Warning !! : contains so much violence
Cora couldn't breathe.
The knife lay on the floor where she'd dropped it. Her hands were shaking — no, her whole body was shaking. The room was too small. The walls were closing in. The air was thick, suffocating, pressing against her chest until her lungs screamed.
And through it all, Abernathy kept laughing.
That wet, broken sound. Blood bubbling between his teeth. His eyes fixed on her with something that looked horribly like satisfaction.
"Still the same," he rasped. "Still that scared little girl. You think because you've got yourself a big bad wolf, you're different? You're not. You'll never be different. You'll always be—"
"Enough."
Damien's voice cut through the noise. Low and Quiet.
He moved between Cora and the chair, blocking her view of Abernathy. His hand came up to cup her face — firm, grounding, forcing her to look at him instead of the monster behind him.
"Breathe," he said. "Look at me. Just me."
She tried. Drew in a shuddering gasp. Then another. His eyes held hers — silver now, the wolf blazing beneath the surface, but his touch was steady. Controlled.
"I can't," she whispered. "I thought I could, but I can't—"
"You don't have to."
His thumb traced her cheekbone. Wiping away tears she hadn't realized she'd shed.
"You don't have to do anything," he said. "I'll finish it. But I need you to understand something first."
She blinked at him. Waited.
"This man—" Damien's jaw tightened. "—took things from you that he had no right to take." The words came out like shards of glass. "He was wrong. You belong to no one but yourself. And after tonight, he won't exist anymore. Not in this world. Not in your memories. Not anywhere."
"Damien—"
"Let me give you this." His voice dropped. Almost a plea — if Damien Volkov was capable of pleading. "Let me erase him."
Behind him, Abernathy spat blood onto the concrete floor.
"Touching. Really. The big bad Alpha, playing hero for his little witch whore—"
Damien's hand dropped from Cora's face.
He turned.
The change in him was instantaneous.
One moment, he was the man who had touched her gently, spoken softly, tried to anchor her through the panic. The next, he was something else entirely. Something older. Colder. The wolf rising to the surface, bleeding through his human form like ink through water.
He walked toward Abernathy. Slow. Each step deliberate.
"What did you call her?"
Abernathy's bravado flickered. Just for a second. Then it was back — that stubborn, vicious defiance of a man who had spent decades hurting others without consequence.
"You heard me. She's a whore. Always was. Opened her legs for anyone who—"
Damien's hand shot out.
To his mouth. Fingers forcing past his lips, gripping his tongue, and pulling.
The scream that followed was inhuman.
Cora stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall, her hand clamping over her mouth. She couldn't look away. Couldn't close her eyes. Could only watch as Damien ripped Abernathy's tongue out of his head and dropped it on the floor like garbage.
Blood poured from the old man's mouth. His screams became gurgles. His body convulsed against the chains.
Damien didn't flinch.
"You don't get to speak about her," he said calmly. "You don't get to speak at all.
Abernathy was choking on his own blood.
His head lolled. His eyes rolled back. For a moment, Cora thought it was over, that he would drown in the red tide pouring from his ruined mouth and that would be the end.
But Damien wasn't finished.
He gripped Abernathy's hair, yanking his head back, forcing him to stay conscious. Stay present. Stay aware of what was happening to him.
"You told her she was nothing," Damien said. His voice was conversational. Almost pleasant. "You told her no one would believe her. That she belonged to you."
Abernathy's eyes were wide now. Terrified. The defiance was gone.
"She doesn't belong to you. She never did." Damien leaned closer. "But your death? Your pain? Every second of suffering you experience from now until your last breath?" His lips curved. "That belongs to me."
His free hand came up.
Claws extended — long, black, curved like scythes.
He placed them against Abernathy's throat. Pressed just hard enough to dimple the skin. Not cutting.
"I want you to know something before you die," Damien said softly. "I want you to understand exactly why this is happening. Not because of what you did to her, although that alone would be enough. But because you touched what's mine. And no one—" The claws pressed deeper. A thin line of blood welled up. "—no one touches what's mine."
He tore out Abernathy's throat.
Not fast,Not merciful. Slow. His claws hooked into the flesh and pulled, dragging through muscle and tendon with a wet, terrible sound that Cora knew she would hear in her nightmares for the rest of her life.
Abernathy's body jerked. His mouth opened and closed, no sound emerging except a horrible bubbling gurgle. Blood sprayed across Damien's face, his chest, his hands. He didn't seem to notice. Didn't seem to care.
He just kept pulling.
Until the throat was gone. Until Abernathy's head hung at a wrong angle, connected by nothing but spine and scraps. Until the light in those watery blue eyes finally, finally went out.
Damien released him.
The body slumped in the chair, held upright only by the chains. Blood pooled beneath it, spreading across the concrete, creeping toward Cora's feet.
She couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could only stare at what was left of the man who had haunted her for fifteen years.
He was dead.
He was actually dead.
And Damien had killed him. Slowly. Brutally. Without a single moment of hesitation or remorse.
Damien turned to face her.
He was covered in blood. It dripped from his chin, stained his shirt, coated his hands up to the wrists. His eyes were still silver — the wolf fully present, fully in control. He looked like something out of a nightmare.
He looked like a monster.
"It's done," he said. His voice was rough. Uneven. "He's gone. He can't hurt you anymore."
Cora opened her mouth. Tried to speak.
What came out wasn't gratitude.
"You—" Her voice cracked. "You're no different than him."
Damien went still.
"What?"
"You're a monster." The words tumbled out, sharp and jagged, cutting her throat on the way up. "You torture people. You kill them. You tear them apart with your bare hands and you don't feel anything—"
"I did this for you."
"I didn't ask you to!" She was screaming now. Tears streaming down her face. "I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't ask to be taken, to be bonded, to be dragged into your world of blood and violence and death—"
"Cora—"
"You're just like him." The words were poison. She knew it. Said them anyway. "You take what you want. You don't care who you hurt. You think you own me—"
"I'm nothing like him."
"You're exactly like him!" Her voice broke. "You just have better excuses."
Silence.
The word hung between them, heavier than the blood, thicker than the air. Damien stared at her with an expression she couldn't read , pain Or something colder, harder, a door slamming shut behind his eyes.
"You don't mean that," he said quietly.
"I—"
The room tilted.
Cora's vision blurred. The edges went dark, creeping inward like shadows. Her legs gave out beneath her — she felt herself falling but couldn't stop it, couldn't do anything except let gravity take her.
The last thing she saw was Damien moving toward her. The last thing she felt was his arms catching her before she hit the floor.
The last thing she heard was his voice, distant and strange, saying her name like a prayer.
Then nothing.
Marcus found them like that.
The Alpha on his knees in a pool of blood, his mate unconscious in his arms. The corpse still chained to the chair behind them, throat torn out, eyes staring at nothing.
He just waited.
Damien didn't look up. His hands were gentle on Cora's face, her hair, brushing strands away from her pale cheeks. The blood on his fingers left smears on her skin.
"She said I'm like him." His voice was hollow. "Like the man who hurt her."
Marcus was quiet for a moment.
"She's in shock. She didn't mean it."
"She meant it." Damien's jaw tightened. "Maybe she's right."
"Alpha—"
"Get someone to clean this up." He lifted Cora in his arms, rising to his feet. "The body goes to St. Jude's. Leave it at the gates. Let them find what's left of their saint."
Marcus nodded. "And the Luna?"
Damien looked down at the fragile woman in his arms. Unconscious.
"She stays with me."
He carried her out of the room, leaving Marcus alone with the blood and the silence and the ruins of a man who had finally gotten what he deserved.