT our people, Will. They are evil, soulless creatures who have lost all of their humanity."

I thought to myself that the rogues were not the ones who were inhumane. I felt like I was looking at someone who was a stranger to me. What was this darkness, and why hadn't I seen it before? While it is true that a rogue without a pack will eventually go mad, most never get to that point. They find others like themselves and band together for survival. I searched his hazel eyes, looking for something... some hint of compassion or remorse. I stepped closer to him. "I was a rogue once."

His jaw ticked. "You were never a rogue. You followed your Luna, that's loyalty."

I took another step closer, invading his personal space. I stared hard into his face. So damn handsome, but in this moment so cold, and so unfeeling. I didn't know this man, and I didn't like him. "Who made you the judge, jury and executioner?"

He leaned closer until we were almost nose to nose. "I appointed myself," he said sharply, his breath on my face. "Someone has to do it, Will. For the safety of every pack, for the safety of everyone you love." I could see by the intensity of his gaze that he believed his own words were absolute truth. His voice had the fervor and conviction of a zealot.

I felt him begin to lean in, intent to kiss me again, but I stepped out of reach, shoving my hands deep in my pockets as I tried to clear my suddenly muddy thoughts. I liked Michael, I was attracted to him, and spending time with him had been exciting. He had been filling a part of me that had been feeling empty and lonely since I moved from the city to this no-where place. But I had been so caught up in the fiery passion that I hadn't really stopped to consider how little I know of this man. And I was deeply disappointed to find that we had such differing opinions on something so vitally important as the value of life.

I saw the flicker in his eyes, the flash of anger and annoyance as he pushed away from the desk and tugged at his shirt. "Well," he said curtly, "I think dinner should be ready by now. Shall we?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You know what? I think I'm not so hungry after all."

"Oh, come on Will," he said with a heavy, disappointed sigh. Like a parent chastising a child. "Don't be so dramatic. We were bound to disagree on some things at some point, it's a normal thing in relationships, right?" He held out his hand to me, inviting me to put this little disagreement behind us.

But did I want to put it behind me? There were plenty of people who didn't like Rogues. They were commonly known as the enemies of the pack. But there was a difference between protecting your pack, and out and out murdering... it was almost like a genocide. We weren't disagreeing over our preference in wine, or the color of the curtains. Disagreeing over life and death, disagreeing over inhuman torturous methods... that seemed like a pretty major point to disagree on. I shook my head, and did not take his pro-offered hand. "I'm serious Mike. I think I need a little time to think about this. Half my pack were rogues at one point. And none of them are bad or evil. They are just werewolves who found themselves in a bad situation for one reason or another. And I can't help but thinking, if you'd found them before we did... they would have died terrible, slow, agonizing deaths."

Michaels hand, once open to me, now fisted at his side. He growled, yes, he actually growled at me, causing me to raise one questioning eyebrow at him, and shake my head in disbelief. Who was this man really? "Don't worry," I said, turning my back on him. "I'll show myself out."