Killing Mate

Damien's POV:

 Trying to cool off my frustration and avoid Lewis—who would undoubtedly bombard me with questions I wasn't ready to answer—I decided to head to the dungeon. Torturing prisoners had always been an outlet for my anger, a way to channel the storm raging inside me. It had been a while since I paid John a visit, one of the most dangerous criminals we'd captured. He'd managed to break through my defenses and leak sensitive information about the pack. I was certain he had help from someone on the inside, because no outsider could have breached our defenses so easily. Despite the relentless torture I had put him through, he remained stubbornly silent, refusing to betray his partner in crime. This forced me to reshuffle the entire pack, making it nearly impossible for his accomplice to assist him in an escape attempt.

 With all the pent-up energy, guilt, and pain from the loss of my mate, I was sure I could make John spill something useful this time. Midnight, however, was still mourning. "We didn't even get to see her face," he lamented, his voice heavy with sorrow. I had never seen him this broken since that fateful event, an event I had buried deep in my mind, never wanting to relive it again. I let Midnight be; after all, we were both responsible for their deaths. Maybe this was the Moon Goddess's punishment for my selfishness.

 I tried not to dwell on the past—though the present wasn't any more pleasant, the irony of it all. I headed in the direction of the dungeon, the contract with the Moonshine Pack long forgotten. They could go to hell for all I cared. I was too grief-stricken to give a damn about anything else.

 As I entered the dungeon, a strange sensation prickled the back of my neck, setting my nerves on edge. And then I heard it—a scream so raw, so agonizing, it tore my heart out. Midnight snapped out of his unyielding grief, his voice filled with anguish as he cried out, "MATE!" The scream continued, echoing through the stone walls, each note laced with unimaginable pain. My heart bled, and a murderous rage surged through me. Whoever was causing her to cry out like that was going to die by my hand.

Without a second thought, I bolted towards the direction of the scream, desperation and fury fueling my every step. Hold on, mate, I'm coming. The realization that she was still alive hadn't fully hit me until I burst into the cell and was met with the pitiful sight of her broken form. The sight made me release a roar of both pain and fury that shook the very foundations of the dungeon.

Leslie's POV:

 Remember how I said something good is never truly good? That beneath it lies danger waiting to strike? Well, I take back any notion that this cell was some kind of privilege. I now understand why the conditions here are better than in my last pack—it's all part of a twisted psychological game. The cell lulls you into a false sense of security, only for them to drag you into something straight out of a psychopath's nightmare.

 The beta barged into my cell with a sinister smirk, and in that moment, I knew I had come face to face with the Devil's son. He yanked me off my feet and dragged me to a dimly lit room filled with all kinds of torture equipment. I tried to fight him off, but it was futile. His massive size, combined with my still-injured arm, left me at his mercy. My infected arm was already hurting like hell, but now it was restrained above my head, amplifying the agony. Hell alone couldn't describe the amount of pain I was in.

 The bastard had the audacity to splash my injury with hot water. The pain was so excruciating I couldn't hold back my screams. "Why do you have her scent on you? Speak up, you filthy rogue!" he demanded, his voice laced with venom.

 I could feel Elsie trying to muster the strength she had shown during my execution, but she was too weak. The infected arm had drained her energy, as she had been using every ounce of strength to keep the infection from spreading through my body. We hadn't eaten in days, and my throat was still painfully dry. These wolves hadn't even given me a chance to quench my thirst before attacking me.

 This was it. I was ready to surrender, to embrace death, which now seemed like the best offer I'd ever been made. But Elsie was still vigilant. She refused to let us die. I could feel her struggling to heal my arm, which was now almost gone, the boiling water having burned my flesh so badly that the smell of it filled the room. I was tired of living, tired of the constant struggle to survive, always looking over my shoulder. At least I wouldn't give my old pack the satisfaction of killing me. I would die in another pack, another territory, and they wouldn't even notice.

 Just as I was about to embrace death, its cold hands stretching out for me, a roar shook the dungeon, jolting me back to consciousness for a few precious seconds. In those fleeting moments, I saw the most captivating golden eyes I had ever seen. He's like me, I thought, my mind clinging to that one last shred of awareness. A golden-eyed wolf. And then, darkness took over.

Damien's POV:

 Lewis took one terrified look at my face and bolted out the door, knowing full well the consequences if I caught him. But I didn't care about him—my mate was dying in front of me. The sight of her lifeless form, strapped and beaten, sent a surge of panic through me that nearly paralyzed me. Midnight was a storm of fury, demanding vengeance, but we both knew nothing mattered more than saving her.

 I caught her in my arms, feeling how light she was, how she barely seemed to weigh anything at all. Her body was fragile, as if life had already started to slip away. Her once vibrant essence was now a faint flicker, and I could feel it fading, minute by agonizing minute.

 Unstrapping her with trembling hands, I linked every doctor in the pack, demanding they meet me at the hospital—no, I ordered it. My voice was a growl, laced with the raw fear and anger that consumed me. My pack was large, with more doctors than most, but in that moment, it didn't feel like enough. I was terrified. As I ran, her weight—or lack of it—only deepened the horror clawing at my heart.

 When I reached the hospital, I stormed in, my voice a thunderous command. "Save her! If she dies, so do you! Do you understand? Her life is in your hands, and if you fail her, your heads are on the line!" I knew I was terrifying them—I could see the tremors in their hands as they scrambled to obey—but I didn't care. I couldn't let go of her. I wouldn't let her die. Not like this, not here.

 They begged me to leave the operating room, to give them space to work, but I refused. I wouldn't let go of her hand, couldn't bear the thought of not being there, of her waking up alone—if she even woke up at all. I hovered over them, eyes locked on her face, pale and marred by the cruelty she had endured, yet still so heartbreakingly beautiful.

 "You have to live, please," I whispered, my voice breaking. It was a desperate plea, a command to the Moon Goddess herself. My heart was shattering with the fear that this might be it, that she might slip away before I even had the chance to know her, to protect her, to love her.

 The pain was suffocating, a crushing weight on my chest as I watched the doctors work, praying with every fiber of my being that they wouldn't fail, that she wouldn't leave me alone in this dark, merciless world. If she died, I wouldn't just kill those responsible—I would destroy everything. I would become the monster they all feared, and I wouldn't stop until every last one of them paid for taking her from me.