Chapter 4

A thunderclap seemed to detonate inside my skull.

The pain was so agonizing I couldn't breathe.

When I parted my lips to speak, he clamped his fingers down on my jaw.

"What, got a taste for biting now?"

"Chloe was right. You two never really cut ties, did you?"

Quinn's enraged face blurred before my eyes, stripped bare of any lingering tenderness.

Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.

Darkness encroached on my vision.

And then, I passed out.

When I opened my eyes again,

cold iron chains bound me to the bedposts.

Chloe sat by the edge of the mattress, a sweet, venomous smile on her face as she held a steaming bowl of dark liquid.

"Quinn said your emotions were too out of control. He told me to make sure you drink your medicine."

With no one else around, she didn't bother wearing her mask. She grabbed a fistful of my hair, forcing my head back.

Gritting my teeth against the pain, my voice shook as I demanded:

"I treated you like a sister... why did you do this to me?"

Chloe squeezed my jaw, letting out a sudden, mocking laugh.

"Why? Because you're pathetic! You're a fool who insisted on playing the saint!"

"I despise the self-righteous, high-and-mighty attitudes of you highborn pack wolves, and I hate hypocritical idiots like you even more! You loved handing out charity, didn't you? Then I'm going to grind you beneath my heel!"

The moment the words left her mouth,

she forced the bitter brew down my throat.

The pungent liquid hit my stomach, instantly triggering violent, tearing cramps that made me curl into a shuddering ball.

My fingernails scraped against the wall as I choked out:

"What... what did you give me?"

She smiled sweetly, enunciating every word:

"Medicine, of course."

"Laced with wolfsbane. In ten minutes, your second pup will turn into bloody, mangled tissue, draining out of you onto these sheets."

Her hysterical laughter rang in my ears.

I trembled against the headboard.

My gaze drifted toward the silver fruit knife resting on the bedside table.

Chloe was still gloating maliciously:

"In five months, my pup will be born into this world. While yours will rot away into nothing. You useless failure, you can't even protect a single pup—"

Chloe never got to finish her sentence.

I lunged forward, pressing the edge of the silver knife straight against her throat.

My grip tightened instinctively, and a line of scarlet welled under the blade.

She let out a piercing scream.

"Stop!"

Quinn rushed into the room, his face storming with fury.

It wasn't concern—it was the blinding rage of someone who felt his worst suspicions had just been confirmed.

"You're trying to commit murder over Easton? You love him that damn much?!"

"Quinn, she's completely lost her mind over Easton! Save me... save our pup..."

Chloe clutched her belly, sobbing pathetically.

"Don't be afraid. Nothing will happen to our pup!"

Hearing Quinn's tender, protective promise,

a broken laugh bubbled in my throat.

Their pup would be safe and sound...

What about mine?

Instinctively, I looked down.

The white sheets beneath me were soaked in a brilliant, widening pool of crimson.

My eyes burned with agonizing tears. The hand gripping the knife began to shake uncontrollably.

In the next second, the knife was ripped from my fingers and tossed aside.

Quinn frowned, his voice laced with confusion. "Yara, where are you hurt?"

Chloe cut in hastily, "It's... her monthly cycle."

Quinn froze for a moment, a flash of disappointment passing over his features.

I simply watched him carry the woman who had just murdered our second pup over to the sofa. I watched him pour her water, wrap a blanket around her, and tenderly tuck in the corners.

Meanwhile, beneath me, the cold grew deeper, the red spreading further.

Stumbling, I dragged my chained body toward the sofa, reaching out a trembling hand.

"Ah!"

Chloe shrieked in terror!

Without looking, Quinn instinctively snatched up the knife and swung around.

Pain truly makes a person weak.

When I was thirteen, I fell from a tree swing.

Quinn threw himself underneath me, acting as my human cushion.

I didn't have a scratch on me, but three of his ribs were fractured.

I had cried and cursed at him, asking why he didn't just move out of the way.

He had offered a goofy, sheepish grin: "Silly girl, if I moved, you would've gotten hurt. I never want you to feel even a fraction of pain..."

The fifteen-year-old Quinn couldn't bear to see me hurt in the slightest.

Yet at thirty, he drove a blade straight toward my heart without hesitation.

Squelch!

The blade pierced flesh.

Blood splattered before my eyes.

I watched Quinn's pupils dilate in horror.

His eyes turned bloodshot.

His face drained of all color.

My trembling fingers reached up, lightly touching his grief-stricken face.

"Why did you... hire those rogues to destroy me?"

"Why did you murder... one pup after another...?"