Killian wished for death right then, for the floor to swallow him whole, for the darkness to claim him and end this torment. Voren was clearly settling old scores, getting back for letting him off at the Silver Moon pack a few days ago.
The man’s silence spoke louder than any threat could, his cold observation about Killian’s intact face revealing just how deep the grudge ran.
What a heartless monster, Voren Ashkael. Raising another monster in Corvine’s image, creating a weapon that would turn against anyone who threatened what he loved.
The irony wasn’t lost on Killian. He’d gone too far, and now he was paying the price with every broken bone in his body.
Corvine hadn’t seen Athaliah’s face until Voren’s words drew his gaze toward her. His eyes traced the curve of her cheek, the delicate line of her jaw, and something inside him fractured.
Her eyes remained closed, lashes wet with tears clinging to her skin, but the damage was unmistakable even through the dim lighting of the changing room. Not just red but swollen and purple, angry bruising already blooming across her delicate cheekbone like a grotesque flower.
The sight of it made something inside him snap completely, the last thread of restraint severed by the violence done to her.
He bent over, fingers twisting in Killian’s hair, and forced the Alpha to face him with a brutal yank. Killian couldn’t move his arms or legs, completely helpless and broken, reduced to a whimpering mess on the floor.
Corvine’s fingers balled into fists, knuckles white with tension, and he brought them down with surgical precision. Each punch landed on Killian’s eyes, precision strikes that would blind him temporarily if not permanently, that would leave him seeing stars and darkness in equal measure.
No one in the room showed mercy on his pathetic cries, his weak pleas falling on deaf ears as the blows continued.
"Let him be for now." Voren’s voice cut through the violence like a blade, calm and measured, carrying absolute authority. "You know where to finish it."
Corvine stopped immediately, his fist hovering mid-swing, muscles trembling with barely contained rage.
They would settle this score at the pack, on their territory, where no human authorities could intervene and no witnesses could interfere. The thought of finishing Killian properly, of making him pay for every bruise on Athaliah’s face, settled something dark and satisfying in Corvine’s chest.
Just then, two more figures rushed into the changing room. Curt and Brad skidded to a halt, their faces pale and panicked, eyes wide as they took in the scene before them.
Their expressions drained of all color at the sight of Killian crumpled on the floor, blood streaming from his ruined face, limbs twisted grotesquely at impossible angles. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sweat of violence and the faint perfume of onlookers.
Before either could speak, before they could form a single protest or demand an explanation, Corvine had crossed the changing room and lifted Athaliah into his arms.
He cradled her against his chest bridal style, her weight settling against him like she belonged there, like she’d always been his to carry and protect. Her warmth seeped through his shirt, and he could feel her trembling against him, could hear her shallow breaths.
Curt and Brad scrambled to block the exit, spreading their arms to bar his path with desperate determination. "You can’t take her, Corvine," Curt’s voice shook with false authority, cracking at the edges. "We won’t let you."
Corvine’s smirk cut through the room as he glanced around, taking inventory of everyone present. One human still stood near the entrance, frozen in shock, but he was certain Voren could handle that loose end and his smirk widened, cold and predatory.
"And who’s going to stop me?" His voice rang out, confident and unshakeable, as he cradled his woman closer and stepped forward.


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