Chapter 4

Rose's POV

The man's words cut deep, and I felt my anger simmering just below the surface. "Maybe you need to have your eyes checked, because you clearly saw wrong," he said, his tone harsh and dismissive. I fell quiet, hurt and frustration welling up inside me. I wanted to leave, but Laura took over, her voice firm and assertive.

"Listen, mister," she said, her eyes flashing with annoyance. "If my friend said she saw you, I believe she saw you. She's not one to tell lies, and I saw the bodies of the men you killed when you protected her. I understand what you're trying to do here – pretend like you weren't the one, so nobody would pin the deaths of those men on you. But you should know we're not snitches, and you did a good deed. There's nothing to hide from..."

Laura's words spilled out like a passionate defense, and I felt a mix of gratitude and discomfort. She revealed more than I would have liked, mentioning my father, the alpha of Crescent Pack. I wasn't comfortable with that, knowing it could put me in a tricky spot since I wasn't supposed to be at the festival. But Laura's intention was clear – she was trying to get the man to relax and admit to saving me.

Despite her efforts, the man remained stubbornly silent, sticking to his story. "Like I said earlier, you've got the wrong man," he repeated, his tone cold and detached. "If you don't mind, I don't want to be disturbed." His dismissal was clear, and I felt a surge of frustration. Why was he being so obstinate?

Laura turned to me, her voice low. "Are you sure this is really the man? His attitude is ugly, despite how good-looking he is." She seemed to be trying to provoke a reaction from him, but he remained impassive.

"I...I don't know," I admitted, doubt creeping into my voice. "He looks like him." Laura's eyes narrowed. "It's definitely not him. Didn't you say the man who saved you had two different eye colors – green and blue? This must just be someone who looks like him."

We were about to leave when the man's expression suddenly shifted. "Wait, what did you say?" he asked, his interest piqued. "The man who saved you had two different eye colors?" His eyes locked onto mine, intense and curious. "Yes," I replied, his sudden change in demeanor catching me off guard.

"Can you tell me more?" he pressed, his voice urgent. But before I could respond, Laura cut in. "Why are you asking? Weren't you just saying we were disturbing you?" Her eyes narrowed, suspicion etched on her face.

The man's gaze lingered on us for a moment before he stood up, his movements fluid. He left his table and walked out of the tavern, leaving us staring after him in confusion. "Hey, wait!" Laura called out, chasing after him.

When she caught up, she blocked his path. "You’re just going to leave like that?" she asked, her eyes flashing with annoyance. "Why do I feel you're hiding something?" The man's expression darkened, and he growled softly. "Get out of my way."

Just then, the four guards who had escorted us to the tavern appeared, their presence a timely interruption. "Is everything alright here?" one of them asked, their eyes scanning the tense scene..

“Yes,” Laura said without missing a beat, her voice dripping with righteous indignation. “This man has been harassing and misbehaving with Rose and me.”

My head snapped toward her so fast my neck almost popped.

“What are you doing?” I hissed, disbelief tightening my throat. My heart skipped painfully in my chest. “That’s not true, it’s—” I tried to explain, to tell the guards it was only a misunderstanding, but they didn’t give me the chance.

Their eyes had already widened at the accusation, and in an instant, their expressions hardened into something dangerous. The leader of the four stepped forward, his voice ringing with sharp authority.

“How dare you misbehave with our Alpha’s daughter!”

Oh no. No, no, no.

I could almost see the fuse light between them and the man.

The man didn’t flinch. His voice was calm, deep, and so cold it seemed to drop the temperature in the entire tavern.

“If you value your lives, you won’t take a single step closer.”

The words rolled off his tongue like a promise, not a threat—but the guards weren’t listening. Their loyalty blinded them. Snarling, they drew their swords, the metallic scrape ringing in the air.

“Wrong move,” the man murmured.

The next heartbeat was chaos.

He moved. Gods, he moved faster than my eyes could follow—so fast he was almost a blur. One guard lunged, blade aimed for his ribs, but the man sidestepped with inhuman precision. His hand shot out, fingers curling like a vice around the guard’s throat. A sickening crack echoed as he twisted, snapping the man’s neck before yanking his head clean off, the lifeless body collapsing like a puppet with cut strings.

I gasped, stumbling back, my breath caught somewhere between horror and awe.

The second guard roared, charging in from behind, but the man pivoted with an elegance that was terrifying. His elbow drove into the guard’s gut, folding him in half, before his fist slammed into his chest so hard his ribs caved. He ripped the heart free in one smooth, horrifying motion, its last beats twitching in his grip before he tossed it aside like trash.

The third guard tried to swing low, going for his legs, but the man kicked the sword from his hand with bone-shattering force. In the same motion, he grabbed the man’s arm, wrenched it until it tore from the socket, and used it as a weapon—smashing the jagged bone through the guard’s throat. Blood sprayed hot across the floorboards.

The last guard froze for half a breath, but pride and duty drove him forward. He screamed and slashed wildly, but the man’s speed made him look drunk in comparison. The stranger caught the blade mid-swing, the steel squealing in protest before snapping in half between his bare hands. He grabbed the guard by the jaw and crown of his head, then twisted violently—spinning the man’s entire neck a full turn before letting the corpse drop with a dull thud.

And then it was quiet.

My pulse was deafening in my ears. The air reeked of iron and death, heavy enough to taste. Warm blood slicked the floor, pooling beneath broken bodies.

Slowly, the man turned toward us. His eyes were glowing now—unnatural, predatory, locking onto me like a wolf scenting prey.

Laura, braver or stupider than I could ever be, lunged at him with a snarl, trying to claw at his face.

It was over in a blink.

He sidestepped, caught her by the chest, and with a single, brutal motion, his hand plunged inside.

“Nooooo!”

The word tore itself from my throat, raw and jagged, as his hand withdrew from Laura’s chest. Her heart—still beating in weak, desperate spasms—gleamed wet and crimson in his grip. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I could only watch as he let it fall from his fingers, landing with a sickening thud in the pool of blood beneath us.

Her body crumpled at my feet like a discarded rag doll.

And just like that… it was only me.

My knees buckled, and I dropped, my hands trembling violently as tears blurred my vision. The coppery scent of blood filled my nose, so strong I could almost taste it. My chest heaved, every breath sharp and painful.

“What have you done?” My voice cracked under the weight of grief and disbelief. “You… you killed all of them. You killed my best friend…”

He said nothing. No remorse, no denial—just silence, as his boots crunched over the blood-slick floorboards. When he reached me, I could feel the heat radiating from him, his shadow swallowing me whole.

His hand came up, calloused fingers curling gently—but with an unsettling control—under my chin. He lifted my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. They were glowing brighter now, twin fires of something wild and dangerous.

“I let you live the last time,” he said, his voice low and unyielding, each word curling with memory. “In the woods… when you saw my face. I won’t repeat that mistake.”

Before I could process his meaning, his lips parted—and his fangs slid down with an almost obscene slowness, sharp and glistening. The air between us tightened, my pulse roaring in my ears.

He moved.

Too fast.

In the blink of an eye, he was at my throat, the cold graze of his fangs skimming my skin. My eyes squeezed shut instinctively, my body bracing for the white-hot agony I was certain would follow. I could already feel it—imagining the puncture, the tearing, the flood of pain....

Author's POV

The night was alive with laughter, music, and the faint perfume of spilt wine in the territory of the Nightshade Wolves’ pack. Inside a warmly lit house, the air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and sweet berry liquor. Men and women danced in the cleared space at the center of the room, their feet tapping in time to the spirited strumming of guitars and the gentle hum of other instruments. This was no ordinary gathering—it was an engagement celebration. The groom, a proud young warrior named Felix, wore his happiness openly, beaming as he introduced his stunning bride-to-be to his closest friends and family. Her smile was soft but demure, the glow of candlelight catching in her hair as the two of them moved together on the floor.

The music swelled, the guitarists plucking joyful notes, when a sharp knock rattled the front door. At first, no one paid it much mind. The party continued; laughter rolled through the room like a warm tide. Felix’s father, assuming it was another guest who had arrived late, went to answer it with a casual stride.

But the moment the door swung open, his expression drained of color. His eyes widened, mouth parting slightly as if to speak, though no words came. Standing in the doorway was Alpha Damian.

The older man’s posture snapped straight, and he immediately bowed, his voice trembling as he murmured his respect. Damian stepped inside without invitation, his presence alone seeming to push the air out of the room. He was dressed in his customary black coat, the cut sharp and precise, the fabric flowing with each deliberate step. His long, dark hair framed a face too handsome for the brutality that lived behind it, his eyes glittering with something unreadable—but far from kind.

Six of his men followed in behind him, their heavy boots echoing on the wooden floor.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The music faltered, the guitar strings stilled, and the hum of conversation died mid-sentence. A palpable tension blanketed the room like a heavy fog. One by one, the guests dropped to their knees, their heads bowed low—not out of honor, but out of survival. Fear clung to their movements, subtle but unmistakable.

Damian’s gaze swept the room, and then he chuckled—a sound far too cheerful to be genuine.

“What’s with all the formalities? This is a party, isn’t it?”

His tone might have been light, but the faint curl of his smile made the room shiver. It wasn’t the smile of a man enjoying himself; it was the smile of a predator toying with prey. A few guests forced laughter, rising shakily to their feet, the musicians awkwardly resuming their playing. But the life had gone out of the celebration. The joy was smothered, replaced by an uneasy quietness beneath the surface, for everyone here knew Damian’s reputation—violent, volatile, and dangerously unpredictable.

He strode forward, closing the distance to the couple. “Felix,” he said, drawing out the name with a familiarity that was somehow both friendly and threatening. “Why is it that my own warrior didn’t think to invite his Alpha to his engagement party?”

The words were spoken lightly, but Felix stiffened. His throat bobbed as he forced a smile, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I… I didn’t want to trouble you, Alpha. I know you’re a busy man, and this… this is just a small gathering.”

Damian tilted his head, as though weighing the excuse in his mind. “Ah,” he murmured, his voice almost a purr, “so that’s the reason…” The corners of his mouth curled upward, though the gesture never touched the cold gleam in his eyes. “Or is it,” he continued smoothly, “that you didn’t want me to meet your pretty bride-to-be?”

At the mention of her, all eyes shifted toward the young woman. She remained perfectly still, head bowed, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her gown as though the stitches themselves could anchor her. This was no gesture of coy modesty—it was fear, raw and heavy, pressing down on her slender frame until her shoulders seemed to curl in on themselves. The flickering candlelight caught the faint tremor in her hands.

The air between the three of them seemed to grow denser, almost suffocating. The music limped on in the background, the strings and notes dulled, hollow, as though even the instruments feared to sound too bright in Damian’s presence.

“Does she have a name?” Damian asked suddenly, his gaze never leaving the bride.

“Victoria, my lord,” Felix answered quickly, his words tumbling over themselves in a rush to appease.

“I see…” Damian’s tone softened, though the softness carried a dangerous edge. “A lovely name. And she is truly beautiful, I must say. Very beautiful indeed.”

He closed the space between them with unhurried steps, each one deliberate, until he stood directly in front of her. His shadow fell over her like a dark cloak. “But tell me,” he said, his eyes raking over her from head to toe, “don’t you think you’re… overly dressed for the occasion?”

A ripple of confusion moved through the room. Victoria was in a perfectly proper gown, the kind befitting an engagement celebration—delicate embroidery, soft folds of fabric, and no extra coat or jacket to speak of.

“Overly dressed?” Felix asked, the uncertainty in his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yes,” Damian said, the word crisp as a blade. “She should take it off.”

A sharp, collective gasp escaped the crowd. It was the kind of sound people make when they witness the first spark of a fire they know will turn into an inferno.

“My lord, I don’t understand—” Felix began, but Damian’s eyes cut to him with a look so sharp it silenced him mid-breath.

“I am speaking to the lady,” Damian said, his voice dropping into a quiet threat. “She’s not dumb… is she? Take your dress off.”

“Please, my Alpha—” Felix tried again, desperation creeping in, but Damian took one slow step toward him.

“One more word from you…” He didn’t even finish the sentence, yet the unspoken promise in his tone was enough to turn Felix’s spine to ice. The warrior swallowed hard and dropped his gaze, his lips pressed shut.

Damian turned back to Victoria, his expression unreadable but his eyes unblinking. “I am waiting.”

Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. She turned to Felix, searching his face for some scrap of defiance or courage she could cling to—but all she saw was a man as scared as she was. His fear was a mirror of her own.

Slowly, painfully, she reached behind her neck and unfastened the gown. The fabric slipped from her shoulders and pooled soundlessly at her feet, leaving her in a thin slip of an undergarment that clung to her trembling form.

“Wow…” Damian’s smile spread, slow and wolfish. “Isn’t this much better?” His gaze swept over the crowd, as though daring anyone to disagree. A chorus of forced, brittle chuckles answered him, the laughter ringing hollow in the tense air.

For a moment, they thought—hoped—that this was where his cruelty would stop.

But then he spoke again, his tone laced with mockery. “Take it off completely.”

The laughter died instantly.