Chapter 41 41

Chapter 41 41
Damian froze, his eyes widening as he slowly turned his head toward the garden. Out of the pitch-black shadows of the oak tree, a pair of molten gold eyes ignited. 

The black wolf didn't just walk out; he materialized like a nightmare made of smoke and fur. He was twice the size he had been the night before, his upper lip pulled back to reveal fangs the size of daggers.

“What the—” Damian stammered, his alcohol-fueled bravado vanishing instantly as he felt the Alpha pressure radiating off the beast. He didn't know it was Silas, but his instincts knew he was looking at the King of Predators.

I watched, stunned, as the wolf took a step forward, the ground seemingly trembling under his weight. He wasn't looking at me. His gaze was locked on Damian’s throat with a lethal, focused intent that made my breath catch.

I was terrified, yes, but for the first time in my life, I wasn't the one being hunted.

The words hit me like a jagged blade, twisting in the wound of my already shattered pride. Every syllable out of his mouth was a reminder of how naive I’d been.

I had actually thought he was a friend. I had actually let this snake near my home. My eyes burned with hot, stinging tears that I refused to let fall in front of him.

“You're a damn jerk!” I snarled, my voice thick with a mixture of loathing and heartbreak. My hand went to my cheek; it was already throbbing, the skin tight and pulsing with heat. “I’m the only fool here for ever believing you were a good man. I hope the Goddess curses you. I hope no woman ever looks at you with anything but disgust!”

Damian didn't flinch. He threw his head back and let out a laugh so cynical it made my skin crawl. It was the sound of a man who viewed women as nothing more than trophies to be broken.

“For the love of the Goddess... don't make me laugh, Lyra,” he hissed, his eyes dark with a sudden, oily lust. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, his gaze dropping to the front of my uniform. “I’m a man who can have any whore in this territory sucking my cock in seconds. Women much sexier, much more willing than a broken rogue like you.”

He took a step closer, his voice dropping into a guttural, degrading rasp. “Though I can't deny... I was intrigued. I wanted to know how that pink pussy would feel squeezing me while I had my hands buried in those huge tits of yours. It’s a waste, really.”

I froze, a wave of nausea rolling over me. Even on our date, when he was pretending to be a gentleman, he had been looking at me like I was a piece of meat on a butcher’s hook.

“I even thought that Alpha who showed up at the restaurant had noticed you,” he continued, his tone turning mocking as he worked to systematically destroy what was left of my self-esteem. “But let's be honest, Lyra. A man like Silas? A King of the North? He would never be interested in a useless, poor bitch like you. You’re a charity case at best, and a toy at worst.”

“Get out! Get out now!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my lungs. My throat felt like it was filled with broken glass. “I never want to see your face again! Leave my property!”

Damian just sneered, completely unmoved by my rage. “You should be grateful a man like me even looked at you. You're a whore who will never have a real man to teach you what’s good. You’ll die alone in this shack, Lyra. Just a footnote in a pack’s history.”

His words were meant to crush me, but they did the opposite. Somewhere deep inside, past the fear and the shame, something ancient snapped. 

My wolf, who had been whimpering in the dark corners of my mind for five years, suddenly stood up. She didn't whine this time. She roared.

I felt a surge of heat—not the heat of Silas’s bond, but a raw, electric power that started in my fingertips and raced to my heart. My vision sharpened until I could see the individual pores on Damian’s sweating skin. The air around us seemed to hum with a lethal frequency.

“No more,” my wolf whispered, her voice like grinding stones. “Protect the pups. Destroy the threat.”

I wasn't a "useless bitch." I was a mother. I was a survivor. And I was done being a victim.

“Get out!” I shouted once more. It wasn't a plea this time; it was a command that vibrated in the very air between us.

Before he could utter another insult, I stepped forward and slammed my palms into his chest with a violence I didn't know I possessed. I didn't just push him; I unleashed five years of repressed agony into that single movement.

With a loud, startled roar, Damian was sent flying. He didn't just stumble; his body lifted off the porch and sailed a couple of meters through the air before his back hit the dirt with a sickening, heavy thud.

His eyes widened in pure, humiliated shock as he stared up at me from the ground, gasping for the air I’d knocked out of his lungs.

“What the hell?” he choked out, his face turning a dark, mottled purple as he scrambled to his feet. The humiliation was quickly being replaced by a murderous intent. “You bitch... you’re going to pay for that! I’ll break every bone in your—”

He never finished the threat.

The sound came first—rapid, heavy thumps against the earth that sounded like a war drum. My eyes flicked toward the forest path for only a fraction of a second, and what I saw stole the breath from my lungs.

The black wolf.

He wasn't the "little wolf" who ate scraps from my hand anymore. He was a monster of shadow and fury, running at a terrifying, supernatural speed. 

He was a blur of midnight fur, his fangs bared in a lethal snarl and his eyes—Gods, his eyes—were no longer gold. They were pits of endless, bottomless black, swallowed by a bloodlust so cold it felt like the very air around the house had turned to ice.

He was a heat-seeking missile aimed directly at Damian’s back, and he wasn't coming to scare him away. He was coming to kill.