Alpha's Hidden Chains

*** Nailo’s POV

I’ve lost all sensation except for the searing pain of the silver collar fused into my flesh. It’s been my constant torment these long years, burning and binding me, preventing the shift that might offer some relief. Jansen finally slides off me, having taken his fill like a gluttonous beast, his breath heavy with satisfaction.

Tonight, something is different. The triplets came at me with a ferocity that told me this would be my last night. I won’t see the morning. Part of me is surprised they’re ready to dispose of me, but most of me is relieved. The end is near.

 I can feel the wetness pooling beneath me, my own blood seeping into the cold, unforgiving ground. Javier didn’t even bother removing his chainmail tonight, and the sharp edges had torn into my flesh, leaving jagged gashes that bleed freely. But it’s Jared’s knife play that will be the death of me—he wasn’t playing, and his blades had been honed to perfection, each slice deliberate, each cut a final goodbye.

 My heartbeat pounds louder in my ears, a macabre drum signaling the approach of the inevitable. It’s almost amusing, the way life clings to the edge before letting go, but I welcome it. It’s a lullaby to the end. Soon, it will stop altogether, and I’ll be free.

 The brothers have started drinking again. I can’t see them clearly from the corner I’ve managed to crawl to, but I can hear the slosh of liquor as they guzzle it down, the muted conversations that barely reach my ears. They’re gearing up for another round. The thought would terrify me if I weren’t already slipping away. There’s a strange comfort in knowing I won’t be here for it. I’ll be dead before they can reach me.

 I can no longer move my body. The strength I once had has drained away, leaving me a shell, tilting from the half-upright position I’d managed to find against the far wall. Now I’m more or less a corpse, lying on my side, awaiting the final blow. The last thing I may see is one of them stumbling toward me, but they won’t reach me before I’m gone.

 My wolf says nothing. She’s been silent for so long, buried beneath the weight of the silver and the pain. I can’t feel her within me, perhaps my wolf is already gone.

 A sense of peace washes over me as the darkness closes in. 

*** Alpha Eamon’s POV

 "The castle’s secure," my beta, Kirkland, reports with a slight bow of his head. His voice is steady, but there’s a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. "Most surrendered readily. It seems the reports of the princes' desertion on the battlefield preceded us. The females have locked themselves in the cellars, which is as good a cell as any. And the princes…" His voice trails off, a hesitation I don't often hear from him.

 "What about them?" I glare, my impatience flaring.

Kirkland chuckles, the sound dark and humorless. "The princes have taken refuge in the dungeons. From what we can tell, they’ve decided to spend their last night alive fucking some slaves."

"They're in the dungeons?" I clarify, the disgust rising in my chest.

 "Yes." Kirkland shakes his head, still in disbelief. "They might not even be aware the castle has fallen. We locked them down there, but they still seem to be, well, preoccupied. They haven’t even noticed what’s happening above."

"Imbeciles," I sigh, the word laced with contempt. How these fools ever came to power is beyond me.

Indeed, my wolf growls in agreement, the hunger for justice simmering beneath the surface.

I rise from the cold stone steps where I’ve been resting, gathering strength and focus as I receive the final reports from the battle. Our victory has been cleaner than I could have ever imagined. Most of their pack switched sides the moment we stepped onto the field, eager to rid themselves of the monstrous family that had ruled them with cruelty and fear. A family that should never have been allowed to hold power.

"Let’s finish this," I say, my voice low but resolute, as I straighten my shoulders and steel myself for what’s to come.

Kirkland’s grim smile mirrors my own, a silent acknowledgment that the end is near. He turns, leading the way through the winding corridors of the castle, the echoes of our footsteps reverberating off the stone walls.

We reach the heavy wooden door that leads down to the dungeons, and even before we open it, their voices drift up to us. The princes are laughing, discussing whether to take another turn with the slave before finishing her off. Their casual cruelty sends a wave of fury through me.

I press my hand to the door, feeling the vibrations of their callous conversation. My jaw clenches as I push it open, the hinges creaking as if the castle itself is protesting their vile intentions.

As the door swings wide, the stench hits us—a rancid mix of sweat, blood, and the fetid air of the dungeon. The scene inside is worse than I had imagined. The princes, those who should have been the defenders of their people, have debased themselves entirely. They’ve become nothing more than animals, driven by their base desires, blind to the reality of their downfall.