CHAPTER 7 – WHAT WENT MISSING ?!

LUTHER’S POV

He screamed like a dying animal. The sound was raw, guttural, the kind that made even my guards flinch.

Music to my ears.

Nobody walks into Crestmoon territory uninvited. This is what happens when they try.

His face was already a swollen mess, blood painting his mouth in shades that would’ve made an artist proud. My knuckles ached, but pain had always been a friend of mine.

My fist came down again, knuckles colliding with his jaw in a satisfying crunch. His body jerked under my fist like a puppet with cut strings, but I wasn’t done. Not even close. Blood splattered across the concrete floor, dark and sticky, dripping down all his orifices in thick rivulets.

“Thought you could sneak into my territory?” I growled, yanking him up by the collar. His head lolled like a ragdoll, but his eyes still had that flicker of fight. Brave, sure. But also a bloody idiot... and now, a dead one too.

I slammed him against the steel beam. The impact shook the dust loose from the rafters above. “So you’re the spy,” My breath fanned hot against his face, my voice venom. “Who sent you?”

He spat blood at my boot. The fuck? My blood boiled, but my lips curved anyway. Smiling when I should’ve snapped? Yeah... wrong move for him. Bastard's already toast.

I slammed my fist into his jaw again, hard enough that the crack echoed off the dungeon walls. “Answer me before I decorate this floor with your teeth.”

His head lolled, blood soaking the collar of his shirt. Pathetic. I could smell the fear rolling off him... sour, thick, clinging to the air like smoke. Wolves could always scent lies, but this one? He reeked of secrets.

“My Alpha,” a voice cut in behind me.

I didn’t even turn. Only one idiot had the courage... or stupidity... to interrupt me mid-interrogation.

“Marcel, can’t you see I’m busy with this asshole?” I snarled, landing another punch.

“My Alpha.” His polished tone was calm, respectful, but I caught the edge of urgency in it. “I wouldn’t interrupt if it weren’t important.”

I finally glanced back at him, eyes narrowed. His tie was straight, his suit immaculate, not a single hair out of place. Meanwhile, I was standing in a pool of someone else’s blood. We were night and day, but somehow he survived me longer than anyone else.

"This better not be about another poll,” I snapped, jerking the spy upright and shoving him back against the wall. He groaned, a pitiful sound, and I almost hit him again just to shut him up.

Marcel’s lips twitched. “Hector Salamanca is here to see you.”

That got my attention.

For a second, I froze. Then I barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. "Of course he is. Salamanca always did have a flair for bad timing.”

I let the spy drop like garbage, his body slumping against the wall with a dull thud. He was still breathing... for now.

I ran a hand over my jaw, smearing blood that wasn’t mine. “Fine. Lock this piece of shit up. I’ll finish later.”

The spy coughed, but I was already leaving his side.

I straightened, adjusting my jacket, blood smeared across my knuckles like war paint. “Fine. Put Salamanca in the west study. Let him wait while I wash his spy’s blood off my hands.”

Marcel’s brow shot up, but he swallowed whatever genius thought he had. Survival instincts intact. Maybe he wasn’t suicidal after all.

---

The moment I stepped into the main hall, the air shifted. Salamanca had that effect. He sat like a king who knew kingdoms bowed to him, thick fingers tapping on the armrest of the leather chair we kept for guests like him. His hair was slicked back, silver threaded through black, and his eyes carried the kind of weight that crushed men without lifting a hand.

The man had the audacity to stand when I entered, offering his hand like we were equals.

“Luther,” he greeted smoothly. “It’s been too long.”

I didn’t take his hand. I walked past him, claimed the head of the table, and leaned back with authority.

“Still entertaining yourself with strays, I see.”

I smirked. “Better than entertaining myself with ghosts, old man.”

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a threat. Somewhere in between.

We both knew why he was here, but he enjoyed the dance too much to say it outright. So I leaned back, giving him the opening.

“You’ve been busy,” he finally said. “New land. New soldiers. New enemies.”

“Occupational hazard,” I muttered.

“And yet…” He leaned forward, steepling his hands. “You remain unbound. Your pack strong, yes. But not whole.” His eyes gleamed.

“Cut the small talk, Hector. You don’t come here without an agenda. What do you want?”

His smile didn’t falter, but his eyes sharpened. “Straight to business, as always. I respect that.” He leaned forward, fingers laced. “I’m here to talk about Elara.”

Of course. His golden child. His perfect daughter. The one Marcel had shoved down my throat like stale bread.

I drummed my fingers against the table. “And what about her?”

"She’s ready,” Hector said. “Ready to step up. To be Luna. Our packs have history, Luther. Old ties. Imagine what it would mean to join forces again... not through war, but through family.”

Family... ouch. The word was a knife to the heart, but I didn't want to give the devil the satisfaction.

Salamanca watched me with that knowing look, like he could read the cracks I tried so hard to hide. I leaned forward slowly. “You want to marry off your daughter like she’s a bargaining chip. How romantic.”

His jaw tightened, but he kept his tone level. “Don’t reduce her to that. Elara is strong. Educated. Respected. She would make a worthy Luna.”

I almost laughed. Worthy? Maybe in some polished gala where titles mattered more than teeth. But me? I didn’t need a Luna to smile pretty for the cameras. I needed fire. Chaos. Someone who could walk into hell beside me and laugh.

And Elara Salamanca wasn’t her.

“You think your daughter can handle being tied to me?” I asked, voice low, and dangerous. “You think she can stand the blood, the politics, the enemies clawing at my door every damn day?”

Hector’s eyes gleamed. “I know she can.”

I leaned forward, my voice sharp enough to cut. “Then she’s braver than I thought... or stupider. Either way, don’t mistake my patience for interest. I don’t marry for politics. I don’t marry for polls. I marry for power, and there’s only one woman who ever made me weak enough to consider it.”

His expression flickered. A crack in the Salamanca mask. Good. Let him squirm. But that squirm changed to a smirk abruptly. I knew he was in a comeback... and God I didn't want to hear it.

Thanks moon goddess, before he could speak again, my phone buzzed on the table.

One look at the screen, and I rolled my eyes. Dr. Mitchell from the clinic. What the fuck does she want?!

I snatched the phone up. “What?”

“Mr. Lavigne? This is Dr. Mitchell from the clinic."

“Cut the crap. I know it’s you. Who else would be dumb enough to try me like this?”

She hesitated.

"Uhm. I… I’m afraid we have some bad news sir.”

My grip on the phone tightened. “Bad news?”

She stalled on the line, like her brain just blue-screened.

“Your sample… it’s gone. It went missing from our storage.”

“Missing? What the hell do you mean missing?"