Chapter Six: Carol's POV
I tried again to break free from his hold, but Simon barely seemed to notice my resistance.
With one smooth motion of one hand, he lifted me up as if I weighed nothing, hoisting me over his shoulder with such ease that my earlier victory over Marcus and Jack felt like a cruel joke.
The world flipped before my eyes as he headed toward the stairs, my fists pounding uselessly against his back while his hand locked firmly on my thighs, keeping me in place.
"Put me down!" I shouted, but the voice sounded weak and feeble, humiliation burning hotter than anger.
He didn't respond, didn't even acknowledge my struggles, climbing the stairs at a measured pace. I could feel every wolf in the manor watching this display of dominance—their Alpha carrying his disobedient ward like an unruly child.
When he pushed open my bedroom door and set me down with a deliberate gentleness—the kind that felt more humiliating than roughness—my fury dissolved, leaving only despair.
"Stay," he said, just that one word, then turned and closed the door.
I heard the click of the lock from outside. That sound echoed in my chest, making me feel like I was dying.
The shower water was hot enough to almost scald, hitting my skin in a way that was almost painful.
But I welcomed the burning sensation, scrubbing myself with perhaps unhealthy violence.
I needed to wash away the feeling of those hands on my body, that mouth, that stranger's body.
When rain poured down and my consciousness became blurred, unable to grasp anything.
Steam filled the entire bathroom until I could barely see, until the mirror completely fogged over.
I didn't have to see my own reflection, didn't have to see the bruises forming on my inner thighs, didn't have to see the marks on my throat I couldn't quite remember how they got there.
When I finally emerged, wrapped in a towel, I glimpsed the skirt I'd thrown on the bathroom floor, and my heart sank.
The fabric had dark stains—I initially thought it was my blood, from the tearing when my body was violated.
But when I picked up the skirt with trembling hands to examine it carefully, I found the bloodstains were in the wrong place.
The blood was on the outside of the skirt, transferred when Simon held me, when his body pressed tightly against mine.
His blood.
I set down the skirt, gripping the edge of the sink, thoughts racing.
Simon was bleeding when he held me, which meant he was already injured before seeing me tonight.
He didn't come home early because someone reported me missing.
He came home because something went wrong—something serious enough to injure him (the Alpha I'd always thought invincible).
This discovery should have made me feel justified in my anger.
It should have lessened my resentment about being locked in my room. But it only made everything more complicated.
I didn't want to think too much about it.
I changed into clean clothes—soft sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt—then told myself: I don't care why he was injured or how badly.
He'd made his position clear. I was to be protected, controlled, kept safely within the boundaries he set.
And my wishes, in the face of his authority, meant nothing.
But sleep wouldn't come. I lay in bed for hours, listening to the manor settle around me, my mind filled only with revenge.
That man—whoever he was, whatever he'd done to make me so helpless—had taken from me something I could never get back.
This anger burned in my chest.
I would find him. I didn't yet know how, didn't know where to start, but I'd memorized his scent, along with the feel of his hands and the sound of his voice, etched in my memory.
He said I was special, said my scent was intoxicating. I would make him regret meeting me.
At two in the morning, sleep still hadn't come. I made a decision.
Simon wanted to confine me, wanted me safe, docile, under his control. But I'd spent my whole life powerless, and I was done with it.
I slipped from bed, moved toward the balcony door, movements light and practiced—the kind that come from doing something countless times.
The night air was cool and clean, carrying the scent of rain-washed earth and distant pines.
I stood there breathing for a while, letting the air carry away the anger in my mind and the lingering scent of the stranger who'd violated me.
I was just swinging one leg over the balcony railing, half my body already over, when I heard a voice from below—not directly below, but drifting from an open window downstairs.
It was Simon's study, facing the side garden.
I froze, straddling the railing in what would look quite undignified if anyone saw, and pricked up my ears to listen.
"Damn it!" Simon's voice came through the night, rougher and more hoarse than I'd ever heard it.
"The Carter family betrayed us without warning. They've allied with the Andreas pack. We lost many good brothers in the ambush. Half the eastern territory is threatened. We're losing resources we can't afford to lose."
I held my breath. The Andreas family—the wolf family that killed my father.
They'd managed to make my father's death look like an accident during an overseas mission.
Simon had investigated them for years without success.
They were moving again, and this time they'd brought in the Carters—a family I thought were allies, even friends.
I carefully adjusted my position, trying to get closer to the window without falling or making noise. Just then, through the glass I saw him.
Simon sat in his leather office chair.
He'd removed his shirt, bare-chested, looking pale in the lamplight.
Clara was concentrating on his left shoulder with tweezers. She was Simon's personal doctor.
The wound was ugly—ragged edges, bright red, the surrounding flesh discolored—signs of silver poisoning.
I watched her extract another small piece of bullet fragment, dropping it into a metal tray with a clear clink that made me wince.
Silver bullets. Of course. Nothing else could prevent an Alpha from healing, could keep him this vulnerable hours after being shot.
The blood I'd seen on my skirt was nothing compared to what he'd lost in battle. I found myself gripping the balcony railing, knuckles white.
He'd come home from a battle that killed pack members.
Wounded by weapons specifically designed to kill creatures like him.
And I'd known nothing about the blood soaking his clothes, had shouted at him about freedom and independence.
"We drove them back," Simon continued. The doctor was working on another fragment, his voice tight with suppressed pain.
"They won't come again soon—they also suffered major losses, and now they know we won't yield easily. But it's a signal. They're getting bolder, and with the Carters switching sides, our position is more vulnerable than it's been in years."
"There's another problem," I recognized Leon's voice.
"Vampire activity in this city has increased significantly in the past week. Three different sightings, all near Valodin territory, at least one confirmed feeding. The Council wants to know if we're still honoring the peace treaty, or if they need to prepare retaliation."
Vampires. The word sent a chill down my spine, having nothing to do with the night air.
I grew up hearing stories about bloodsuckers.
About their speed and strength, and how they could drain a wolf in minutes if given the chance. But they'd always been rumored threats, existing in other cities or countries.
The peace treaty between wolf packs and vampire courts had been maintained for decades. Both sides relied on agreements and deterrence to ensure each other's safety.
"Tell the Council we're honoring the treaty," Simon said. I could hear him gritting his teeth.
"But also tell them to keep their people away from my territory until we've dealt with the Andreas situation. The last thing we need now is a vampire incident that would give them an excuse to attack us while we're vulnerable."
I started to shift my weight, planning to climb back before someone discovered me eavesdropping. But what Leon said next stopped me completely.
"There's something else you should know," he said, his tone carrying a hesitation I'd never heard from him. "When we searched Carter Manor for evidence, we found documents—correspondence between old Mr. Carter and the Andreas pack, dating back months. They carefully planned this ambush, coordinating with creatures outside the pack."
He paused, and I could hear papers rustling.
"Some communications specifically mentioned vampires, and references to something that happened nine years ago. Sir, I think your suspicions about Osmon's death were correct. It wasn't just Andreas's action. Vampires were involved too."