Chapter 111 Please Believe Me
Samael was dragged through the stone corridors with his arms wrenched behind his back, boots scraping against the floor as he struggled not to escape, but to speak. His protests had turned hoarse, then raw, then silent when Darius finally yanked a leather gag across his mouth and cinched it tight.
The door to the underground chamber groaned open cold air rushed out, smelling of iron, salt, and old blood. The torture room. No one entered it unless they were already dead in spirit.
Inside, torches flickered against blackened walls lined with hooks, chains, and instruments that gleamed dully in the low light. A metal table stood at the center, stained dark in patches.
“Strip him,” Darius ordered.
Two guards tore off Samael’s tunic, leaving him bare-chested. One held him down while the other strapped his wrists and ankles to the table with iron cuffs.
Darius stepped forward, holding a syringe filled with viscous amber liquid.
“This is concentrated wolfsbane extract,” he said, voice calm. “Enough to lock your wolf for days. You won’t shift. You won’t heal. You’ll feel every second.”
Samael’s eyes widened. He thrashed against the restraints, muffled sounds escaping through the gag.
Darius didn’t flinch. He plunged the needle into Samael’s neck.
Samael arched off the table with a choked scream, muscles seizing as the toxin flooded his system. His skin turned clammy. His breath came in ragged gasps. The golden glint in his eyes faded his wolf retreating, caged, silenced.
“Now,” Darius said, setting the syringe aside, “we talk.”
He picked up a thin rod of heated iron from the brazier. It glowed cherry-red at the tip.
“You have two choices,” Darius continued. “Confess your role in poisoning Alberto and killing Eliana… or suffer until you do.”
Samael shook his head violently, eyes blazing with defiance.
Darius sighed. “Wrong answer.”
He pressed the hot iron against the sole of Samael’s left foot.
Smoke rose instantly. The smell of burning flesh filled the room.
Samael screamed into the gag, body convulsing, tendons standing out in his neck. Tears streamed down his temples. But he didn’t yield.
Darius pulled the rod away, let it cool for a moment, then pressed it to Samael’s ribs.
Again. And again.
Each time, Samael jerked, grunted, sobbed but never nodded. Never gave in.
After the seventh burn, Darius switched tactics.
He took a rusted hook from the wall and dragged its jagged edge slowly down Samael’s spine.
Blood welled in thin lines. Samael’s breath hitched. His vision blurred.
“Why protect him?” Darius asked, voice almost gentle. “You think Fernando will thank you? He’ll discard you the moment Alberto opens his eyes.”
Samael spat blood onto the floor, glaring through half-lidded eyes.
Darius smiled coldly. “Still stubborn.”
He grabbed a pair of iron pincers and clamped them around Samael’s left pinky finger.
Samael’s entire body tensed. He knew what was coming.
Darius twisted.
Bone cracked. Tendons snapped.
Samael’s scream tore through the gag like a dying animal’s cry. His back bowed off the table. Then his eyes rolled back.
He fainted.
Darius straightened, breathing hard. He turned to the nearest guard.
“Wake him.”
The guard hesitated. “Sir… he’s unconscious.”
“I said wake him,” Darius snapped.
The guard swallowed, then drew his dagger. Without another word, he sliced cleanly through the base of Samael’s pinky finger.
Blood sprayed.
Samael jolted awake with a guttural howl, eyes wide with shock and pain. He stared at his hand now missing a finger and trembled violently.
Darius leaned close, voice low, almost intimate.
“Tell me the truth,” he whispered. “Did you love him? Is that why you killed her? Because she stood between you and Alberto?”
Samael’s chest heaved. Blood dripped from his hand onto the table. His lips moved behind the gag trying to form words, trying to deny, trying to explain.
But no sound came out that mattered.
Darius straightened, wiping his hands on a cloth.
“Keep him alive,” he told the guards. “We’re not done.”
And with that, he walked out, leaving Samael alone in the dark, bleeding, broken but still silent.
Fernando stormed into the chamber minutes later, his boots striking the stone floor like hammer blows. Darius followed close behind, expression unreadable, hands clean but eyes sharp.
Samael lay on the table, blood pooling beneath him, his severed finger wrapped in a rag beside his trembling hand. His breath came in shallow, wet gasps. His face was streaked with sweat and tears.
Fernando stopped at the foot of the table. He didn’t look at the wounds. Didn’t flinch at the smell of burnt flesh. He just stared at Samael with cold, burning eyes.
“Remove the gag,” he ordered.
One of the guards hurried forward and untied the leather strap. The moment it came off, Samael choked out words between ragged breaths.
“Alpha… I’m innocent. I swear on my wolf, on my blood, I didn’t poison Alberto. I didn’t kill Eliana. I would never—”
Fernando moved fast.
He swung his fist and struck Samael across the jaw with brutal force. The sound cracked through the room like bone breaking.
Samael’s head snapped to the side. Blood spilled from his split lip. He groaned, dazed, but kept his eyes open pleading.
Fernando reached into his coat and pulled out a folded letter. He held it up, then tossed it onto Samael’s chest.
“Recognize this?” Fernando asked, voice low and dangerous.
Samael blinked, struggling to focus. The paper bore his personal seal, a silver wolf howling beneath a crescent moon and the handwriting… it looked like his. The slant, the pressure, even the ink.
But it wasn’t.
“I didn’t write this,” Samael rasped. “I haven’t used that stamp in months. Someone forged it.”
Darius stepped forward before Samael could say more.
“Lies again?” he said, voice dripping with contempt.
And in one swift motion, he drew a short dagger from his belt and plunged it into Samael’s side just below the ribs, deep enough to pierce muscle but not vital organs.
Samael screamed, body jerking against the restraints. Blood welled around the blade as Darius twisted it slightly before pulling it free.
“Stop lying,” Darius growled. “You signed your name to betrayal.”
Fernando didn’t speak. He turned to the brazier and picked up a long iron rod one of the thinnest, sharpest ones used for piercing. It was still glowing faintly at the tip.
He walked slowly back to the table.
Samael’s eyes widened in terror. “No—please—Fernando, I’m telling the truth! You know me! You’ve known me since we were pups! I’d die before I hurt him!”
Fernando didn’t answer.
He pressed the hot end of the rod against the fresh wound Darius had made.
Samael’s scream tore through the chamber raw, animal, endless. His back arched off the table so violently the chains rattled. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with blood and sweat.
He thrashed, sobbing, begging.
“Please… believe me… I didn’t… I swear…”
His voice cracked. His strength gave out.
With one last shuddering breath, his eyes rolled back and he fell unconscious, limbs going slack, blood dripping steadily onto the stone floor.
Fernando stood over him, the iron rod still in his hand, smoke curling from its tip.
Darius watched silently.
Neither spoke.
The only sound was the slow drip of blood hitting stone.