Page 15 of Destined Mate (Cross Creek Pack of San DeLain)

Chapter Nine

Jerome

THE LAST few days had been hell. Confined within the four walls of his room, Jerome paced endlessly, his wolf riding him hard.

The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of dust and desperation. His room had become his prison, stripping him of any freedom or joy. The isolation was unbearable, weighing heavily on his spirit.

He yearned for the open sky, the wind rustling through his hair, and the freedom to shift and roam as his nature intended. Those desires remained unfulfilled, locked away with him in his solitary confinement.

He might not have been able to leave that room, but he’d seen plenty out of his bedroom window, and none of it was good.

Clyde and Albert were nothing more than bullies, which he’d already known, but seeing them in action and being unable to help his pack hurt Jerome even more than he’d expected.

Their antics seemed almost orchestrated to break him. They had taken full advantage of his confinement, and their tactics were ruthless. They made a mockery of what it meant to be pack.

Jerome had to sit by and watch them disrupt everything. It pained him to let their cruel games go unchecked, to see the others suffering under their tyranny.

It was a test of patience, like nothing he’d known before. They were power hungry and greedy, but worst of all, they delighted in the misery they spread. Jerome’s mind screamed in frustration as he observed his pack fraying under the strain.

He saw Clyde slap Marcia, raking his claws across her face. Her hair flew and blood spurted as she fell to the ground. Once Clyde finished mocking her, Al, their only enforcer, pulled her away.

The pack turned away in fear, trying to maintain a distance from the altercation. There was nothing they could do, and to interfere would more than likely end up with someone dead.

Still, Jerome knew it hurt them not to help her. He swallowed a growl when he saw blood trickling down Marcia’s face. The claw marks would heal and leave no scar, which he was thankful for.

Clyde hadn’t been trying to hurt her. He’d been showing her how helpless she was under the new pack rules—that females were second-class pack members.

It was a scene of brutal dominance—the kind of violence meant to break spirits and solidify control. Yet, amidst the chaos, there was a glimmer of defiance in Marcia’s eyes, a spark of strength that refused to be extinguished by their cruelty.

Clyde and Albert also tormented Henry relentlessly, shoving him with enough force to send him sprawling to the ground or heckling him, calling him a coward, even though they knew he didn’t dare fight back.

When Henry ignored them, they amped up their torture. They flung dirt at him, spit at him, or if they were eating, it was food that was tossed at him. Even Al felt the sting of their taunts. As did the rest of the pack.

It was Tuesday, and Jerome’s auction was supposed to be held that night.

He was still in bed when he heard Albert’s heavy footsteps stop outside his door and it burst open.

“Get up,” Albert barked, looming in the doorway.

Fuck. Jerome squeezed his eyes shut. It was time, and although he trusted his vision, that didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid.

“You think this is a game?” Albert yanked the cover away with one swift tug.

“Just give me a minute,” Jerome mumbled.

“A minute? You’ve had all week,” Albert snapped as he tossed a garment bag on the bed.

Jerome sat up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. “I don’t know why you want me there so early.”

Jerome had been told that the auction was being held in the stone circle. He’d almost laughed. Of all the places that asshole alpha could’ve picked. It was truly perfect.

“Alpha said he wants you there, so we’re going to be there. We’re going over everything twice, and I’m not about to let you screw this up,” Albert said.

Jerome swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“We leave in fifteen. If you haven’t dressed yourself when I return, I will. And I will take my sweet time doing so,” Albert threatened as he turned on his heel and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Jerome stared at the door, his heart pounding in his chest at the threat. His hands shook as he reached for the garment bag and opened it. He pulled out the shirt they’d given him to wear.

It was extremely small and sheer. If he could even get it on, it’d cling to his frame and leave his arms exposed. His stomach twisted with tension as he imagined the spectacle they intended to make of him.

His attention turned to the pants. He grimaced at the metallic sheen of the gray material. They were thin and low-cut with slim, almost skintight legs that left little to the imagination.

No one would wonder how big he was down there, thanks to the pants. He ran a hand through his hair, reminding himself that his vision would come true. It had to.

And oh look, no shoes.

When he finally dressed, he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and glimpsed himself in the mirror.

He nearly laughed in disbelief. It was ridiculous—he looked like a stripper ready for some bachelor party gig—but if it got him into the stone circle, he didn’t care.

All week, Jerome had gone over every detail of his vision again and again until there was no doubt in his mind that this was exactly what needed to happen.

A small, mean smile crept up on his lips as he remembered the outcome of the vision.

He brushed his teeth, then splashed cold water on his face as he stared at himself in the mirror. His reflection looked pale and drawn, like someone slowly being drained of color. He dried off and ran his fingers through his hair. There. He was ready to go.

Voices filtered from the living area: Albert barking orders at someone—probably Henry. When the door opened again, Clyde stood there to escort him.

The living room was chaos.

Jerome’s eyes widened at the mess. Huge industrial lights were piled around the room with black cables coiling like restless snakes underfoot. Two large generators sat in the corner, red canisters of gasoline lined up beside them. There were monitors and foldable tables.

He saw Albert arguing with someone over a satellite dish in a jumble of shipping materials. “None of you idiots touch this. I swear, if I catch anyone near the dish, I will hang you with these cables.”

Jerome shook his head. “Quite the production.”

Clyde glared in his direction before turning back to the tangle of gear.

“Is this all going?” Jerome asked, picking up a long cord and inspecting it.

Clyde grabbed it out of his hands and tossed it over his shoulder. “Where the hell is Albert?”

Jerome shrugged and glanced toward the door where a pack member struggled to carry out a stack of lighting rigs.

“Can’t believe he’s making us set up in that damn stone circle,” Clyde muttered under his breath. “Could’ve just done it here.”

“It’ll be perfect,” Jerome said, feeling giddy despite himself.

Clyde growled, then pushed past him to follow the others hauling equipment out of the house. Outside, Jerome stood for a moment watching them load up trucks with the equipment—cameras, tripods, enough extension cords to stretch across several state lines.

“Any new ones?” Henry whispered as he passed by Jerome, carrying something.

“No,” Jerome whispered back. No, there hadn’t been any new visions.

Henry smiled slightly as he caught up with everyone struggling to pack things into vehicles.

Albert came out of nowhere and shoved Jerome forward. “You got something to smile about?”

“I’ll be doing plenty of smiling tonight.”

“You’ve cracked, haven’t you? Poor, stupid omega.” Albert grunted as he propelled Jerome toward his truck.

Jerome remained silent as he got into the front seat. Thankfully, Elmer was in another truck, sparing Jerome from having to ride with him.

Albert slammed the door behind him, stomped around to the driver’s side, and got inside. “I don’t care what alpha says—you screw this up and there won’t be anything left for me to bury.”

The engine roared to life as Albert turned the key, leading their convoy away from the house and into the woods. It was fully dark, and a chill ran down Jerome’s spine as they neared the stone circle. It was ominous even more than usual tonight—as if it were holding its breath for him.

Jerome’s hands shook uncontrollably as the truck came to a stop. His heart pounded as he glanced around. The landscape was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the turmoil in Jerome’s mind.

“Keep your ass in the truck,” Albert snapped, turning to glare at him as he rolled the windows down and killed the engine. “Do not run. You know what’ll happen if you do.”

“I know. I won’t run.”

Albert squinted at him. “You do know that no one is coming to save you, right? This is happening.”

“I know.”

“No one even knows we took over, and the ones who show up tomorrow will most likely leave when they see that we’re established here. But it’ll be too late for you. As soon as your buyer transfers the money, Clyde will leave with you later tonight so we can put you on a private plane for transfer.”

Jerome stared at Albert.

“Nothing to say?”

“You’re going to die screaming,” Jerome said slowly. “Just wanted to let you know.”

Albert’s hand whipped out, striking Jerome across the mouth. “I hope your new owner fucks your ass raw daily.”

“Screaming,” Jerome whispered. “In horrible pain.”

Albert flashed his fangs at Jerome, then got out of the truck, shouting at a group of pack members who had arrived to unload their vehicles.

It looked as if they’d dragged some of the pack into this terrible situation. He hated that they’d be involved in this. Despite knowing about his visions, they were anxious about what lay ahead.

The ancient stone circle loomed in front of them. The slabs, weathered by centuries, stood solemnly, casting elongated shadows that stretched under the penetrating glow of the vehicles’ headlights.

There was a strange sort of comfort knowing the rogue and his betas would bleed out in there shortly.