The Valentine Brothers I

"You…" I took an unsteady step back, despite every nerve in my body longing to step forward, to run towards the source of the voice. This sensation of longing, the strong enticing scent… there could only be one explanation.

This man was my mate. Every werewolf, even one deemed a failure like me, knew what a mate meant. Someone to love and cherish you for the rest of your days, the other half of your soul. Being the pack pariah, I had lost all hope of finding my mate in Stormclaw. 

In my lowest times, I would curl in my tiny thin mattress and dream about my mate being a strong, kind alpha from another pack. One who would whisk me away and make me his Luna, giving me love and freedom. Of course, the dream had vanished when I opened my eyes and found myself back in the cellar.

Now, I could only let out a weak chuckle. Who knew my delusions back then were coming true? 

I never expected to find my mate in the wreckage of my current pack. 

I never expected my mate to be the cause of such brutality. While I abhorred the pack's treatment of me as a servant, I never wanted all of them to be slaughtered like pigs at a butcher! 

Besides, even if there was anyone who deserved to kill my tormentors, it was me, but now, even my revenge had been stolen from me. 

My heart was beating in double-time as I fought to keep my focus. It took everything in me to not fling myself into his arms. My mate, sensing that I wasn't walking towards him, decided to step forward. Every step caused the heat coursing through my body to intensify. My breaths grew shallow, my vision hazy.

"What… What did you call me?" I asked, taking another step back in the face of his imposing aura. I had to get away before he caught me, but my legs wouldn't obey me. It was as though my very soul was yearning for this stranger, but my mind had not gotten the memo. 

This man was the other half of my soul, and he slaughtered his fellow werewolves like nothing.

What did that say about me?

My mate was now standing in front of me, his scent overpowering. I couldn't help but admire his looks― if he was going to kill me, I could not have asked for a more handsome executioner, as deranged as it sounded. 

His hair was as black as night, a stark contrast to the icy blue eyes that he used to stare down at me. Even with the layers of clothing on him, I could make out the strong, muscular physique that the fabric tried — and failed — to hide.

He was no doubt a high-ranking member of the enemy pack. After all, his domineering aura demanded the attention and obedience of all who dared glance his way.

What caught my attention was the long thin scar running down the left side of his face, the only flaw on his face.

Yet he was still handsome, almost arresting in his visage. That scar — that sign of imperfection — should have ruined his looks, but somehow it suited him. It accentuated the viciousness in his eyes, giving him a wild, reckless sort of beauty.

"Little rabbit, lying is a sin. I can hear your heart race. You want me," the stranger whispered. 

Subconsciously, I whimpered at the sound of his voice. The low baritone of his voice, paired with the slight huskiness as he curled his tongue around the syllables of his words caused a heady sense of desire to course through me.

"I only asked what you called me," I replied, trying to hold my voice steady. Alas, I failed.

"You're trying to deny the part of you that wants to get closer," he said, reading my mind as though it was written in ink on paper. "You would never feel the warmth of a fire if you're afraid of getting burned."

His lips quirked into a smirk, as though he knew what I was thinking. I immediately scowled and took another step back.

"I…I don't even know you," I retorted, glaring into his eyes. 

A flash of displeasure crossed his face, and a part of me immediately wanted to go on my knees to beg for forgiveness. It was unheard of for someone as low-ranked as me to be so rude to an elite member of a pack, let alone to their own mate, but I had no hopes for my survival.

Even if he were to spare me now, he definitely would get rid of me when he realized that I did not have a wolf. He might be my mate, but he was definitely not a good man. 

The hundreds of dead bodies all around me were proof. 

"I am Damon Valentine," my mate introduced himself, and I frowned. That name was vaguely familiar…

"Damon Valentine, you're Regulus Valentine's son?" I exclaimed in shock. "How are you alive? Didn't your family perish after your father―"

Suddenly, I couldn't speak. Damon had moved faster than I expected, his hand clamped around my neck. His fingers curled around my slender throat, fully intent on choking the life out of me. The skin on my neck burned with desire; skin contact between mates was always pleasurable, but whatever joy I felt was quickly eclipsed by the fact that I couldn't breathe. 

"W…why… let …go…" I wheezed out weakly, but he remained unmoved. Instead, he lifted me up with the very same hand that was wrapped around my neck. I tried to kick him, but it was as good as kicking a steel wall.

"Never. Talk. About. My. Father." He punctuated each word with a painful shake, his fingers digging into the flesh of my tender throat. I felt like a toy in the mouth of a violent rottweiler. 

What else could I do but nod in agreement? Or at least, I tried to. My head jerked a few times. 

"Stop it! Let her go!" Lydia's voice cut through the fog in my mind. I wanted to scream at her to run, to save herself, but I couldn't even muster enough strength for a weak groan. 

Damon glanced at Lydia from the corner of his eyes, and my heart sank at the way his lips twisted into an ugly sneer. 

Lydia was in trouble.

With one final squeeze, Damon flung me away, causing me to slam against the wall. I could only lay on the floor and wheeze, desperately trying to get air into my lungs even as the rest of my body cried out for relief. 

"Harper! Are you alright?" Lydia ran towards me. 

I wanted to reach out and reassure her, but then I caught sight of Damon charging towards her from behind, a wicked smile on his face as he brandished a steel poker he had stolen off the ground. 

"Lydia, behind you!" I croaked out desperately, trying to push her out of the way, but it was too late. 

Lydia's blood splattered on my face as I heard a horrifying squelch. My bastard mate had stabbed her in the back with enough force that it went right through her. It was almost as though she was nothing more than a piece of meat on the grill. 

I could only watch in blatant disbelief and horror when I  saw the other end of the poker emerge from her belly, blood streaming from the fresh wound.

Lydia twitched and fell, like a puppet with her strings cut.

"You monster!"