The late morning sunlight spilled into the chamber like golden glow, softening the dark walls and polished wooden floors of the Alpha Desmond’s private quarters. The scent of rosewood lingered in the air, mingling with something far more metallic—blood. Desmond stood shirtless before the basin, sleeves rolled and forearms flexing as he scrubbed his hands. Blood swirled in the water like dye, tainting the clear liquid with the evidence of his brutality. Each stroke was methodical, every movement deliberate. There was no remorse in his actions—only resolve. Behind him, seated gracefully on a cushioned chair, Seraphina sipped her tea in silence, her gaze fixed on his back. The faint steam from her cup curled like wisps of spirit in the air, but her expression was far from tranquil. “You were harsher than usual,” she said softly, her voice smooth. Desmond grunted, splashing more water into the basin as he rinsed the soap off. “He would have died before speaking. I did what I ha
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