Chapter 189: The Devil's Bargain (2)
Seraphine's POV
He said it without emotion, like discussing a change in weather rather than his father's death. The coldness of it made my skin crawl.
"Shadowmere started this war—you came into my land and slaughtered my wolves. Someone has to pay for that."
I tried to lift my head, tried to see Kaelen's reaction, but my neck wouldn't cooperate properly. All I could see was gravel and blood and Damien's boots moving back and forth in my limited field of vision.
"Gold, weapons, medical supplies, food stores—everything Shadowmere has, everything you've accumulated, everything that makes your pack strong." Damien's voice was rising with enthusiasm now, feeding off his own words. "Fair compensation for every warrior I lost, every building you burned, every resource you destroyed. For my father's death."
He stopped pacing directly in front of where Kaelen knelt, and I heard the smile in his voice when he spoke next. "Fifty million in gold. Plus weapons, supplies, and ongoing support for the next five years."
The number hit like a physical blow. Around the circle, someone gasped. Even through my fading consciousness, I understood the magnitude—that much would cripple Shadowmere, leave them vulnerable to every enemy who'd been waiting for weakness to show.
"How much?" Kaelen's voice came out barely recognizable, rough and animalistic, like the words were being dragged through gravel.
"Fifty million," Damien repeated, and I could hear the satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "In gold. Plus weapons inventory, medical supplies, and a percentage of your annual resources for five years. Fair payment for starting a war you couldn't finish. For killing an Alpha."
I managed to turn my head slightly, just enough to find Kaelen in my line of sight. His face had gone completely expressionless, that terrible blank look he got when the beast was too close to the surface to risk showing emotion. But his hands—his hands were shredding the ground beneath him, claws tearing through gravel and dirt like it was paper.
No, I tried to think at him, tried to convey through my gaze alone. Don't agree. It's not worth it. I'm not worth it.
But even as I thought it, I knew he would agree. Knew he would bankrupt his entire pack if it meant keeping me alive. The knowledge made me want to cry, made shame burn hotter than the silver collar.
Near the Shadowmere lines, Lucian's face had gone carefully neutral, but I caught the flash of calculation in his eyes as he processed the numbers, understood exactly what kind of crippling blow this would be to their economy and defenses.
"Well?" Damien prompted, crouching down beside me again and running the dagger's flat edge along my cheekbone almost tenderly. "What's it going to be, four-eyes? How much is your mate worth?"
Kaelen's crimson eyes met mine across the blood-soaked ground, and I saw his answer written clearly in his expression before he even opened his mouth.
"Done," he said, the word torn from somewhere deep and dark inside him. "You'll get your payment."
"Excellent!" Damien straightened up, practically vibrating with manic energy. "See? I knew we could be reasonable about this." He grabbed my hair again—I was starting to really fucking hate that—and jerked my head up, forcing me to look toward where the Silverwood warriors stood at the edge of the circle.
Roland was there, tears streaming down his weathered face, surrounded by what remained of my father's people. Maybe twenty warriors total, all that was left of Silverwood's once-proud army.
"Second condition," Damien announced, and something in his tone made my blood run cold. He twisted his grip in my hair, wrenching my neck at a painful angle, making sure I had a clear view of my people. "Those pathetic remnants playing at loyalty in the border ruins—they need to go."
My heart stopped.
"What?" The word came from Roland, shocked and disbelieving.
Damien's grin widened. He released my hair to point at Roland with the dagger, the blade catching firelight. "Kill them. All of them."
The courtyard erupted into chaos. Silverwood warriors shouting in confusion and horror, Shadowmere wolves shifting uneasily, voices rising in protest from all sides. But Damien just stood there smiling, enjoying the pandemonium he'd created.
"You want specifics?" He raised his voice over the noise. "Fine. Kaelen—you're going to walk over there, shift into that pretty white beast of yours, and rip out Roland's throat with your own claws."
"What the fuck—" someone started, but Damien spoke over them.
"Let her watch you destroy the last remnants of her father's legacy. Let her see you murder the people who stayed loyal to her even after Silverwood fell. Show her exactly what you're willing to do to keep her alive."
I tried to speak, tried to scream, tried to do anything to protest, but my throat was too destroyed. All that came out was a broken, wheezing sound that made Damien laugh.
"I can't do that," Kaelen's voice cut through the chaos, raw and desperate. "They're not my subordinates, they're not under my command—"
"Can't?" Damien crouched down and pressed the dagger's edge against my shoulder, right where he'd cut before. I felt the blade sink in, felt warm blood well up and spill down my arm, felt my vision go white with pain. The scream that tore from my ruined throat was inhuman, animal, and I heard Kaelen's answering roar of agony echo across the courtyard.
"Still think you can't?" Damien twisted the blade slightly, and I convulsed, barely conscious. Through the haze I saw Kaelen on his hands and knees, chest heaving, white fur spreading down his arms as he fought to keep control.
"They die, or she dies." Damien pulled the blade free and pressed it against my throat instead, right over the silver collar. "Pick one, four-eyes. Right now."
I forced my eyes open, forced myself to look at Kaelen even though shame and guilt threatened to drown me. Our gazes locked across the blood-soaked gravel, and I poured everything I had left into that look—don't do it, please don't do it, let me die instead—but I could see his answer already written in the anguish carved across his features.