Chapter 178: Captive Luna

Seraphine's POV

Dingy walls the color of old bruises, paint peeling in long strips. Water-stained ceiling with patches of black mold creeping across it. A single bare bulb hanging from a frayed cord. The furniture was ancient—scarred wood and rusted metal, everything worn down and forgotten. It smelled like mildew and decay.

Damien stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of the light from the hallway beyond. He held a bundle of clothes in one hand—threadbare fabrics in dull colors. His storm-gray eyes swept over me with the kind of detachment you'd give a broken appliance. No emotion. No recognition. Just cold assessment.

I was still wearing the clothes from the clearing—jeans torn and muddy, shirt stained with blood that had dried to a rust-brown crust. Orion's blood. My hair hung in tangled knots around my face. I could smell myself—sweat and fear and old blood.

I must look like hell. Good. Let him see what he's done.

Damien tossed the clothes onto the bed without getting closer. They landed in a heap—cheap cotton that looked like it came from a thrift store donation bin. "Wash yourself," he said, voice flat and emotionless. "Change."

"No." The word came out stronger than I felt. I stayed pressed against the far wall.

Kaelen will track my scent. He'll find—

"That collar severed your mate bond." Damien saw through my mind, something dark flickering behind his eyes before disappearing. "He can't sense you anymore. Can't track you. You're invisible to him now."

The confirmation hit me like a fist to the chest. The hollow emptiness where Kaelen should be suddenly felt infinite.

He really can't feel me. He's out there somewhere, probably going insane trying to find me, and I'm just—gone.

"I won't make it easy for you," I said, lifting my chin even though everything hurt. "I won't help you do whatever sick shit you're planning."

Something shifted in Damien's expression—a muscle ticking in his jaw. Then his hand shot out and grabbed the collar. He was wearing thick leather gloves, I realized. Protection from the silver.

He yanked upward with brutal force. My feet left the ground, toes scraping uselessly against the floor as I clawed at his arm. The collar dug into my throat, cutting off air. The silver burned deeper, searing through skin to the muscle beneath. I could smell my own flesh cooking, could feel the moisture of blood and lymph running down my neck.

Can't breathe. Can't—

Black spots danced across my vision. My lungs screamed for air that wouldn't come. Damien lifted me until we were eye level, his face still that terrible blank mask. Only his eyes showed anything—some dark emotion I couldn't name swirling in those gray depths.

"You don't have the right to refuse me anything," he said, voice low and cold. "Do you know what I sacrificed to capture you? What I gave up?"

I tried to speak but no sound came out. Just a strangled wheeze as my body fought desperately for oxygen.

"Three months," Damien continued, his jaw tight with suppressed anger. "You know how many guys I sent after you? How many of them didn't make it back?"

Let me go. Please. I can't—

My vision was narrowing, darkness creeping in from the edges. Any second now I'd pass out. Maybe I wouldn't wake up.

Would that be better? Just—ending it here?

Damien's eyes flickered to my face. Something changed in his expression—so brief I almost missed it. Then he dropped me.

I hit the floor hard, gasping and choking as air rushed back into my lungs. The collar had burned so deep I could feel it grinding against bone. I curled on my side, one hand pressed to my throat, feeling the wet heat of blood and serum soaking into my filthy shirt.

Don't cry. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

But tears leaked out anyway, mixing with the blood on my face.

Damien stepped back, his breathing slightly elevated. He stared down at me for a long moment, then turned toward the door.

That's when something inside me snapped. All the fear, all the pain, all the grief I'd been holding back came flooding out in a wave of pure rage.

"You killed my parents!" The words ripped out of my raw throat. I pushed myself up on my elbows, glaring at him through the tears and blood. "You murdered them in cold blood. You took everything from me—my family, my pack, my home. And now you've dragged me here to—what? Finish the job? Make sure every last Hale is wiped off the fucking map?"

Damien stopped, his hand on the doorframe. He didn't turn around.

"Isn't it enough?" My voice cracked but I kept going, kept pouring out three months of buried hatred. "You already won. Silverwood is destroyed. My father's dead. My mother's dead. I'm a fugitive with a bounty on my head. What more do you fucking want from me?"

For a long moment, he said nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice was eerily calm.

"No."

"No?" I laughed, the sound harsh and broken. "No what? You didn't kill them? You didn't—"

"I didn't take your pack." He turned slowly, those storm-gray eyes meeting mine. "That's exactly why I need you."

The words didn't make sense. I stared at him, confusion cutting through the rage. "What... what the hell are you talking about?"

Damien's jaw clenched. For the first time since I'd met him, he looked genuinely angry—not at me, but at something else.

"Those goddamn Silverwood officers and warriors," he said, each word clipped. "They refuse to acknowledge Ravencrest authority. Three months, and they still won't bend the knee. Won't accept that their pack is finished."

My heart stuttered. "What?"

"They're holding the borders," Damien continued, pacing now. "Your father's most loyal. They've turned Silverwood's ruins into a fucking fortress. Won't negotiate. Won't surrender. All because they're waiting for a Hale to return and reclaim what's left."

They're still fighting. After everything, they're still—

"That's impossible," I whispered. "You wiped out the leadership. You killed—"

"I killed your parents," Damien cut me off. "But your father trained his commanders too well. They scattered during the massacre, regrouped at the borders, and they've been holding that ground ever since." His fists clenched. "Do you have any idea what that's cost Ravencrest? The resources wasted trying to break through? The territory we can't claim because those stubborn bastards refuse to accept reality?"

"Good." The word came out before I could stop it. "I hope they bleed you dry."

Damien's eyes flashed. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the collar again—not lifting this time, just holding, keeping me pinned against the wall. His face was inches from mine.

"They're dying for nothing," he said quietly, intensely. "Holding onto a legacy that doesn't exist anymore. Fighting for a pack that's already gone."

"They're fighting for honor," I spat back. "Something you wouldn't understand."

His grip tightened slightly, making the silver burn fresh. "They're fighting because they believe the Hale bloodline will rise again. Because your father made you and your sister into symbols—proof that Silverwood would endure."

Ice flooded my veins as understanding finally clicked into place.

"You need me alive," I breathed. "You need me to tell them to surrender."

Damien's expression didn't change, but I saw the confirmation in his eyes. He released the collar and stepped back.

"I need you broken," he corrected, voice returning to that terrible flat calm. "I need those warriors to see that their precious Luna is gone. That holding out for a Hale restoration is pointless. Only then will they finally give up that fucking territory."

"And if I refuse? If I tell them to keep fighting?"

"Then I'll make sure the message they receive is very different from the one you send." Damien walked back toward the door. "There are ways to break people, Seraphine. And I have all the time in the world to find the method that works on you."

The door opened, harsh light from the hallway cutting across the room.

"Clean yourself up," Damien said without looking back. "You have one hour before we begin."

The lock clicked. Darkness swallowed the room again.