III: A Night of Ruin 2

*Capitulo Tres*

Allistair's body slammed against the stone wall with a sickening crack, the shock shuddering through his bones, reverberating in his ribs. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, yet he refused to flinch. His golden eyes—those eyes that always carried the quiet defiance of someone born from both moonlight and flame—blazed brighter. He shoved Samael back with a feral snarl, teeth flashing, chest rising and falling like a cornered wolf refusing to bow. The air thickened around them, heavy with blood, fury, and something darker—something neither could name, though both felt clawing under their skins.

Samael's lips curled into a dangerous smirk, but his beast, Lucan, was not so composed. Inside him, the creature roared and paced, agitated by the scent that clung to Allistair like a cruel temptation. It wasn't merely blood. It was something sharper, sweeter—like the promise of power laced with sin. His restraint frayed, thread by thread. His claws twitched as though desperate to rend, to claim, to cage.

He caught Allistair's throat in one hand, the grip firm, unyielding. Claws pricked flesh, and thin lines of crimson welled, stark against pale skin. The sight made something inside Samael snap, though whether it was fury, hunger, or a desire he dared not name, even he could not tell.

"You think you can defy me?" Samael's growl vibrated low, guttural, animalistic. The sound carried wrath, but beneath it lurked something far more perilous: desire so sharp it bled into obsession.

Allistair's chest heaved. He fought for breath as his nails raked down Samael's arms, leaving angry red streaks. His glare was molten, lips peeling back from his teeth as he forced out a growl between pain and challenge. "You're not my master."

The words were bold, defiant—but his body betrayed him. His heart thundered like a war drum. Blood raced faster, hotter, through his veins, responding to the very man he swore to resist. Every nerve screamed for war, yet deep inside, a darker truth pulsed—he was drawn to Samael, pulled like the tide to the moon.

Samael slammed forward, chest colliding with chest. The impact rattled through both of them, but neither yielded. Heat erupted where their bodies touched, violent and intoxicating. Allistair's breaths came shallow and fast, filled only with Samael's scent—dominance, fire, sin. It suffocated, it consumed, it branded.

Around them, the crowd held their breath. Nobles and elites, seasoned warriors and cunning politicians alike—none dared to move. The brutality unfolding before them horrified, yet entranced. They could not look away. Each strike, each claw and bite, was more than a battle. It was a dance, primal and raw, a collision of power edged with hunger neither combatant could name aloud.

Allistair shoved Samael back, blood painting his lips where fangs had grazed too close. His glare burned hotter than fire, defiant even through the pain. But Samael only laughed, a sound dark and wicked. The sight of Allistair battered, bloodied, yet unyielding—it didn't repel him. It fanned the flames of obsession until Lucan clawed inside his chest, howling for more.

"You drive me insane," Samael rasped hoarsely. His words were not accusation but confession, heavy with madness.

Before Allistair could move, Samael surged forward again. His hand snapped around Allistair's throat, grip brutal. He slammed him back against the wall, harder this time. The stone groaned with the force. Samael's claws dug deeper, sharp tips breaking skin, until blood welled and trickled in crimson lines down Allistair's neck. The scent flooded Samael's senses, eroding every barrier of reason.

Lucan pushed forward, beast bleeding into man. Samael's fangs lengthened, sharper, darker, longer than any alpha wolf's should ever be. He barely realized what he was doing before instinct claimed him—he sank those fangs deep into Allistair's pale neck.

Allistair's body stiffened in shock. Pain should have consumed him. Instead, ecstasy struck—raw, numbing, intoxicating. A moan tore from his throat, unbidden, betraying him in front of all. His knees nearly buckled, not from weakness, but from the terrifying sweetness that flooded him. His blood sang, his beast stirred, and his body betrayed the defiance his mind screamed to hold.

Samael froze for half a heartbeat as that sound reached him. That moan—quiet, ragged, yet drenched in surrender. No one else heard it. Only him. And it shattered him. It was ambrosia, it was madness, it was a chain locking tighter around his soul. Lucan roared inside, claws tearing at his insides, maddened by that singular note of pleasure.

The nobles around them gaped, unable to move, unable to comprehend what they were witnessing. Samael's closest friends shifted uncomfortably, shock tightening their throats. None of them had seen him like this—unleashed, unrestrained, obsessed.

And at the edges of the hall, Allistair's family stood frozen. Raine's soft features were etched with regret, sorrow glistening in his eyes. He had forced his son here, believing presence was duty, not knowing it would become blood and ruin. Alexander's fury was a storm barely contained. His chest heaved, his fists trembled with power barely leashed. He wanted nothing more than to tear Samael apart with his own hands.

Allex, ever peculiar, was no longer a girl watching a spectacle. She was a sister watching her brother bleed, and her golden eyes burned with anger and worry. Her nails dug into her palms, her wolf howling inside her to intervene.

But Samael in his beast state was untouchable. Power radiated from him like a furnace, and none dared step closer. None but Alexander.

The alpha of the Rosewood Pack moved, fury sharpening every stride. His aura surged, heavy and suffocating, drawing from the bloodline of the moon goddess herself. In his palms, fire gathered—red at its core, edged with azure, burning with streaks of blue. His eyes gleamed gold and sapphire, wrath given light.

"Enough," he snarled. His fist clenched, and the azure flame coiled around his knuckles. With one strike, he punched Samael. The impact resounded like thunder. Samael's body flew backward, wrenched away from Allistair, crashing into stone with enough force to shake the hall.

Alexander was at his son's side in an instant. Allistair stood rooted to the spot, neck bleeding, body trembling between pain and ecstasy. His eyes were dazed, golden orbs clouded, his body writhing faintly as though Samael's bite still lingered beneath his skin. Raine was there too, soft hands catching his son, tears streaking pale cheeks. Allex hovered close, her fury now overshadowed by fear.

Alexander roared, voice echoing across the hall, a sound that cracked marble and chilled even the bravest heart. "Fuck you!!! How...just how could YOU!? You fucking animal! You dare—DARE hurt my son! You dare hurt him! You could burn his things, his home, but not him! Never him! You FUCKER!"

His voice was livid thunder, wrath made flesh. Raine clung to him, soothing, yet tears still fell from his lashes. The quiet omega, who rarely wept, now trembled with sorrow and fear for his child.

Samael rose from the rubble slowly, his lips smeared with Allistair's blood. He wiped it with the back of his hand, his eyes glowing with something dangerous. They met Alexander's furious glare head-on. But what Alexander saw chilled even his flames.

Resolve. Obsession. Possession.

"He is mine." Samael's voice was steady, low, velvet over steel. Each word rang like a vow, unshakable. His gaze never wavered. Not even at the risk of Alexander's wrath. "He will always be mine."

The words rattled the hall. Friends who had once laughed with Alexander now looked between him and Samael, fear in their eyes. To defy Alexander was madness. To claim his son in front of him—suicidal. Yet Samael stood, unflinching, as though the fires of gods themselves could not deter him.

Alexander lunged, golden flames flaring wild, fury burning brighter than reason. But before he reached Samael, a quiet voice echoed through the hall.

"Fa...ther...home... Let's go home."

The sound froze him. Allistair. Bruised, trembling, bloodied—yet it was his voice, soft and pleading. His golden eyes were glazed, but his words cut sharper than any blade.

And then Raine—ever level-headed, ever quiet—shifted. His body glowed with silver light, power unfurling like moonlight woven into fire. It was not violent, but serene. Not wild, but commanding. Silver flames licked the air, burning with grace, not destruction. Beauty that seared, serenity that suffocated. The marble cracked under the weight of his radiance.

Alexander's fury faltered, golden flames recoiling against the cool lunar blaze. His chest rose and fell, fury still storming within him, but his mate's quiet radiance restrained him more effectively than any chain.

The hall quivered under Raine's glow. Nobles shielded their eyes, terrified yet awed. The power of the moon goddess's bloodline was rarely seen—and never like this.

Samael, however, did not flinch. His gaze remained locked on Allistair. Blood still stained his lips, his expression fierce, unrepentant. "He is mine," he repeated, voice hoarse with desire and claim. "He will always be mine."

Allistair's lashes trembled. His body swayed, exhaustion dragging him down, Samael's claim heavy as chains upon his shoulders. His neck glistened, wound bleeding, scarred with something that was not a mate's mark, but carried the shadow of one. His hand clutched the rose-embroidered hem of his robe, knuckles white as though holding onto the last thread of his strength.

"Fa...ther..." His voice wavered, weak but steady. "Please."

Raine turned his gaze to Alexander then, sorrow heavy in silver-lit eyes. His voice was soft, but it rang clear, tolling like a bell. "Alexander... enough. Our son bleeds here. Our rage cannot protect him. Only bringing him home can."

Alexander's fire dimmed, reluctant, wrathful. But the sight of his son, trembling and bleeding, swayed him more than any word. He pulled Allistair close, Raine and Allex flanking them, their power trailing in their wake.

They left the hall behind, flames of the moon goddess still flickering, burning paths into the marble. The air hung heavy with the echo of Samael's claim. And though they left, his voice lingered in their hearts like a curse:

He is mine.