Chapter 185: Blood Debt Repaid

Kaelen's POV

The empty cell mocked me with its silence.

I stood there, fists clenched, blood pounding in my ears as rage threatened to consume every rational thought. Her scent saturated the air, but she wasn't here. The shackles on the wall still bore her blood, the scratches on the stone told stories of her desperation, but the cell was fucking empty.

Then, like a candle flickering back to life in the dark, I felt it—the bond. Weak, strangled by whatever silver they'd locked around her neck, but there. A faint pulse of terror, humiliation, despair bleeding through our connection.

I dropped to one knee, pressing my palm against my sternum as the sensation intensified. Through the fragmented link, I caught flashes: iron chains dragging across stone, the blur of bodies beneath her stumbling feet, firelight dancing on blood-slicked ground. Her perspective shifted violently as someone yanked her forward, and I saw Damien's face twisted in manic fury before the connection wavered again.

Don't come, her voice whispered through the bond, barely audible, laced with broken determination.

Like hell I wouldn't.

I surged to my feet and bolted from the cell. The sounds of battle grew louder—screams, steel clashing, the roar of fire consuming Ravencrest from the inside out.

I sprinted up the spiral stairs, taking them three at a time, until I burst into the main burning hallway.

Three Ravencrest guards blocked my path, weapons raised.

I shifted mid-sprint, bones cracking as I dropped into a half-wolf state. My claws extended, golden eyes blazing. The first guard swung his blade—I caught his wrist, twisted until bones snapped, and drove my other hand through his ribcage. He died with a wet gasp, blood spraying across the walls.

The second lunged from the side. I spun, grabbed him by his throat and slammed him into the stone wall hard enough to crack his skull.

The third guard dropped his weapon and tried to run. I was on him in three strides, claws sinking into his shoulder as I yanked him backward and pinned him against the wall with one hand around his neck.

His eyes went wide as he took in my face—specifically, my eyes. Four pupils glowing in the firelight.

"The four-eyed monster," he choked out. "Shadowmere's demon..."

I tightened my grip. "Where is she?"

"Who?" he gasped.

"Don't play stupid," I snarled. "My mate. Seraphine Hale. Where did they take her?"

Recognition flashed across his face, followed by a twisted smile. "Your mate?" He laughed, strangled and mocking. "She's being paraded around like a fucking dog on a leash by Alpha Damien. You should've heard her whimper—"

I snapped his neck before he could finish. His body went limp, and I let it drop to the floor.

The bond tugged me westward. I followed it through corridors littered with battle's evidence—blood smeared on walls, torn Silverwood banners trampled underfoot. Drag marks scarred the stone floor, intermittent pools of blood marking where someone had been hauled forcibly through these halls. I crouched, running my fingers through one of the stains. Still warm. Her scent clung to it—fear and pain mingling with blood—and my vision went red.

A heavy oak door stood half-open ahead, firelight spilling through. An unfamiliar scent hit me—old, stale, reeking of rot and malice—mixed with traces of Seraphine's blood. I kicked the door open, and it slammed against the inner wall.

The room was a study in arrogance and decay. Black velvet drapes framed tall windows overlooking the burning courtyard, beast pelts hung like trophies, and a massive desk dominated the center. An old wolf stood by the fireplace, frantically feeding documents into the flames. He spun at my entrance, his wizened face twisting into exaggerated fear.

Near the door, a guard lay sprawled in blood, a broken sword protruding from his chest, breath coming in shallow gasps. On the desk, maps were scattered. And there, discarded on a side table, was torn gray prison cloth stained with blood and silver tools flecked with what looked like burned skin.

Seraphine's skin.

The old wolf raised his hands, voice trembling with theatrical panic. "Don't... don't kill me, Alpha Kaelen. Please." He took a shaky step back. "I'm Malachar... Damien's father. I can help you. I can tell you where she is."

I said nothing, just walked toward him slowly. My dual golden eyes locked onto his, and I let the predator in me rise to the surface.

Malachar backed up until his legs hit the desk, eyes darting briefly toward the "dying" guard. "My son... Damien took her to the eastern courtyard. He's going to execute her publicly!"

I stopped a few feet away. "Why would you tell me that?"

"I... I just want to live," he stammered. "Damien's insane—"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guard's fingers twitch. His hand shifted beneath his body where a dagger lay hidden. Malachar's gaze flicked toward the guard again.

I kept my expression neutral. "Which part of the eastern courtyard?"

"By the old well," Malachar said quickly. "Near the execution platform—"

"Now!" Malachar screamed.

The guard exploded into motion, launching himself off the floor. The dagger flashed toward my back, aimed at my spine. But I'd been ready.

I sidestepped, the blade whistling past my ribs. My hand shot out, catching the guard's wrist. I wrenched his arm with enough force to snap bone. The crack echoed, followed by his scream.

The dagger clattered to the floor. I caught it mid-fall and drove it up through the soft tissue beneath his jaw. The blade punched through his tongue and buried itself in his brain. He went limp, and I let him drop.

Malachar had gone pale, stumbling backward until he tripped and fell hard. Papers scattered as he scrambled away, terror replacing cunning in his eyes.

"Wait! Wait, please—"

I advanced slowly. He'd spent years as the puppet master, orchestrating betrayals and massacres without ever getting his hands dirty. Now he was just a pathetic old wolf backed into a corner.

"You planned the alliance meeting betrayal," I said quietly. "You orchestrated Silverwood's massacre for their territory."

"No, that was Damien—"

"You watched Damien murder her parents. You kept her in a cell. You let your people torture her with silver, burn her skin."

"She was leverage," he croaked. "Just leverage—"

"And just now you tried to have me killed with a coward's trick."

I grabbed him by the throat and hauled him off the ground, slamming him against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. His feet kicked uselessly as he clawed at my hand, choking, eyes bulging.

"Today, blood debts are repaid," I said coldly. "Ravencrest's time is over."

My other hand shot forward, claws extended, and plunged into his chest. I felt ribs crack as I forced through muscle and bone. Malachar convulsed, coughing up blood that splattered across my face.

"Damien..." he gurgled. "Will kill you... will make that bitch... that filthy whore pay—"

"Wait for me in hell," I interrupted, closing my fist around his still-beating heart. "I'll send your son down to join you."

I tore the organ free in one savage motion. Malachar's body seized once, twice, then went still, eyes frozen wide in shock and agony. I held his gaze until I was certain he was dead, then opened my hand and let his heart fall to the floor.

His corpse slumped when I released my grip. One down. One more to go.

I spotted something gleaming among the scattered papers—a tarnished silver pin bearing Silverwood's crest. I picked it up, wiping the blood off on my cloak, and tucked it into my pocket.

For Seraphine. For her father. For everyone Ravencrest destroyed.

The bond pulsed again, urgent and terrified, pulling me toward the courtyard where Damien was making his last stand. I stepped over the bodies and broke into a run, following the connection, each pulse stronger than the last.

Hold on, I thought fiercely. Just hold on a little longer.

I'm coming.