Chapter 401 401
Maurice’s POV
“He’ll tear your head from your shoulders before you manage another step,” Aurélie snarls. Her entire body trembles with fury. Blood trails down her side where the knife had been driven into her flesh deep enough to draw significant blood, though the wound is already knitting itself closed. “You think you can take our children? Take what belongs to me? If he doesn’t kill you instantly, then I will.”
Only then do Damien and I truly register the injury. His gaze snaps to her side, his eyes widening as raw fury ignites within them rage rolling off him like a volcano on the brink of eruption.
“You stabbed my mate,” he growls, his voice vibrating with lethal promise. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands. I don’t need a blade.”
Pop.
A sharp sound splits the air, followed by a burst of smoke and that familiar, acrid burning stench.
Gilles appears.
His eyes glow a violent crimson as he materializes behind Clémence, a massive spear clenched in his grip. A black gemstone is embedded into the handle, dark and ominous. Before any of us can react, Clémence screams a piercing, bloodcurdling sound as Gilles drives the spear straight through her back.
The blade erupts from her chest.
Her eyes flash, glowing with her wolf’s light as a strangled gasp escapes her lips. Then her head slumps forward, life draining from her body as she draws her final breath.
Silence crashes down over the office.
None of us move. None of us breathe.
Gilles withdraws the spear with a smooth, practiced motion and lets Clémence’s body fall to the floor without ceremony.
“I was going to kill her,” Damien mutters after a long moment.
“Humans,” Gilles clicks his tongue, lowering the spear as his gaze shifts toward Caroline sprawled on the floor. Anger flickers sharply in his eyes. “Always thinking they have more time.”
“We aren’t humans,” Damien snaps back. “We’re werewolves.”
“Potato, potahto,” Gilles shrugs. “Practically the same.”
“Damien thank the Goddess,” Aurélie suddenly cries, throwing herself into his arms with such force she nearly knocks him backward. “Where are the children?”
“They’re safe,” Damien assures her, holding her tightly. “They’re with Didier.”
“Bee?” Aurélie pulls back, her eyes drifting toward my mate still in my arms.
“She took the shadow from me.”
“What?”
“It’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, my love,” he exhales, relief pouring from him as he pulls her close once more.
“Caroline.” Gilles is already crossing the room.
She’s still on the floor, struggling to catch her breath. Lucas shields her instinctively with his body until Damien flicks his head sharply, ordering his beta aside.
“Gilles?” Caroline’s voice is soft, surprised by his sudden presence, yet she doesn’t seem afraid. She offers him a small smile as she lowers her hand from her throat.
“Are you alright?” Gilles extends a hand.
She hesitates but takes it.
The moment their palms meet, he yanks her to her feet, steadying her when she stumbles.
“Your neck,” he growls darkly, pulling her closer. His fingers trace the skin gently, examining the blade marks with unmistakable intensity.
“I’m fine,” she murmurs, clearly accustomed to his demeanor. “Look it’s already healing.”
That explains it. Like Bee, she must’ve spent considerable time with him on the farm.
“What the fuck, Gilles?” Damien snaps, shoving him away from Caroline and jabbing a finger into his chest.
“You’re welcome,” Gilles smirks unapologetically. “Saved your ass again.”
“My ass didn’t need saving.”
“Sure,” Gilles chuckles. “Keep telling yourself that.”
I leave them to their bickering as noise erupts outside. Still carrying Bee, I move swiftly down the hall and step out of the Alpha house.
The Black Mist warriors I freed stand assembled, weapons drawn. Before them, Clémence’s captured rogues kneel, heads bowed as they await judgment. My men watch from a distance alert, restrained allowing the Black Mist warriors to maintain control.
“Alpha Maurice,” one of them calls. “The rogues have been captured. What is your command?”
“Clémence is dead,” I growl, my voice carrying across the courtyard. “You have no leader. Accept defeat or die.”
“We will never serve the corrupt,” one spits back.
“Then you’ve forfeited our mercy,” I reply coldly. “Your fate is sealed.”
At my nod, the Black Mist warriors act.
One by one, every remaining rogue is executed before my eyes.
They rejected peace. They refused a second chance.
And they no longer had a place in our world.
We couldn’t afford the risk.