Dargan’s POV

You know your life is a clusterfuck, when prefer a quiet cell to the people standing outside of it, offering me a way to escape execution.

My crime?

Or would that be “crimes”, considering I’ve been charged with several murders?

Well, fuck me if I know…

First, I allegedly killed my father. Because what kind of son, doesn’t want to kill his father from time to time?

Especially in a fit of rage…

That’s what they’re saying at least.

That we had an argument and I killed him in a fit of rage.

Sure…

It had nothing to do with the fact that I walked in on my mother crying and screaming in pain. Barely able to breathe. Despite being just 14 at the time I knew exactly what it meant.

My father was fucking another bitch.

I knew he wasn’t a saint, but I’d always loved and looked up to my father. He was a good man and an even better alpha. He was the one who preached to me about the sanctity of a mate bond. How precious a mate was and how to treat them with kindness, respect, and love. Knowing what he’d done to my mother – going against everything he made me believe---

Yeah, I was pissed!

I burst into his office, demanding to know what the fuck was going on. I ignored the fact that the room smelled like sex. That my father’s ass was out and that there was a half-naked slut on the table.

And he got angry with me!

Told me to mind my own business before he slapped me so hard, that I saw stars. I didn’t know what I had expected when I ran into that office. Perhaps some “it’s not what it looks like” or “I can explain” lame-ass excuses. But when he grabbed me by the throat and growled at me to “get the fuck out” I suddenly realized that the man in front of me was no longer the man who raised me.

Angry, confused, and hurt, I bolted out of there and headed into the woods. Later that night I came back--- and was arrested.

For murder.

My father’s murder!

Of course, I claimed innocence! I wasn’t a murderer and the last I saw him he was very much alive. Hell, I even told them the truth about what happened. And that was when I got the second shock of my life. My mother stood up, claiming that I was lying. That she’d never felt my father cheat on her. That the pain she felt was when the mate bond snapped. Hell, even the bitch that my father was fucking witnessed against me.

That was when I---

Broke!

To this day, I still don’t know what happened or even how it happened. Werewolves were born with their wolves and we can shift into our wolf form from the moment we breathed air. But like all creatures, we gradually grow stronger as we grow and mature. Since I was born to alpha parents, my wolf was naturally stronger, tougher, and bigger than most other werewolves.

But even I know that I wasn’t a match for my father – a true alpha!

That was why I couldn’t explain how it happened.

But it did.

Enraged, scared, and broken, I fought my captors. I fought the guards and---

And broke the chains holding me!

Now, some may think that werewolves are weakened by silver or crosses or some shit. But that’s not the case. All you need to restrain a werewolf is bigger handcuffs. And while the ones who had been holding me were medieval looking, I still managed to break them as easily as plastic.

And I ran!

Now, some say that being a rogue was better than being in an abusive pack or an abusive relationship. And what do I know? It may be true, it may not. Hell, some might even run into their mates after escaping their homes, finding a new happily ever after someplace else.

Not so much the story when you’re a 14-year-old boy…

I quickly made my peace with the fact that sucking trucker cock was the only way to get me from place to place. The only way I got to eat or sleep. Anytime I was raped, my wolf healed my injuries and while he wanted nothing more than to kill them, I wasn’t about to become the man they accused me of.

I wasn’t a murderer!

Fast forward a couple of years and I was standing in a ring, trying to fight for my money. And I quickly realized that it was easy, considering that they were all humans. I won the matches easily. And yeah, if they paid me, I’d happily lose as well. I didn’t care about morals. All I cared about was money!

That, and never set my foot onto pack property ever again.

So now you might ask: how did I go from being a successful MMA fighter – my name only whispered in fear – to sitting behind bars with some of the strongest warriors of the Blackwood Pack guarding me? And why the man in front of me – a man who I used to call uncle – was glaring at me with a serious expression and possibly my ticket out of this shithole?

Well, sit back.

And I’ll tell you all about it…