Damien didn't kill him in the cottage.
He wanted to, But this wasn't about what the wolf wanted. This was about Cora. About giving her something she'd never had.
Closure.
Abernathy hung limp in his grip, unconscious from the initial blow. Damien had hit him once , a controlled strike to the temple, enough to drop him without causing the kind of damage that would end things too quickly.
He carried the old man out to the car like a sack of grain. Marcus didn't comment. Just opened the trunk and stepped back.
Damien dumped Abernathy inside. Looked down at the crumpled form, this frail, ordinary monster who had stolen years from a child who had no one to protect her.
"You belong to me."*
The words surfaced unbidden. Not his own. Hers. The things she'd told him, This man had said those words to her. Had made her believe them.
Damien's hands curled into fists.
"Alpha." Marcus's voice was careful. "Where to?"
"Home."
He slammed the trunk shut.
The drive back was longer than the drive there.
Or maybe it just felt that way. Damien sat in the back seat, eyes close.
The estate emerged from the trees as dawn broke. Grey light spilling across the fortress of concrete and glass, turning the windows to mirrors. Home. His territory. The place where he ruled absolutely.
And now he was bringing her monster into it.
Marcus pulled around to the back entrance. The one that led directly to the basement levels. No servants. No witnesses except the ones Damien chose.
"Get him inside," Damien said. "The room at the end of the east corridor. Chain him. Then find the Luna and bring her to me."
Marcus hesitated. Just for a second.
"You want her to see this?"
"I want her to end it."
Another pause. Then Marcus nodded and went to retrieve their cargo from the trunk.
Damien walked inside alone. He needed a moment. Just one, to become something Cora could look at without flinching.
He wasn't sure he'd succeed.
Cora was waiting when Marcus found her.
She'd been pacing for hours. Sleep had been impossible, every time she closed her eyes, she felt him through the bond.
He'd gone hunting. She knew that much. But for what? For whom?
When the knock came, she nearly tore the door off its hinges.
Marcus stood in the hallway. His expression was blank in that careful way that meant something terrible was happening.
"The Alpha requests your presence."
"Where?"
"The basement. East corridor."
Her stomach dropped. The basement. Where they'd taken her for testing. Where Damien had let a wolf circle her while she screamed.
"Why?"
"He has something to show you."
Marcus didn't elaborate. Didn't explain. Just turned and started walking, clearly expecting her to follow.
She did. Because what choice did she have?
Down stairs she'd only taken once before. Into the cold, concrete depths of the estate where the air smelled like metal and blood .
Marcus stopped outside a heavy door. Steel. Reinforced.
"He's inside."
He stepped aside. Waited.
Cora's hand trembled as she reached for the handle. She didn't know what was on the other side.
She pushed the door open.
The room was bare concrete. No windows. A single light hanging from the ceiling, harsh and unforgiving.
And in the center, chained to a chair bolted to the floor—
Cora stopped breathing.
She knew that face. Older now. More wrinkled. But the same watery blue eyes, the same thin lips, the same hands ,those hands now broken and bloody, fingers bent at wrong angles.
Abernathy.
He looked up when the door opened. His eyes found hers. And even now beaten, broken, chained to something flickered in them. That same disgusting look he'd given her a thousand times before deciding what he wanted to take.
"Well." His voice was a rasp. Ruined. "Look who's all grown up."
Cora couldn't move. Couldn't speak. The world had narrowed to a pinpoint l, this room, this man, the memories crashing over her like waves.
The locked office. The smell of cigarettes. His hand fisted in her hair.
"You're nothing. Nobody wants you. You belong to me."
"Cora."
Damien's voice cut through the spiral. She blinked. Found him standing against the far wall, arms crossed, watching her with those pale eyes that missed nothing.
"Come here."
Her legs moved without her permission.
One step. Another. Closing the distance between herself and the chair where her nightmare sat bleeding. She could smell it now, copper and sweat and something darker underneath. Fear. Abernathy was afraid.
Good.
But beneath the satisfaction, something else churned. Nausea. Horror. The disconnect between the frail old man in chains and the monster who had loomed so large in her memories.
"I found him for you." Damien's voice was calm. Almost gentle. "The others too. The ones who knew. The ones who helped. The ones who looked away."
"Others?"
"Mrs. Hendricks. Thomas Reilly. Margaret Cole. Samuel Peters." He listed the names like items on a grocery list. "The dead ones I dug up. Scattered them. The living ones..." He shrugged. "They won't be living much longer."
Cora's throat tightened. "You killed them?"
"Some. The rest are running. They won't get far."
She should be horrified. Should be disgusted by the casual violence in his voice, the complete absence of remorse.
Instead, she felt something else entirely. Something dark and warm unfurling in her chest.
They were paying. All of them. For every night she'd cried herself to sleep, every bruise she'd hidden, every piece of herself she'd lost in that grey building.
"Why did you bring him here?" she asked.
Damien pushed off the wall. Walked toward her. Stopped close enough that she could feel his heat.
"Because his death belongs to you."
Abernathy laughed.
It was a wet, broken sound. Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth, staining his teeth pink.
"Her? Kill me?" He shook his head, chains rattling. "She doesn't have it in her. Never did. Just a scared little girl who did what she was told and cried about it after."
Cora flinched. The words hit old wounds, tearing them open.
"Shut up," Damien said. His voice was ice.
"Or what? You'll hurt me more?" Abernathy spat blood on the floor. "I've been hurt by better than you, boy. And I've done worse than you can imagine." His eyes slid back to Cora. That look. That hungry, possessive look she'd seen a thousand times. "Haven't I, sweetheart? You remember. You remember everything I taught you."
Her hands were shaking. Her vision was blurring. The room was too small, too hot, the air too thick—
"Cora." Damien's hand closed around her wrist. Grounding her. Pulling her back. "Look at me."
She did. His eyes were silver now. The wolf close to the surface. But his grip was steady.
"He has no power over you. Not anymore. He's a broken old man chained to a chair, and you are the mate of an Alpha." His thumb traced her pulse point. "You decide how this ends."
Damien released her wrist.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife. Simple. Sharp. The blade glinted under the harsh light.
He pressed it into her palm.
"Cut off his dick."
The words hung in the air. Cora stared at the knife in her hand. Then at Abernathy. Then back at Damien.
"What?"
"He used it to hurt you. Take it from him." Damien's voice was flat.. "It's justice."
Justice. The word echoed in her head. She looked at Abernathy, at the fear finally breaking through his defiance, at the way his legs pressed together instinctively, protecting himself.
He was afraid of her.
For the first time in her life, he was afraid of her.
She stepped forward. The knife felt heavy in her grip. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it, a frantic drumbeat drowning out everything else.
"That's it," Damien murmured behind her. "Take what he owes you."
She raised the knife.
And froze.
Her hand wouldn't move.
She was standing right there. The knife inches from his body. All she had to do was cut. One motion. One act of violence to erase years of pain.
But her hand wouldn't move.
"You're nothing. Nobody wants you."
The voice was in her head now. His voice. Layered over itself, a chorus of every terrible thing he'd ever said to her.
"You belong to me."
"I—" Her voice cracked. "I can't."
"You can." Damien was beside her now. His hand covered hers on the knife, steadying it. "Let me help you."
"No." She pulled away. The knife clattered to the floor. "No, I can't, I can't do this, I can't—"
The room was spinning. Her chest was too tight. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't—
"Cora." Damien's voice was distant. Muffled. "Cora, look at me. Breathe."
She couldn't. The panic had her now, dragging her under, drowning her in memories she'd spent years trying to bury.
And through it all, Abernathy laughed.
"See? Told you. Still just a scared little girl."