Chapter 42 42

Chapter 42 42
Silas’s Pov

From the moment I saw Damian with Lyra, I knew that pathetic excuse for a man didn't deserve to share the same air as her, let alone a table.

But now, the bastard had crossed a line that could only be paid for in bone and blood. He was a scumbag, a bottom-feeder who dared to spit his disgusting humiliations at my female. Watching him loom over her, smelling his fermented, alcoholic filth while he tried to degrade her beauty... it turned my blood into molten lead.

I had stayed in the shadows at first, my claws digging deep into the dirt to keep from shifting and ending him mid-sentence. Every insult he hurled was a nail in the coffin of my patience.

I had hoped he would just leave so I wouldn't have to stain her sanctuary with his worthless life. But when I saw him raise his hand—when I felt the vibration of that slap through the bond—the King in me died, and the Monster took over.

My wolf didn't wait for a command. Before I could even open the mental link to Bill, he was already out of the brush, a black streak of vengeance.

“Ahhh! Damn wolf! Get it off me!” Damian’s screams tore through the night as my fangs sank into the meat of his shoulder, the copper tang of his blood exploding across my tongue.

I was completely mad. My wolf wanted to rip out his jugular, to watch his life drain into the dirt until the grass turned crimson. But my human side was screaming, fighting for the leash.

“Damn it, you can't kill him! If you end him here, Lyra will be terrified of us! She’ll see a killer, not a protector!” I warned my wolf, pulling back with everything I had.

“I want his heart! He touched what is ours! He humiliated our female!” my wolf snarled back, tearing into Damian’s side with a violent, bone-snapping jerk of his head.

“No! He deserves to suffer. If he’s dead, he feels nothing,” I countered. That thought made the beast hesitate for a fraction of a second.

Damian’s cries of agony filled the garden, a pathetic, high-pitched wailing as his blood splattered across Lyra’s carefully tended flowers. She stood there, frozen on the porch, her eyes wide as she witnessed the carnage.

In a final, desperate act of survival, Damian’s hand clawed at the ground, grabbing a sharp wooden stake near the flowerbed. He swung it wildly, aiming to drive the splintered wood into my ribs.

“Don't you dare hurt my wolf!”

Lyra’s scream stopped my heart.

In a blur of motion, she leaped from the porch and kicked the stake out of his trembling hand. Before he could recover, she grabbed a heavy broomstick and began beating him with a raw, primal fury that made my chest swell with a pride so fierce it hurt.

As soon as her voice hit me, a rush of pure electricity ran down my spine. Did she say "my wolf"? The thrill of it made my fur bristle. This woman was a gift from the Goddess—a queen hidden in the skin of a rogue.

Just as she was about to deliver another blow to the groveling coward, the flash of red and blue lights began to dance through the trees. Police sirens.

«Silas, let him go! The humans are here! We can't have you seen like this!» Bill’s voice echoed in my head, sharp with beta-level urgency.

I didn't want to let go. I wanted to feel his arm snap completely. I wanted to savor the scent of his terror until his heart gave out. But the sirens were getting closer.

With one last growl that made Damian’s very marrow vibrate, I opened my jaws and dropped his shattered arm like a piece of trash.

I didn't flee like a kicked cur. I backed away with slow, calculated movements, my fangs still bared and bathed in red.

I stayed between the approaching officers and Lyra, a protective shadow with blood-matted fur. I sat on my haunches, my silver eyes fixed on the men in uniform, letting my predatory aura warn them: I have stopped, but I am still the master here.

The officers stepped out of the patrol car, their hands hovering over their holsters. The stench of their fear was an unbearable, sour odor in the air.

“What the hell is going on here?” one asked, his voice cracking as he looked at the trail of blood and the mangled man on the ground.

“Miss, are you okay?” the other asked, cautiously stepping toward Lyra.

“What are you waiting for? Shoot it! Kill that damn animal!” Damian shrieked from the dirt, clutching his arm and writhing like a worm. “It tried to kill me! It’s a monster!”

“No, that's not true...” Lyra’s voice was firm, cutting through the chaos like a silver blade. “That idiot tried to attack me. He broke into my property and put his hands on me. The wolf... the wolf defended me.”

The officer turned his flashlight toward me, the beam blindingly bright. I didn't flinch. I let out a low, vibrating hum—not quite a growl, but a warning.

I looked the man straight in the eyes, projecting enough Alpha authority to make his knees buckle. He lowered the light, his hand shaking so hard his keys rattled.

I looked back at Lyra. She was standing tall, her chin up, despite the bruise blooming on her cheek. Our eyes met for a fleeting second, and in that moment, I saw it—not fear, but a strange, deep-seated recognition. 

She reached out a hand, just an inch, as if she wanted to touch the blood on my muzzle. My heart hammered against my ribs. She knows. Even if she won't admit it, she knows.

“Are... are you sure?” the officer stammered, his eyes darting from my massive frame to Lyra’s petite figure. “That thing is huge. We've never seen a wolf this size in the North.”

Damian continued to howl insults and curses, but no one was listening anymore. Lyra didn't budge an inch. She stood as a shield between the law and the "beast," her presence the only thing keeping them from drawing their weapons.

I wanted to stay. I wanted to curl at her feet and never leave. But I knew that if the humans got brave and used their rifles, it would only put her and the boys in danger.

With one last, deep howl that echoed through the mountain peaks and made the skin of every person present bristle with ancient fear, I turned. I disappeared into the darkness of the forest with supernatural speed.

I ran like a demon, dodging branches and leaping over logs, circling the perimeter of the woods until I was safely concealed behind a hundred-year-old oak tree. From there, I had a clear view of her driveway.