CHAPTER 8

“How do you think she will feel, knowing fully well you are the father? This is getting more interesting than I thought.”

Damien’s expression didn’t flinch. He stood tall, cold and dangerous, his broad shoulders stiffened as he stared out the wide window overlooking his pack lands. His presence was like ice, sharp and unyielding. The flicker of a smirk tugged at his lips, not because he was amused, but because of the irritating words of the man behind him. Zechariah.

Zechariah lounged arrogantly in Damien’s grand chair, the seat of power he had no right to occupy, his long legs crossed, his black coat cascading like a curtain of shadows around him. He twirled a silver knife effortlessly between his fingers, eyes glinting with mischief. His aura was wrong, always wrong—half witch, half wolf, never fully either, and never fully trusted. But for years, he and Damien had maintained a toxic friendship, a bond bound more by darkness than loyalty.

Damien raised the goblet in his hand and gulped the wine in one swift motion. The liquid burned down his throat, but it did nothing to cool the rage that boiled beneath his skin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said coldly, his lips curling into a sneer.

Zechariah chuckled, his laugh echoing mockery. “You’re evil. She’s lost her wolf—I sensed it when I walked past the hallway. But she still noticed she was being watched. Sharp girl. Clever. I must admit, she’s far smarter than your brother ever deserved.” He flicked the knife once more before sliding it smoothly back into his pocket. With a sigh that dripped sarcasm, he added, “It’s sad, though. She’s tangled in the web you and Lucas spun.”

The wine glass shattered in Damien’s hand. Red droplets mixed with shards as he crushed it without hesitation, rage flooding his veins. His jaw tightened, and his voice snapped through the heavy air. “Didn’t Delilah get murdered?”

Zechariah’s smile faltered, but only briefly. Damien’s teeth clenched, every muscle in his body screaming with the memory. “Now, I guess Lucas is happy,” he growled, the name spat like venom.

Zechariah rose slowly from the chair, his movements deliberate, menacing, as though savoring Damien’s rage. His aura pressed down on the room, thick with witch-darkness. “Lucas didn’t see this coming. This is the biggest comeback anyone will ever witness.”

His grin spread wider, twisted and cruel. People always mistook Damien for the evil one, the cold and merciless Lycan. But Zechariah knew the truth. Lucas was far worse—more cunning, more deceitful, more reckless. And this moment, this twist of fate, was the perfect payback.

Damien’s voice cut through the tension, low and cold. “I don’t know why I didn’t let her die. I should have. I should have let Lucas kill his own mate, let him believe her guilty, and only later discover she was innocent. I should have let him rot in the knowledge that I was behind it all.” His fists clenched until his knuckles whitened, his eyes flashing a dangerous red.

But the image rose in his mind again—Delilah, his beloved mate. The way her blood poured from the wound in her chest, staining everything. He had tried to save her with his Lycan blood, but it was useless. The poison had been too strong. Lucas had wielded the dagger of Concocus, a blade forged by a witch so powerful its venom could kill even the strongest immortals. The blade had belonged to their father, locked away for centuries. Somehow, Lucas had stolen it, and used it to tear Delilah from Damien’s arms.

The memory suffocated him. He had been forced to watch her life slip away, her eyes dimming, her hand falling limp in his grasp. Delilah had been his light, his salvation. The one person who had made him believe in peace, in love, in something more than bloodshed. And Lucas, his own brother, had destroyed it all.

For years, Damien had remained silent, never striking back, biding his time, waiting for the perfect chance to return the pain. He had planned for Lucas to kill his mate with his own hands, just as he had done to Delilah. That was the justice he had envisioned. But when he saw Maddena being thrown into the river, he had felt something shift.

He told himself it was nothing. Just revenge. Just a game. He told himself it was about the child, Lucas’s child—or perhaps his. He kept repeating it, convincing himself, fighting the truth. But deep down, another voice whispered otherwise. He hadn’t saved her for revenge. He hadn’t pulled her from the water for a game. He had saved her because something inside him couldn’t let her die.

And he hated himself for it.

“Calm down, Damien,” Zechariah said smoothly, circling closer. “Now you have her here, in your court. Just imagine the horror on Lucas’s face when he discovers his mate is living with his sworn enemy. And the child—your child. Imagine that revelation. Isn’t it delicious?”

Damien sneered, cold and sharp. “I will enjoy watching the terror on his face. That will be a satisfying moment indeed.” His voice was icy, deadly.

“So then, what is your plan?” Zechariah asked, curiosity burning in his eyes.

“My plan?” Damien’s gaze darkened.

“Yes. About Lucas’s mate. What do you intend to do?”

Damien turned from the window at last, his red eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “My blood already runs through her veins. I want her to bear my pup. Once that’s done, she can leave.”

Zechariah raised an eyebrow, lips curling in disbelief. “And you think she’ll just accept that? Maddena doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who bends easily.”

“Accept?” Damien barked a harsh laugh. “Who said anything about her accepting? She has no choice.”

Zechariah chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Poor girl. She tried so hard to prove her innocence, but Lucas didn’t believe her. He’s more of a fool than I thought.”

“Indeed, he is,” Damien replied sharply, venom coating every word.

Before Zechariah could continue, a thunderous crash shook the chamber. The heavy doors of the court room swung open, slamming against the stone walls. A soldier rushed inside, immediately dropping to his knees in submission. Behind him, Damien’s trusted adviser entered quickly, his face pale, urgency written across his features.

“Forgive me for barging in, Lycan Damien,” the adviser said breathlessly, bowing low. “But there is urgent news that cannot wait.”

Damien’s gaze cut toward him, cold and commanding. “Speak.”

The adviser stepped forward, holding a folded brown map-paper. He spread it across the table, the parchment crinkling under his hands. His voice trembled as he delivered the report.

“For weeks now, the wolves in your pack have complained of a strange illness spreading. At first, it was small. But in the last two days alone, four deaths have been recorded. As we speak, the town healer’s house is overflowing with the sick. And he… he cannot detect what is wrong.”

Damien’s expression turned black, a dangerous storm cloud settling over his face. His pack had never suffered such a crisis. “Are you certain this isn’t the witches’ doing?”

The adviser shook his head firmly. “It is not magic, your highness. If it were, there would be nothing visible in their systems. But the healer… he found something. Something strange lodged inside of them.”

Damien’s voice lowered, sharp as a blade. “And what exactly did he find?”

“The healer does not know, my lord,” the adviser admitted. “He has never seen anything like it before.”

Zechariah tilted his head, intrigued. “An illness? How strange. And why would it break out now, of all times?”

Damien’s voice was quiet, yet deadly. “Not even a remedy to slow their deaths?”

The adviser’s face fell. “None, your highness.”

Damien’s jaw tightened. “Not even my blood?”

“That… I cannot say, Lycan Damien. It has not yet been tested.”

The chamber grew silent, tension thick as smoke.

“Tomorrow,” Damien said finally, his voice a command that brooked no refusal. “We will go. I want to see this myself. I want to know where it came from, and why it appeared now.”

As the adviser bowed and retreated, Damien’s eyes flickered. He had one person in mind, one possible source. But he would not speak it aloud. Not yet. It was too soon. Too dangerous.