21. Deacon

His brows drop, anger creasing his face as his one eye flares with annoyance.

We got it right.

My blood boils as I look him in the face. I should have known his slimy, traitorous ass would weasel his way here.

We should've killed you.

My wolf threatens control, and I take a slow breath to hold on, knowing unleashing him will have me removed, contest over or not. Instead, once I allow the silence to sit long enough, I lift the corner of my mouth, knowing the small movement will only add to his anger, and move my gaze to ignore him completely. Scanning the area, my attention falls on the Betas that flank him. Both appear at least a decade my senior, but neither poses a threat.

"Where should we take our gear?" I ask the man sitting to Rod"s left. I can tell by his quick glance that he reports to Rod.

Fun.

My eyebrow lifts in annoyance as he decides if he should answer, everything in me wanting to push Command into my voice before I hear Stone speak.

"Yeah, you can take mine to the bunks," he adds, tossing his bag at the man's feet before continuing. "Got anything to eat? I'm starving." He says, stretching his arms out nonchalantly while looking around for the source of the aroma wafting our way.

The man looks irritated and hesitates before responding, his eyes sliding between us and his boss for some sort of confirmation as to his role here.

"Cadet. You do not have the authority to boss my men around," Rod says, his voice slow but menacing. "I didn't catch your name…"

"I didn't offer it, though where I come from, lower wolves obey orders from Alphas, or do you not have hierarchies here?" His voice stays neutral, but there's a challenge in his tone.

Rod laughs; the sound deep and dark.

"You have no rank here, Alpha blood or not. And, as I have no idea who you are, your importance matters little. You can take your bags to the barracks on the North side of the compound, claim a bunk, and report to the center flag. Formation will begin when the last team is accounted for. Your stomach," he pauses for effect, "will have to wait until then." He turns with his final statement, leaning back in his chair again and feigning indifference, but the clench of his jaw gives away his anger.

"Appreciate the hospitality, RamRod," I mock salute as I walk past them, not bothering to protect my back. Footsteps follow behind me, and I crack a smile at Stone's passing remark.

"Later, Stickman."

Brody Rodriguez was once an enforcer in our pack. He was on track to take over as head enforcer when my father stepped into power. When Giovanni gave him the option to step down or leave, Rod fought. Challenging for the Alpha title. His wolf was strong but no match for my father's dirty fighting tricks. He walked away with his life, and the scar displayed across his eye as a reminder of who was in charge.

He spent nearly a year complaining to anyone who would listen that he'd been cheated, but with the loss of his eye, no one believed he would be able to lead any pack. To shut him up, he was added to the security team for the LLC briefings. How he weaseled his way into a leadership position here was beyond me, but one thing I knew for sure. He wouldn't be letting that nickname go.

Stick up his ass. Stick in the mud. Stick a fork in him….

Oh yes. ‘Stickman' would certainly be sticking around.

This Stone kid was growing on me.

It was another four hours before the final team made it to the gates with only minutes to spare. At least the final team that was still eligible. Out of the fifty cadets who started the day, only twenty-nine remained. Turns out Alvarez's partner found him after all and dragged his sorry corpse to the gates an hour before the deadline.

Gotta hand it to him. He's a fighter.

The powers that be thought so, too, and allowed him to stay, citing that he indeed made it before midnight with his partner. I'm sure more questions will follow about his death, but in the meantime, each of us is idly hanging around, waiting for our next instructions.

Marcus and I were the first to arrive at the compound, with about twenty minutes before the group we heard approaching was able to make it through the trap maze from their side of things. We each took a bed at the far end of the barracks, him on the right, me on the left, intentionally placing two walls behind us so we had less surface area to protect.

If I could really trust him, I would only have to worry about the person who took the bunk closest to me. I counted the beds as we entered and found only thirty set up in the room. Fifteen on each side, with a long walkway in the middle. A trunk sat at the foot of each, large enough to hold a small person. It's efficient. It's minimalistic. It's going to be a security nightmare for someone like me.

I'm doing this for Grace.

Just thinking her name causes a pang in my heart. I've only been away from her for a day, and already I miss the light timbre of her voice, the crinkle in her nose when she sasses me, the warmth of her skin against mine.

How am I going to make it months?

Shaking the weight of that question, I return my attention to the pairs who arrived intact:

Me and Marcus

Finn McCormick and Hayden Furth

Alister Benitez and Doug Martin

Sean Moore and Rico Gomez

JJ Simmons and Veronica Kent

Ornwell Dith and Conner Saint

Yelthin Hines and Kenneth James

Kayla Saches and Brent Barlow

Anthony Lucci and Mason French

Megan Clark and Brock Wilson

Braxton Hicks and Sage Perkins

Franklin Tomlinson and Pete Smith

Johnny Durkmen and Steve Kline

Jeffrey Miller and Lance Montgomery

Brad Sullivan and Parker Alvarez

Well… Just Brad.

Each team seemed to have a silent peace agreement as we all stood waiting around the center flag. The space sat directly in front of the barracks and across from what I assumed would be the chow hall. A headquarters tent towered in front of us, and the staff quarters lay behind. Two eight-foot tables adorned with tablecloths showcasing the LLC emblem stared back at us from in front of the headquarters area. Guards filtered through the space, not giving us much attention.

Several pairs can be seen casually chatting, while others seem to be less than enthusiastic about their matches. Their body language reveals more than I'm sure they intend. When all failing teams are accounted for and returned to their vehicles for the drive of shame, we are finally called to attention.

"Cadets. Fall in." The order came from one of the Betas, and my wolf bristled at the insinuation that a lower wolf was giving orders. The low growling from other cadets confirmed that I wasn't alone in this hesitation.

"Many of you may have noticed that access to your wolf has been muted today. While some of you may be moving through the tail end of that now, it doesn't change the fact that while you are here, you are lowest on the totem pole. Now line up before I throw any more of you out," Stickman shouts, irritation laced in his tone as he strides across the front platform and plants himself into a chair at the table.

Shuffling from both sides of me lets me know everyone is indeed lining up in rows, as indicated by colored dots on the floor. I quickly assess how many dots of each color there are and glance at the red one at Stone's feet.

He has more than proven his ability to be an ally, so I move two lines over and grab the last red spot, nearly knocking Kline out of the way with a disgruntled huff.

Everything is a test.

Each color had five dots spaced around the area. My guess is these are the groupings for the next test.

"Normally, this is where we would congratulate you on making it through the first challenge. Introduce your training staff and send you off for the night. However, due to the murder of one of the cadets, we have been told to pause until the truth about the incident and all parties involved can be questioned and cleared. In the meantime, you are sequestered to your barracks except for meal times. Any one found out of the tents will face immediate removal."

Whispers break out at the news of the murder, and eyes begin flipping around as each cadet silently guesses who is responsible. I don't have to look around. I can feel the eyes sliding my way, full of judgment and disdain.

"Before you move, take a look at the colors on the dots at your feet. The next task requires you to work in teams of five. We'll have you meet your team once the… legal nature of the attacks has been resolved. Food's ready in the mess. Dismissed."

From the corner of my eye, I see Marcus look down at his dot before sliding his gaze to mine. A half smile lifts the corner of his mouth before he nods and walks back toward the food tent. It's at this moment I know we have a silent agreement. He's got me, and I've got him.

First alliance secured. This may not be as hard as I thought.