Mag-log inDamien's POV
Days pass and Brie still won’t look at me. Every time I walk near her, she turns away. The bond sits in my chest like a live wire, but the transfer is less now, like she is masking everything. I still feel her anger and her hate, it burns, and I deserve it.
I stand at the edge of the training yard when I catch her scent. It’s sweet and my wolf pushes hard against my s
Damien’s POVThe door locks behind me with a sound that goes straight through my ribs. I stand there for a full breath, one hand still raised like it hasn’t gotten the message that she doesn’t want me touching her, that she doesn’t want me there at all.The basement air clings to my skin, damp and heavy with the same rot that lived in her voice when she told me to go marry Lori.My boots move on their own, up the narrow stone stairs, and past the guards who flatten themselves against the wall so quickly it borders on ridiculous.I don’t look or speak to anyone. The bond in my chest has gone quiet in a way that feels worse than the silence from the past few days, worse than the constant pull. It feels like someone has cut the cord and left the bleeding end inside
Brie’s POVThe air down here doesn’t move. It just sits in the corners of the stone walls, thick with the smell of damp earth and old rot that makes my stomach roll over itself.Every single morning, the same heavy clank echoes down the hall. Dr. Lupin, the pack doctor, walks in carrying his metal case like an executioner holding his tools. He doesn’t look me in the eye. He just presses his cold, sterile fingers against my lower stomach, muttering numbers under his breath, checking for a pulse of life that isn’t there.‘Negative,’ he says every time, like it’s a failure on my part. It’s like my body is a broken machine refusing to cooperate with their grand design. And then he leaves. The heavy door swings shut, the lock turns with a loud, final click, and I’m left alone again with th
Damien’s POVI slam the door shut. The corridor is empty, good, I don’t need any more witnesses. The need to hit something is all-consuming. I slam my fist into the railing of the stairs leading down toward the lower levels. It does nothing but bruise my knuckles.I keep my hand on her arm the whole way, because if I let go I don’t trust what I’ll do. My jaw is locked, my veins burn with the heat of my fury, I hate myself for the performance we pulled off. My shame is bright like fireworks.My father’s humiliation of my mate weighs like hot iron on my chest, but it is no excuse for the pleasure she brought me.Brie doesn’t speak. She moves with me, her steps small and deliberate, eyes fixed on the floor ahead. Through the bond I feel her, the hollow ache th
Alpha Dexter’s POV!Abuse Warning!I see it the moment my son walks through the door, the cold and controlled mask he wears. But I know every seam of it, see the possessive panic underneath.“Brie. Come here.” He commands.The words are quiet enough to seem casual, but specific enough to be a wall between her and every other man in this room.He thinks he is subtle. He thinks he just bought her an exit.He hasn’t accounted for the fact that I built this room, this table, this evening, and every man at it is here to curry my favour.I lift my goblet, take a slow sip, and let the silence stretch. Long enough for the girl to fo
Brie’s POVThe dress feels wrong in every way that counts.It fits, technically. The maids made sure of that, tugging the laces tight at the back with quick, efficient fingers. The fabric is deep burgundy, soft enough to feel expensive, but the cut is low enough to make my skin crawl. The neckline drops far past what any self-conscious female would wear. The hem grazes my mid-thigh, exposing far too much skin and providing easy access for groping hands. It is the kind of dress that draws attention exactly where Alpha Dexter want it drawn.Omega colours. Breeder cut. I don’t need anyone to tell me what it means.‘Don’t,’ Jackling says from the back of my mind, her voice tight and low. ‘Just breathe, and count.’
Damien’s POVThe heavy timber of the northern border blurs past me like streaks of charcoal paint, but the brutal pace does nothing to bleed the poison from my blood.My paws slam into the damp earth with bone-rattling force, each impact sending a fresh jolt of pain up my spine. Good. I want it to hurt. I want the physical tearing of muscle to drown out the suffocating, claustrophobic pressure that has been crushing my chest ever since my mother walked out of my room.‘She’s down there, Damien,’ Voss snarls, his voice a low rumble that scrapes the walls of my skull. ‘In the damp stone. She is cold and alone. While we run like caged animals.’‘Shut up,’ I growl through the shared mind-link, my lungs burning as I suck in the freezing night air, tasting pine and wet earth. ‘Just run.’I push harder, my massive white frame clearing a fallen tree with inches to spare, before slamming back down into the underbrush. The branches of low-hanging pines whip against my flanks, leaving their raw t







