Chapter 44 Stupid Fool
Eryx
I was a fool.
A complete, centuries-old, iron-disciplined fool.
I stood in the shower long after the water had gone cold, letting it hammer against my shoulders, trying to wash her off me. Her scent. Her taste. The memory of her body clenching around my knot like she’d never let go.
But it didn’t work.
Nothing worked.
She’d walked out like I was nothing. Like one night—one earth-shattering, curse-breaking, soul-baring night—was just another feed for a succubus who’d had thousands.
I slammed my fist into the tile. It cracked under the blow, spiderwebbing out from the impact. Blood smeared the white grout—mine, healing almost instantly—but the pain felt good. Clean. Deserved.
Stupid.
I’d let her in. Let her see the parts of me no one else ever had. Centuries of control, of loyalty, of never needing anyone—and one violet-tailed demon had shattered it all in a single morning.
I thought I’d felt something real in her eyes. In the way her tail had curled around me. In the way she’d screamed my name like I was the only thing anchoring her.
But no.
She’d looked me dead in the face and called it a transaction.
A job.
I dried off roughly, yanked on black fatigues, and strapped on my blades. The mirror showed a male unraveling: eyes too bright, jaw clenched, veins still glowing faint gold under the skin from the bond that refused to fade.
I needed to hit something.
Hard.
The pack station was buried deep in the fortress sub-levels—cold stone cells, silver-laced bars, the stench of fear and blood thick in the air. Perfect.
Garrick Voss—Voss’s younger brother, the enforcer we’d grabbed—was chained to the interrogation chair in the center cell. Silver cuffs burned his wrists, wolfsbane smoke curling from the vents to keep him weak. He looked up when I entered, bruised and bloody from the last session, but still smirking.
The smirk died when he saw my face.
I didn’t speak.
Just grabbed him by the throat and slammed him—chair and all—against the back wall. The impact rattled the chains, cracked the stone. His head snapped back, blood spraying from his split lip.
“You trafficked children,” I said, voice low, calm. Deadly.
He coughed, grinning through red teeth. “Prove it, beta.”
I punched him in the gut—hard enough to fold him in half, ribs cracking like dry kindling. He wheezed, trying to suck in air that wouldn’t come.
I didn’t stop.
Right hook to the jaw—bone shattered, teeth flying.
Left to the temple—his head whipped sideways, blood arcing across the wall.
I grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, and drove my knee into his face. Nose exploded in a wet crunch. Cartilage gave way. Blood poured down his chin, soaking his shirt.
He tried to shift—instinct, desperation—but the wolfsbane kept him human. Weak. Mine to break.
I let go. He slumped, chains rattling.
Then I started on the body.
Fist to the solar plexus—drove the air from his lungs again.
Elbow to the side of the head—skull met stone with a sickening thud.
Boot to the ribs—three sharp kicks, each one cracking more bone. He screamed, high and broken, curling in on himself as much as the chains allowed.
I hauled him up by the front of his shirt, slammed him face-first into the bars. Metal bent under the force. His cheek split open on impact, blood smearing the silver.
Again.
And again.
Until his face was unrecognizable—swollen, pulped, one eye shut completely, the other glassy with pain.
He spat blood, gasping. “You’ll… kill me… Alpha will—”
I wrapped my hand around his throat, squeezing until his words cut off into a gurgle. Claws extended, pricking skin, drawing thin lines of blood.
“The Alpha gave me full authority,” I growled against his ear. “And right now? I need this.”
I released him. He sagged, choking.
Then I went for the hands—the ones that had touched those kids.
I grabbed his right index finger. Snapped it backward. Bone cracked clean.
He howled.
Middle finger. Snap.
Ring finger. Snap.
Pinky. Snap.
Thumb—slow twist until the joint popped out of socket.
He was sobbing now, body shaking, piss soaking his pants.
I moved to the left hand.
Same treatment.
By the time I finished, both hands were mangled—fingers bent at wrong angles, swollen and purple.
He babbled—pleas, promises, names of contacts—anything to make it stop.
I didn’t care.
Not today.
Today I just needed the pain to be his.
I stepped back, chest heaving, knuckles split and bloody but already healing. The cell looked like a slaughterhouse—blood on the walls, the floor, my clothes.
Garrick hung limp in the chains, barely conscious, whimpering.
I wiped my hands on my pants.
It didn’t help.
The rage was still there.
Because no amount of breaking this piece of shit would fix what she’d broken in me.
I turned and walked out.
Left him hanging.
Alive.
For now.
Because tomorrow, when the interrogators came with truth serums and silver blades, he’d give us everything.
And I’d still feel empty.
Because the one thing I wanted—the one person I needed—had walked away without looking back.
And I was the idiot who’d thought one night could change that.
Stupid wolf.
The next day came too fast.
Garrick broke completely under the serums—names, dates, accounts, hidden warehouses. Everything we needed to gut Voss’s network from the roots. I didn’t stay for the full interrogation. Just long enough to hear the key pieces: the hospital director’s direct involvement, three elders taking bribes to bury reports, a shipping route along the North Coast for moving the kids.
I gave the orders cold and clipped.
“Arrest the director. Tonight. Raid his home, his office—tear it apart. Bring in Elders Harlan, Voss’s cousin, and the old bitch from the southern council. Silver chains. No warnings.”
The guards nodded, eyes averted. They’d seen the blood on my hands from yesterday. Knew better than to question.
By dawn, the fortress was buzzing—teams mobilizing, warrants forged under Vuk’s seal. I signed off on everything without feeling it.
Because none of it filled the hole she’d left.
The North Coast lead couldn’t wait. Garrick swore the next shipment was in two days—kids already staged in a cliffside warehouse. I couldn’t trust anyone else not to tip them off. Too many elders involved. Too much rot.
So I went alone.
Loaded the black SUV with weapons, maps, a burner sat-phone. Left before the sun was fully up, tires crunching over fresh snow as I drove out the northern gates.
The road wound through frozen pines, endless white stretching to the horizon. I cracked the window, lit a cigarette—rare for me, lungs usually too disciplined for the poison—but today I needed the burn.
Smoke curled out into the wind.
I stared at the empty passenger seat.
And for a split second—swear to the gods—she was there.
Violet skin catching the light. Tail curled lazily over the console. Red eyes watching me with that sharp, mocking glint. Smirking like she knew exactly how fucked up I was.
I slammed the brakes.
Tires screeched. The SUV fishtailed, stopping sideways across the empty road.
“Fuck!!” I roared, pounding the steering wheel hard enough to dent it.
Heart hammering, I looked again.
Empty seat.
Just the ghost of her scent lingering in my head.
“Leave my head alone, you evil beast!!” I snarled to the silence.
I finished the cigarette in three drags, crushed it in the ashtray, lit another.
Smoked half the pack before I could drive again.
Hands shaking.
Pathetic.
The North Coast road narrowed as I neared the drop-off station—an old pack outpost where vehicles were left for the final stretch. Beyond it, the terrain turned treacherous: sheer cliffs, hidden coves, no roads. Smugglers loved it.
I parked, grabbed my gear—rifle slung over shoulder, blades strapped, coat heavy with ammo—and started the descent on foot.
The path was steep, switchbacks carved into the rock. Wind whipped off the sea, carrying salt and ice. The sun was already sinking—faster than I’d planned. I’d lost time with the smoking breakdown.
Darkness crept in quick up here.
I picked up the pace, boots crunching on frozen gravel.
Checked my phone for signal—nothing. No bars. The cliffs blocked everything.
I held it higher, walking sideways, eyes on the screen.
One step.
Missed the edge.
The ground gave way under loose rock.
I pitched forward into the pit—a deep, camouflaged trap dug into the path. Smugglers’ work. Or someone who knew I was coming.
I twisted mid-fall, trying to grab an edge.
Failed.
Hit the bottom hard.
Shoulder first—dislocated with a pop.
Then my head cracked against a jagged rock.
Pain exploded white-hot.
Vision tunneled.
Blood—warm, metallic—filled my mouth.
The world went black.
Last thought before the dark swallowed me:
Her.
Always her.
Even now.
Stupid wolf.