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Prologue
On the subject of broken unions:
All Paranormal unions (also referred to colloquially as matings, claimings, bloodings, soul mates, etc.) are final so long as both parties sign a notarized certificate (“Bonding License”) stating a “bond” exists between them. The penalties for fabricating this claim are up to and including incarceration at a state-run facility.
In the event that one party becomes deceased, this Ordinance requires that, should the remaining party be a Paranormal, the broken “bond” must be neutralized in order to keep the Paranormal from becoming a danger to the rest of society.
As of the latest revision for this Ordinance, the surviving Paranormal has three options: a) voluntary incarceration in a state-run facility until rehabilitation; b) voluntary dissolution of the existing “bond” by a government-employed witch; c) in the most extreme cases, when rehabilitation is not deemed possible, a state-sanctioned execution.
Rehabilitation is conditional. If the surviving Paranormal breaks any of the clauses outlined in this Ordinance following release, the penalty is further incarceration or, in severe cases, execution.
— Ordinance 7304
Section IV
1
Colton Wolfe tapped his fingers against his leg, grateful that his claws hadn't made an appearance yet.
Grateful and a little surprised, too. Shit. His control was holding out better than he expected.
Maddox would be proud. He always said Colt’s temper was too explosive.
Yeah, well. Guilty as charged.
It really didn’t take much to set him off. One of his tools missing from its specific spot in his work shed. Traffic snarls, he fucking hated those. Another wolf having the balls to mark in his territory? It was a struggle to keep to two legs instead of four. Even something as simple as his soda going flat before he had finished it tested him.
He couldn’t help it.
Shifters were known for having a short leash, with Colt’s notably shorter than most. He always snapped first, asked questions later. It was one of the reasons he was glad his brother was four years older. Even if they were both born alphas, Maddox had the bad luck to be his father’s second-in-command, the next in line to be Alpha, if only because he was the eldest.
He would lead the pack one day if Colt could finally convince Mad that he didn’t belong behind bars.
Last month, Colt didn’t even bother trying. He’d given up after his first few visits, knowing that he’d never be able to change his stubborn brother’s mind.
But that was last month.
Last year.
Hell, that was yesterday.
Not today, though. Not with this recent knowledge buzzing around his skull, making his inner wolf yip frantically with excitement.
He needed to get to Maddox.
Too bad the cop wasn’t making it easy for him.
Colt’s temper was primed to go off like a rocket. The smirk, the damn smirk on the cop’s face, was enough to provide a spark if he wasn’t careful.
Because if there was one thing that guaranteed an appearance by his beast? It was someone deliberately screwing with him. And the smarmy, smug bastard on the other side of the bulletproof glass wasn't just screwing with him—he was wearing a shit-eating grin while he did it.
“I don’t know,” the blond officer drawled, squinting at the P.I.D. card Colt had just passed through the one-inch gap in the partition. “You sure this is you?”
Colt swallowed his growl, his claws scratching at the tips of his fingers, begging to be let free. “It's me.”
“Don't know about that. It doesn't look like you all that much.”
“That’s my picture,” Colt said through gritted teeth. “That’s my name.”
“You don’t say. Huh.”
Ah, hell. How had he forgotten? Officer Wright thought he was some kind of comedian, only his tired routine had gotten old the first time he pulled it almost a year ago.
Damn it. Did Colt have to put up with this crap every time he wanted to visit his brother?
He exhaled roughly through his nose. A quick shake of his shoulders, settling inside of his skin. Wolfing out while at the Cage was the quickest way to get thrown in one. “Come on. It’s me. You know it is.”
“Name says ‘Wolfe’,” the officer noted, purposely drawing out the last word. “‘Shifter type: Lycan’. Yeah?” He made a point to squint a little as he took in Colt’s tall, lean frame, frowning as he eyed the shifter’s clean-shaven face, his closely cropped light brown hair. “I just don't think I buy it. Shouldn’t you be hairier or something? Where’s the fangs, Pretty Boy?” Wright let out a derisive snort. Colt bit down so hard, he nearly split his tongue with the fangs he purposely kept just out of sight. “Your kind should come with a warning label, not just some stupid card.”
Okay. Pretty Boy he could handle, he’d been called worse by his brother, but the way the cop spat out your kind as if Colt was somehow less because he was a paranormal? He locked his jaw, smartly staying quiet in case he snapped something that guaranteed he’d never get in to see Maddox.
Flaring his nostrils, he took another deep breath, struggling to retain his hold on his furious wolf.
Because another thing that made him lose it? Nobody Ants like Wright who thought they were better than Paras.
When he was confident he wasn’t about to shift on the spot, Colt relaxed enough to unscrew his jaw and speak again. No matter what Wright thought, his trip to the Cage wasn’t a waste of time. He had a damn good reason for coming back so soon and, as tempting as it was, squashing this Ant wasn’t it.
Later, though. He’d remember this later.
Nothing he could do now anyway. The glass protecting Wright’s worthless hide wasn't just bulletproof. He could tell from the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up that the glass was also enchanted to be Para-proof. Claws and fangs and brute strength were powerless against the warding spells.
Fucking witches. He fought back another snarl. Alpha, how he hated them.
The ones who turned their back on their fellow Paras to sell their spells to the government were the absolute worst. Just the thought of them made his skin itch, his gaze icing o
