You fucking dared to touch what's mine?

Clara's POV

Garrick froze atop me, his drunken haze shattering into pale, wide-eyed terror. "A-Alpha... I-I didn't—" he stammered, scrambling off me in a pathetic scramble, his hands shaking as he tried to pull up his pants. But it was too late. Far too late.

In a blur of motion, Taehyung crossed the room, his strides predatory and swift, like a shadow come to life. He seized Garrick by the collar with one hand, yanking him upright as if he weighed nothing more than a rag doll. The guard's feet dangled off the ground for a split second before Taehyung hurled him into the opposite wall. The impact was thunderous—wood splintering, a painting crashing to the floor in a shower of glass and frame shards.

"You fucking dared to touch what's mine?" Taehyung snarled, his voice echoing with alpha authority that pressed down on me even through my haze of fear. He advanced, fists flying without mercy. The first punch connected with Garrick's jaw, a sickening crack of bone that sent blood spraying across the bedspread in a fine mist. "You think you can breathe in her presence? Look at her without my permission? Touch her like she's yours?"

Garrick crumpled to the floor, gasping and clutching his face, but Taehyung didn't relent. He grabbed him by the hair, slamming his head back against the wall with a thud that reverberated through the room. "Please, Alpha—mercy!" the guard begged, blood bubbling from his split lip, his eyes swollen and pleading. "I was drunk—I didn't mean—"

"Mercy?" Taehyung's laugh was cold, devoid of any humor, a sound that chilled me to my core. "You forfeited that the moment you stepped through that door, you worthless scum." Another blow to the gut doubled Garrick over, forcing a retch from his throat, followed by a knee to the face that shattered his nose with a wet crunch. Blood poured freely now, staining the floor in dark, spreading pools. Taehyung's knuckles were raw, slick with crimson, but his breathing remained steady, controlled—rage honed into deadly precision.

I lay there, curled into a fetal position on the bed, clutching the remnants of my torn dress around my exposed skin. Tears streamed unchecked down my face, my body shaking uncontrollably. The fear from moments ago lingered, a toxic residue that made my stomach churn, but now it mixed with a new dread: Taehyung's fury. Would he turn it on me? Blame me for this intrusion, for not fighting harder? For existing as his weakness?

"Taehyung!" I cried out, my voice raw and hoarse from screaming. "Stop—please, he's... he's not worth it." But my words dissolved into sobs, the drama of the scene unfolding like a nightmare I couldn't wake from. "Just... just get him away from me."

Taehyung paused mid-strike, his fist hovering inches from Garrick's bloodied face, chest heaving with barely contained wrath. He glanced at me, and for a fleeting second, something flickered in his crimson eyes—concern? Regret? No, it couldn't be. Not from him, the man who'd turned my life into a cage of cruelty. It vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by that icy, dominating glare that had become my constant companion. He dropped Garrick like discarded trash, the man collapsing in a heap, wheezing and broken, whimpering incoherently.

Taehyung turned fully toward me, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud about to unleash hell. Blood speckled his shirt, his hands dripping with it, the metallic tang thick in the air. He stalked closer, each step deliberate and heavy, and I shrank back instinctively, my heart racing anew. "Clara," he murmured, his voice low and dark, laced with possession that made my skin crawl. He reached out, fingers gripping my chin—not gently, but firmly—forcing my tear-streaked face up to meet his gaze.

I flinched at his touch, the metallic scent of blood assaulting my senses, mingling with the coppery taste in my own mouth from biting my lip. "You... you scared me," I whispered, my voice breaking on the words. "He—he almost—why did this happen? Why am I even here, like this?"

His eyes narrowed, darkening further to a stormy red. "No one touches what belongs to me," he growled, his breath hot against my skin, carrying the faint scent of pine and dominance. "Do you understand? You're mine, Clara. Mine to protect, mine to punish, mine to break if I choose." There was no softness in his words, only raw dominance, a reminder of my place in his twisted world. "This filth thought he could take what's marked by me. He'll pay."

But the drama wasn't over. Footsteps pounded in the hallway—more guards, drawn by the commotion like moths to a flame. They burst in, weapons drawn—silver blades glinting in the low light—their eyes widening at the scene: the bloodied room, the crumpled Garrick, Taehyung looming over me like a dark sentinel.

"Alpha!" one of them barked, a beta named Rhys, his voice sharp with alarm. "What happened? We heard screams—gods, is that Garrick? What did he do?"

Taehyung whirled on them, his aura flaring like a wildfire, making them all step back in unison, heads bowing slightly under the weight of his command. "This filth dared to lay hands on your Luna," he spat, kicking Garrick's limp form for emphasis. The guard groaned weakly, a gurgle of blood escaping his lips. "He thought he could violate what's mine. Take him to the cells. I'll deal with him at dawn—personally. And clean this mess up."

The guards hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at me with a mix of pity and suspicion that made my cheeks burn with fresh shame. "Is she... hurt?" Rhys started, his voice tentative, eyes flicking to my torn dress and the bite mark on my neck. "Should we call the healer?"

Taehyung cut him off with a snarl that echoed off the walls. "She's fine. Now get him out of my sight before I rip his throat out here and now. And Rhys—spread the word. Anyone who so much as looks at her wrong will join him."

They nodded hastily, grabbing Garrick by the arms and dragging him away, his body leaving a smeared trail of blood on the floor like a macabre painting. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving us alone in the wreckage—the air thick with the stench of violence and fear.

Taehyung turned back to me, his expression unreadable, a mask of stone carved from rage. He pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over my shoulders—a gesture that could have been caring in another life, but his grip on my arm was too tight, bruising anew, marking me as his property once more. "Get up," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "Clean yourself. I won't have you looking like a victim in my house. It reflects on me."

I stood on trembling legs, the fear still pulsing through me like poison, now laced with confusion and a bubbling resentment that threatened to spill over. I clutched the blanket tighter, my eyes locking onto his. "Why do you care?" I whispered, my voice gaining an edge of defiance amid the drama, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "You treat me like nothing—like a prisoner, a thing to parade and humiliate. Why save me now? This is all your fault, Taehyung. All of it."

He froze, his eyes flashing with surprise, then narrowing dangerously. "What did you say?" His voice was a low hiss, stepping closer, towering over me.