Connor stepped closer. "Phil, can ye tone it down a wee bit? The prisoner canna answer our questions if he's unconscious."
Through a blue-tinted haze Phil realized the prisoner's eyes had grown dull. He retracted his claws, reined in his Alpha power, and with one last shimmer his body returned to full human form. He let go of the Malcontent and stepped back.
Sigismund gasped for air as he slumped against the chains. "Don't…don't let him hurt me. I…I'll tell you everything I know."
"Verra good." Connor nodded at Phil with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. "Well done, lad."
"You da man." Phineas gave him a knuckle pound. "Half man, half wolf, half son of a bitch."
Phil snorted. Technically speaking, all male wolves were sons of bitches. He wandered into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge. He was painfully aware of the admiring glances that Austin and Phineas kept aiming his way. Personally, he was embarrassed. Ashamed, even.
He'd worked hard at the Navajo reservation in New Mexico to achieve his Alpha status. His old shaman friend and mentor, Joe, had stressed the great responsibility that came with Alpha power. Phil had sworn to be true to the noble character of the wolf and use his powers to protect those who depended on him. He was to hone his skills so he would always be victorious in battle. In all things, he was to honor the wolf.
Never was he to use his power for personal gain or to exact revenge. He was a chosen one, destined to be a leader among his own kind.
And he'd nearly murdered a man out of rage. He recalled Vanda's words when she'd thought he had killed Max the Mega Member.
I understand the kind of rage that leads a person to take a life.
Was that what she was hiding? Had Vanda been so traumatized by the cruelty of war that she'd stepped over the line? She'd mentioned that Karl was the leader of the underground resistance, so it was logical to assume that Vanda had been involved in dangerous activities. The Nazis had sent wolves to kill her, so she'd clearly pissed them off. More of her words came back to him.
I don't want any more deaths on my conscience.
"Where is Casimir hiding?" Connor asked, bringing Phil's attention back to the present.
"He moves around, a different place every night," Sigismund rasped. "I need to feed."
"And I need real information," Connor replied. "Phineas, is there any Blissky in the kitchen?"
"I'll look." Phineas rummaged through the cabinets.
"I'm not drinking that synthetic piss," Sigismund growled.
"Ye doona have a choice." Connor sat in a kitchen chair close to the prisoner.
"Found one!" Phineas opened a bottle of Blissky and inhaled deeply. "I'd better test it to make sure it's all right." He took a swig. "Oh yeah, baby! Now we're talking." He filled a glass to the brim.
Phil located a straw and plopped it into the amber liquid. The fridge was full of plain synthetic blood, but he figured Connor was hoping the Blissky would loosen Sigismund's tongue. Since it was highly doubtful the prisoner had imbibed any whiskey in the last four hundred years, he would be hammered in no time.
"What does Casimir hope to accomplish here in America?" Connor asked.
Sigismund snorted. "What do you think? He came here to be your friend?"
"World domination," Phineas muttered as he approached the prisoner with the glass of Blissky. "You bad guys are so predictable. Don't you get bored with yourselves?"
Sigismund sneered. "We'll take great pleasure in seeing you all dead." He turned his head away from the glass Phineas offered. "Bring me a mortal."
"You don't know what you're missing, man." Phineas swirled the glass under the prisoner's nose. "Smells really good, doesn't it? Tastes like heaven."
Sigismund's nostrils flared and his fangs shot out.
"Hard to stop those reflexes, huh?" Phineas stuck the straw in Sigismund's mouth.
The prisoner slurped down all the Blissky in just a few seconds. Then he coughed, his eyes watering. His fangs retracted.
Phineas chuckled. "Good shit, huh?"
"Not as good as a mortal." Sigismund eyed the empty glass. "Bring me more."
Phineas snorted. "You don't want to admit it's good." He returned to the kitchen to pour another glass.
Phil noted there was color back in Sigismund's face. "How big an army does Casimir have?"
"Big enough to destroy you. And about to get even bigger." Sigismund smiled. "Casimir knows how to take advantage of your weakness."