Defy The Alpha(s) novel Chapter 144

Chapter 144: Doctor Patrick

If there was anyone Alaric and Griffin hated with every fiber of their being, it was the man standing before them.

Patrick Vale.

The bastard doctor.

Patrick still had the same smug, polished appearance, the same unsettling detached amusement in his expression, like he was dissecting them with his eyes, assessing them as nothing more than test subjects.

His youthful appearance might have deceived anyone else, might have made one believe he hadn’t aged a day, but Alaric and Griffin knew better. The bastard had carved up enough bodies to know how to preserve his own.

Yet, even though the surgeries had been flawless, it was not perfect.

The procedures couldn’t completely erase the grotesque, jagged scars marring the side of his right face—a permanent signature of Asher’s wrath and a reminder of his past failure. It was the delightful legacy of the night Asher had compelled him to stab himself with a scalpel.

The stitches had been neat and the tissue repaired fine, but the skin remained slightly warped. Hence, the scarred flesh stretched in places where it shouldn’t, pulling ever so slightly whenever he smirked.

Alaric had never been a fan of Asher’s methods. But this? He agreed for once.

And if only Asher had killed the bastard that day, things would have been so much better.

But then again, even Alaric knew that if Patrick had died, Elijah would have simply found another sadist to take his place.

Perhaps even someone worse.

Alaric’s blue gaze connected with Patrick’s dark, beady eyes. But it was his right eye—the unnatural one—that made his stomach twist.

He knew Patrick had stabbed that eye out that day thanks to Asher’s compulsion. And yet, here it was.

The bastard must have had it replaced. Whatever it was now, it wasn’t normal, and staring at it sent a prickle of unease down his spine.

A deep, instinctual revulsion crept up Alaric’s spine, and his disgust manifested physically with lightning crackling between his fingertips, the air around him charged with volatile energy.

Patrick noticed. He always noticed. And the bastard had the audacity to smirk.

"Easy there," Patrick crooned, taking a leisurely step forward. "Easy, thunder boy. You’ve already put one person in a hospital bed. We wouldn’t want another unfortunate victim, would we?"

Although Patrick’s words dripped with false sympathy, his eyes gleamed with accusation, obviously blaming Alaric for the incident.

And the small reminder was enough to make Alaric’s breath hitch.

Elsie.

Alaric’s fury was instantly dimmed, his jaw unclenching and his cracking fingers lowering slightly. But the moment Patrick took another step closer, his fangs bared in warning.

Yet Patrick didn’t stop, saying instead,

"Whether you like it or not, I have to take a look at her."

"The others have already examined her. She’s fine. Elsie’s a werewolf. She’s strong. An ordinary shock can’t take her down." Alaric snarled at him.

Patrick tilted his head, something dark gleaming behind his eyes. His voice dropped, dripping with sick amusement.

"Look at you, Alaric," he mused. "All strong and protective. Standing over your precious eligible mate."

Then, the bastard chuckled.

"Unfortunately for you," Patrick’s voice turned low, sly, "my hands have already been on her body."

His words were carefully chosen and deliberately misleading. Alaric knew what the bastard was doing. He was provoking him on purpose.

But it didn’t matter because it worked.

A violent snarl tore from his throat, his fangs lengthening, and his blue eyes glowing with power.

And as if to reinforce the threat, Griffin let out a thunderous roar, the sheer force of it sending a ripple of wind that whipped across Patrick’s face.

For a brief second, Patrick actually flinched.

But it was brief. Too brief.

He recovered far too quickly for a man who should have been terrified out of his pants. Not that he had ever been, else he wouldn’t have risked his life to experiment on them from the beginning.