Chapter 218 Should We Set Up a Funeral Pyre
Jax couldn't stand by the desk anymore. The toxic, suffocating air of the conspiracy was too heavy for the sleeping babies in his arms.
He turned away from the horrifying spread of photographs and walked over to the small, plush couch tucked neatly into the corner of Elana’s office. Draped over the back cushion was a soft, hand-knitted blanket. Moving with a surprising, heartbreaking gentleness for a man of his massive size, the Beta carefully laid Caspian and Briar down onto the cushions.
The moment their little bodies hit the upholstery, instinct took over. Without ever opening their eyes, the twins immediately shifted toward one another. Caspian’s chubby arm flopped heavily over his sister, and Briar tucked her silver-tipped head perfectly beneath his chin, their breathing instantly synchronizing in the quiet room.
The baby knot.
Jax pulled the knitted blanket down, carefully covering them up to their shoulders. He stood over the couch, staring down at their perfectly peaceful, innocent faces, and the last of his formidable Beta control completely snapped.
His vision blurred. A hot, stinging tear escaped, tracing a clean line through the dark soot and ash smeared across his cheek.
He looked at their little faces and felt physically sick. Damon hadn't given two shits about them. His father had bounced them on his knee, kissed their foreheads, and pretended to love them for their entire short lives, all while quietly waiting for the perfect moment to drag them into the dark and hollow them out. And these beautiful, innocent babies had given the monster absolutely nothing but pure love and unbreakable trust in return. They had giggled and called him Papa, completely unaware they were being held by the devil.
Jax roughly dragged the back of his hand across his face, wiping the tear away. The devastating grief in his chest instantly calcified into a cold, murderous rage.
He turned his back on the sleeping twins, stepping back toward the center of the office to face his family. He looked at Fennigan, who was still holding Leela tightly against his side, and then to his mother, who was watching him from her wheelchair with a fierce, understanding sorrow in her silver eyes.
"They trusted him," Jax rasped, his voice dropping into a lethal, vibrating growl that promised absolute carnage. "He used their love as a weapon. And if Vane's disciples on the High Council knew about it, if they funded it..." Jax's hands curled into massive, white-knuckled fists. "Then we don't just kill them, Fenn. We make them suffer first."
Fennigan nodded slowly, the glowing silver rings of his Alpha eyes burning brightly in the dim office. He pressed a firm kiss to the top of Leela's head. "Every last one of them, Jax. We tear the viper pit apart."
The tense, suffocating quiet of the office was shattered yet again by another heavy knock on the door.
Jax immediately stiffened, stepping protectively in front of the couch where Caspian and Briar were sleeping soundly under the knitted blanket. Fennigan shifted, pulling Leela slightly behind him as he barked, "Enter."
The heavy oak door pushed open, and three of the pack’s most senior guards stepped into the room. These were massive, battle-scarred wolves who had served the Blackwood family for decades. They looked exhausted, their armor stained with soot and their faces grim.
The lead guard cleared his throat, his eyes darting uncomfortably toward the mahogany desk. He looked at Elana, then quickly back to Fennigan, the sheer awkwardness of the situation radiating off him.
"Alpha Fennigan," the guard started, his voice a gravelly rumble. "We... we need to know what to do with the..." He trailed off, swallowing hard before forcing the rest of the sentence out. "With Damon. Should we begin gathering the wood? Should we set up a funeral pyre?"
A funeral pyre. The sacred, honorable transition for a fallen werewolf to return their ashes to the earth and the Goddess.
Fennigan’s silver eyes practically glowed with absolute, freezing contempt. The very idea of giving that monster a hero's farewell made his blood boil.
"Absolutely not," Fennigan commanded, his voice cracking like a whip through the room. "I will not give that man an honest funeral. Do not waste a single piece of Blackwood timber on him."
The guards blinked, taken aback by the sheer venom in their Alpha's voice, completely unaware of the horrifying photos scattered across the desk just feet away from them.
"Then what are your orders, Alpha?" the guard asked quietly.
A dark, ruthless smile pulled at the corner of Fennigan’s mouth. "Box him up," Fennigan ordered coldly. "Find the cheapest, roughest pine crate you can find and nail him inside. I think we should send him back to his investors. We're going to ship him directly to the High Council."
Jax let out a low, approving scoff from the corner of the room.
"Let them open that crate," Fennigan continued, his voice dripping with lethal promise. "Let them look at the dead weight of their failed investment and let it make them scramble. Let them know the Blackwood wolves are awake, and we are coming for them."
The guards gave a sharp, synchronized nod, the absolute authority of the Alpha leaving no room for questions. "Yes, Alpha. We'll get it done."
They turned and walked out, pulling the heavy door shut behind them.
The click of the latch echoed in the silence, but the triumphant energy of Fennigan's ruthless plan didn't last long.
Beside him, Leela took a slow, deep, shuddering breath. The elemental fire that had just flared in her veins was cooling into something much sharper and infinitely more terrifying: cold, calculated logic.
She reached out, her small hand finding Fennigan’s massive one, lacing her fingers tightly through his.
"Fenn," Leela said, her voice dropping into a chilling, barely audible whisper.
He looked down at her, instantly sensing the spike of paranoia shooting through the mate bond. "What is it, Sparky?"
Leela looked around the room, her silver eyes sweeping over the heavy oak door, the solid walls of the packhouse, and finally resting on the horrified faces of Elana and Jax.
"There has to be others here," Leela breathed, the devastating realization completely stripping the air from the room.
Fennigan completely froze.
"Think about it," Leela continued, her voice trembling slightly as the sheer scale of the conspiracy crushed down on them. "A subterranean laboratory. Miles of tunnels. State-of-the-art suspension tanks, heavily armed associates, and thirty years of constant supply chains. Damon and Magda couldn't have possibly hidden a massive construction project and a decades-long slaughterhouse right under our feet all by themselves."
Jax stepped away from the couch, his face draining of color as her words hit him. She was exactly right.
"Vane's disciples aren't just in the capital," Leela whispered, looking up into Fennigan’s terrified eyes. Her grip on his hand became a painful vice. "They are right here. Living in our packhouse. Eating at our tables. Guarding our doors."
A suffocating wave of pure paranoia crashed over the room.
Leela swallowed hard, voicing the exact, terrifying question that was suddenly echoing in all of their minds. "Fenn... who do we trust anymore?"