4

Blake’s POV

The Red Haze. That was the only way to describe the world right now.

My wolf, Fenris, was thrashing against the bars of my mind, a feral beast demanding blood. He wanted to tear Tristan limb from limb for touching what was ours. But more than that, he wanted to tear me apart for hurting her.

She is Mate! Fenris roared, his voice vibrating in my skull. Protect! Comfort! Lick wound!

"Shut up," I growled under my breath.

I didn't loosen my grip on her wrist. Tricia stumbled behind me, her bare feet slapping against the cold stone of the corridor. I could hear her ragged breathing, the small, pathetic whimpers she was trying to suppress. Every sound was a dagger in my gut, but I hardened my heart.

She smelled like him.

That was the crime. That was the sin I couldn't forgive. Underneath the intoxicating scent of rain and lilies that drove me mad, there was the sour, metallic stench of Tristan. His fear. His lust. It was all over her skin, like a second layer of filth.

"Blake, please! You're hurting me!"

"You didn't seem to mind when he was touching you," I snarled, not looking back.

I dragged her past the grand staircase, ignoring the gasps of the pack members gathered in the hall. Let them look. Let them see what happens when a mate betrays her Alpha.

"He held a knife to my throat!" she cried out, her voice cracking. "I didn't let him in! I hate him!"

"You hate him?" I stopped so abruptly she slammed into my back. I spun around, grabbing her shoulders and slamming her against the rough stone wall of the servant's passage.

The contact sent a jolt of electricity through me, hot and addictive. My hands itched to slide down her back, to pull her flush against me, but I used that fire to fuel my rage instead.

"You were married to him for three years, Tricia," I hissed, leaning down until our noses were almost touching. "You slept in his bed. You wore his mark. And the second—the second—I leave you alone, he’s in your room? Do you take me for a fool?"

Her eyes were wide, swimming with tears that made them look like polished obsidian. "I didn't know he was there! He was looking for... for a locket. My father's locket."

"Lies," I spat. "He was looking for a way to undermine me. And you are the key."

I pushed off the wall and hauled her down the narrow spiral stairs that led to the basement levels. The air got colder here, damp with the smell of mold and wet dog. This was where the unclaimed Omegas slept. It was where the runts went. It was no place for a Luna.

But she wasn't my Luna. She was my burden.

"Where are you taking me?" she panicked, digging her heels in.

"To where you belong."

I kicked open the heavy wooden door to the kennel block. The room was a long, open barracks with straw mattresses lining the walls. It was empty right now—the Omegas were still on cleaning duty upstairs—but the smell was wretched.

I threw her inside.

She caught herself on a wooden post, spinning around to face me. Her hair was a mess, her dress torn at the shoulder. She looked devastatingly beautiful and utterly broken.

"This is it," I said, my voice void of emotion. "No silk sheets. No tower views. If you want to act like a traitor, you’ll live like a prisoner."

Tricia looked around the room, shivering as the draft hit her skin. Then she looked at me, and for the first time, I didn't see fear. I saw defeat.

"You really are just like him," she whispered.

The words hit me harder than a physical blow.

"What did you say?" I stepped into the room, the door creaking shut behind me.

"Tristan," she said, her voice hollow. "He used to lock me in the basement when I forgot to iron his shirts perfectly. He used to tell me I was worthless because I was human. I thought... I thought because we were fated, because of the bond..." She let out a dry, broken laugh. "I thought you might be different. But you're just another Alpha who likes to kick things that can't fight back."

My jaw clenched so hard I thought a tooth might crack. Fenris was howling now, a mournful sound of pure misery. Mate sad. Mate hurt. Alpha bad.

"I am nothing like that weakling," I growled, closing the distance between us.

"Prove it," she challenged, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. "Let me go."

"Never."

I pinned her against the wooden post, my hands caging her in. The air between us crackled, the tension shifting from anger to something darker, heavier. The scent of her distress was overwhelming, mixing with her natural sweetness to create a perfume that made my head spin.

I wanted to destroy her. I wanted to worship her.

My eyes dropped to her neck.

There, right over her pulse point, was a thin red line. A scratch.

The knife.

Tristan had actually cut her.

The sight of her blood—just a tiny drop—snapped the last thread of my control. The rage vanished, replaced instantly by a possessive, blinding need.

"He made you bleed," I whispered, my voice trembling.

Tricia flinched, trying to cover the wound with her hand. "It's nothing. Just leave me alone."

"Don't touch it," I commanded, grabbing her hand and pulling it away.

My thumb brushed the skin just below the cut. She gasped, her pulse hammering against my finger like a trapped bird. Her skin was so soft. So fragile.

"Blake..." she breathed, my name sounding like a prayer on her lips.

I couldn't stop myself. I lowered my head, inhaling deeply. The scent of her blood drove Fenris insane. He wanted to lick it clean. He wanted to replace the scent of the metal with our scent.

"He will die for this," I murmured against the sensitive skin of her throat. "I will peel the skin from his bones for drawing a single drop of your blood."

"I thought you didn't care," she whispered, her breath hitching. "I thought I was just a liability."

I looked up, meeting her gaze. My eyes were burning, fighting the shift. We were inches apart. I could feel the heat radiating off her body, calling to mine.

"You are a liability," I said hoarsely. "You make me irrational. You make me weak."

I brought my hand up to her face, my thumb tracing her lower lip. She parted them slightly, a subconscious invitation that nearly brought me to my knees.

"I should leave you here," I said, my voice rough. "I should let you rot in this cold room until you learn your place."

Tricia stared at me, her chest heaving. "Then go."

"I can't."

The admission hung in the air between us.

I slammed my body against hers, the friction setting us both on fire. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, right over the wound, and let my tongue flick out to taste the copper tang of her blood.

She moaned—a soft, surprised sound that vibrated through my chest.

"You are mine, Tricia," I growled against her skin, my teeth grazing her pulse. "You are my burden. My curse. And if anyone else touches you again... I will burn the world down just to warm your hands."

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. The anger was gone, replaced by a dark, hungry obsession.

"Take off the dress," I ordered.

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Take it off," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "It smells like him. I won't have my mate wearing the scent of a dead man."

I reached for the strap of her torn gown, my fingers brushing her bare shoulder. The air in the room was suddenly stifling, hot and heavy with the promise of something that could either save us or destroy us both.

I wasn't sure which one I wanted anymore.

But as my fingers touched the zipper, the door to the kennel burst open.

"Alpha!" Xavier's frantic voice cut through the haze.

I spun around, shielding Tricia with my body, a feral snarl ripping from my throat. "Get out!"

Xavier stood in the doorway, looking terrified, his chest heaving from running.

"Alpha, you need to come. Now." He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to Tricia and then back to me. "It's the prisoner. Tristan. He... he's not in the dungeon."

I went still. "What?"

"He's gone, Blake," Xavier said, his face pale. "And he didn't escape alone. He took the Alpha's Bane."

The blood drained from my face. The Alpha's Bane. The only poison capable of killing a wolf of my bloodline.

I turned back to Tricia. She was clutching her dress, looking confused and terrified.

If Tristan had the Bane, he wasn't running. He was hunting.

And he wasn't hunting me.

I looked at the cut on her neck. The cut from Tristan's knife.

"Tricia," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Did the knife... did it burn when he cut you?"

She blinked, her hand going to her throat. "Yes. It... it feels like fire."

My heart stopped.