Davian.
A storm of thoughts crashed through my mind all at once, violent and unrestrained. Punishnt after punishnt presented itself with terrifying clarity, images of her hanging upside down until the blood rushed to her head, of fire and pain ant to break her will, of ending it all swiftly and permanently so she would never beco a threat again. Each thought was darker than the last, and for a brief, dangerous mont, they all felt justified.
She was a spy.
She was a danger.
She deserved it.
That was what I told myself.
But the mont I crossed the short distance between us and bent down beside her, sothing shifted.
Up close, she looked even smaller than before, her body slack against the cold floor, her lashes resting too still against her cheeks. Water clung to her hair, dampening the skin at her temples, and her breathing—if she was breathing—was so faint it made sothing tight coil in my chest.
A dull ache spread through without warning.
Before I could stop myself, the words left my mouth, quieter than I intended. "Who was the man you were with last night?"
No response.
Her face didn’t change. Her body didn’t tense. It was as if my voice hadn’t reached her at all.
I frowned, irritation flaring instantly, sharp enough to cut through the strange feeling creeping into . "I am talking to you, Maria," I snapped, my voice rising. "Who were you with last night?"
Still nothing.
Anger surged through , hot, sharp, and imdiate, and before I could restrain it, my hand shot out. I grabbed her chin roughly, my fingers digging into her skin as I forced her face upward, compelled to see her properly, to look into her eyes. My grip was unforgiving, pressed too hard, driven by the fury roaring through my veins. I stared into her unfocused gaze, searching for sothing, anything, that would give a reaction.
"Answer !" I yelled, my voice cracking as the rage spilled over, raw and uncontrolled. "Who was he?"
She didn’t react.
There was no denial trembling on her lips.
No fear widening her eyes.
No defiance rising to et my own.
Nothing.
Just silenceempty, hollow, unresponsive.
And that silence struck deeper than any scream ever could. It crawled under my skin, unsettling, infuriating, stripping of the control I was so desperate to cling to.
Before I fully understood what I was doing, before I could pull back or think better of it, I leaned in and captured her lips with mine. The intent had been punishnt, nothing more than a cruel, biting reminder of power. I ant to hurt, to dominate, to force a reaction out of her unresponsive body.
But it didn’t go the way I planned.
She resisted weakly, a faint turn of her head, a shallow breath that brushed against my mouth. And instead of stopping, instead of pulling away in disgust or anger, sothing in snapped in the opposite direction.
My control slipped.
The kiss deepened, no longer sharp with punishnt but searching, desperate in a way that startled . My thoughts scattered as I chased sothing I couldn’t na, heat, reassurance, control, distraction. I forgot why I was angry. I forgot Vanessa. I forgot the room.
All I was aware of was her, her warmth, her fragile stillness, the faint sound of breath between us.
I didn’t realize when I guided her down until her body was flat against the floor, until the hard surface replaced the tension in my muscles. I didn’t realize how far I had gone until my hand shifted and brushed sowhere it had no right to be.
That was when it hit .
Hard.
What exactly is wrong with ?
The question slamd into my chest with brutal force, cutting through the haze instantly. I froze, horror and confusion tangling together as I finally saw the scene for what it was, her lying beneath , weak and pale, barely conscious, and hovering over her like sothing monstrous.
I pulled away abruptly, as if burned, staggering back a step. My breath ca out harsh and uneven, my chest rising and falling as I stared down at her.
She didn’t move.
She remained there, broken and silent on the floor.
And for the first ti since this madness began, fear, not anger, not rage, crept into my bones.
What am I doing?
I stood there, panting, my fists clenched at my sides, staring at her fragile form as the question echoed again and again in my mind, unanswered and deeply unsettling.
I turned away from her abruptly and went straight to the window, planting my hands against the cold fra as if it could steady . I drew in a deep breath, then another, forcing air into lungs that suddenly felt too tight. I needed distance. I needed control. Whatever had just happened could not happen again.
I could not be that intimate with her.
I was engaged.
Vanessa was my Luna-to-be. My future. My duty. My choice. I had envisioned my life with her for as long as I could rember, standing beside her before the pack, protecting her, cherishing her, pleasing her in every way a mate should. She was gentle, warm, everything a Luna ought to be. She was the woman I was ant to love.
So why did my hands still feel like they rembered Maria’s warmth?
The thought unsettled deeply. I clenched my jaw and stared out the window, watching the distant trees sway in the wind, their shadows stretching long across the grounds. I told myself this was nothing more than frustration. Power. Possession. A reaction to defiance. Nothing else.
And yet...
I had never felt this helpless around Vanessa. Never felt my thoughts unravel, my control slip, my chest ache with sothing I couldn’t na. With Maria, it was different. Dangerous. It was as if so invisible force tugged at whenever she was near, pulling in despite my resistance, despite my anger, despite my reason.
I hated it.
Slowly, against my better judgnt, my gaze drifted back to her.
She lay where I had left her, small and broken against the floor, her skin still damp, her lips parted slightly as if each breath cost her effort. Bruises marred her body, bruises I had put there. Wounds I had inflicted. And instead of satisfaction, a sharp, suffocating guilt twisted in my chest.
An absurd urge rose within .
I wanted to go to her.
To lift her up.
To pull her against , shield her from the cold, soothe the pain I had caused with my own hands.
The thought startled so much that I nearly laughed in disbelief.
What madness is this?
Before I could push the feeling down again, a soft sound cut through the room.
"Aaahhh..."
Her faint wince of pain struck harder than any accusation ever could.
I didn’t rember deciding to move. One mont I was by the window, the next I was crossing the room in long, hurried strides. I dropped to my knees beside her and gathered her into my arms, holding her far more tightly than I should have.
"What’s wrong, Maria?" I asked, my voice rough, urgent. "Where does it hurt?"
She stirred weakly, her lashes fluttering as her eyes opened just enough to find my face. The look she gave was not fear.
It was disgust.
"Get your hands... off ," she managed to whisper, each word clearly costing her strength.
The sound of it made my chest constrict painfully.
I should have listened. I should have let go.
But I didn’t.
Instead, my arms tightened around her instinctively, as if letting her go would cause sothing inside to shatter completely. "Stay still," I murmured, though I wasn’t sure whether I was speaking to her or myself. "You’re not well."
She tried to pull away, but she was far too weak. And then, without warning, her body went slack in my arms.
Her eyes closed.
"Maria!" I called sharply, a jolt of panic shooting through . I shook her gently, then harder. "Maria, open your eyes."
Nothing.
Fear—real, biting fear—gripped then.
I placed my hand against her forehead, expecting it to be cold after everything she’d been through. Instead, heat burned against my palm. Too much heat.
I froze.
She was burning up.
My breath caught in my throat as the truth settled heavily over . The water. The whipping. The stress. The pain. I had pushed her far beyond what her body could bear.
I had been too harsh.
The realization sat like a stone in my chest, dragging down with its weight. For the first ti since I had ordered her punishnt, since I had convinced myself she deserved every bit of it, doubt crept in, slow and insidious.
What if I had gone too far?
I looked down at her unconscious face, pale and drawn despite the fever raging beneath her skin, and a wave of sothing dangerously close to regret washed over .
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
And yet, as I held her there, lifeless and burning in my arms, one undeniable truth echoed relentlessly in my mind:
I had done this.
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