Adrian's POV
Without hesitation, I swept her up into my arms properly, cradling her against my chest. She was so light, so fragile, that it sent another wave of protective fury through me.
She didn't react much to being lifted—another sign of just how sick she was. I turned my blazing gaze back to Alpha Daniel. "Where is her room?"
Once again, he hesitated, his eyes darting away from mine uncomfortably.
Seeing his reluctance, I looked around the room at the other pack members, but they all avoided my gaze, saying nothing. Finally, growing impatient, I gently patted Seraphina's flushed cheek. "Where do you sleep?" I asked softly.
Her fevered eyes fluttered open slightly, and she mumbled in a barely audible whisper, "Attic..."
I went completely still. The attic? What kind of life was she living here in this pack?
A cold, humorless smile spread across my face as I looked back at Alpha Daniel. "The attic," I repeated, my voice carrying the promise of violence.
Without another word, I turned and headed for the stairs, Seraphina's burning form pressed protectively against my chest. "Send the pack doctor upstairs," I commanded without looking back. "Now."
I climbed the narrow staircase to the attic, each step fueling the rage that burned hotter in my chest. When I finally reached her room and pushed open the door, I stopped dead in my tracks.
The space was smaller than my bathroom back in the human world—a cramped, suffocating room with slanted walls and a single small window that barely let in any light.
The bed was nothing more than a thin mattress on a wooden frame. An unnamed anger rose over me, so fierce and sudden that it nearly knocked the breath from my lungs. My protective instincts flared up instantly.
I placed the burning woman gently on the bed, trying to be as careful as possible. But the moment her back touched the mattress, she screamed—a sound of pure agony that cut through me like a blade.
I frowned, my hands hovering over her as she writhed in pain. Her eyes remained closed, but tears were streaming down her flushed cheeks. She kept moving constantly, twisting and turning as if she didn't want her back to be touched by anything.
Something was very wrong.
I frowned deeper and carefully turned her around to examine her back. She was wearing a simple knee-length dress. To examine her, I needed to remove her dress. The problem was how?
I patted her flushed cheeks and ordered coldly, "Remove your dress."
She didn't respond, her head lolling weakly to the side.
I repeated again, louder this time. "Remove your dress."
But she only moaned in pain, her fevered mind clearly unable to process my words. I realized I would have to do it myself. My hand slowly moved closer to the woman, fingers reaching toward the fabric of her gown.
But suddenly, her hand shot out and grabbed my arm with surprising strength. Her fevered eyes fluttered half-open, unfocused but filled with defiant fire.
"What... what do you think you're doing, you perverted hooligan?" she mumbled weakly, her words slurred but unmistakably accusatory.
I stood there, completely stunned. A perverted hooligan? Me?
I could hear Blake laughing in my mind like crazy. Oh, this is rich! Our fierce, terrifying mate just called you a perverted hooligan! Hehe...
"Shut up," I muttered angrily under my breath. "It's not funny."
It's hilarious, Blake continued, practically howling with laughter. The great and mighty Adrian Blackwood, reduced to being scolded by a fevered woman half his size—
"I said shut up!" I snapped internally, but Blake's amusement only seemed to grow. Unable to take it any longer, I hissed, "Do you want to leave?"
Well, it worked, and he stopped laughing. But after a second, he grumbled. As if you can leave her in this state...
I rolled my eyes mentally, choosing to ignore his words. I glanced at the woman and carefully reached over to remove her dress. But once again, her hand shot out to grab mine. "Perverted hooligan, don't touch me!" she declared, her fevered eyes blazing with defiant fury despite her weakness.
That was it. My patience snapped.
With my free hand, I gripped the fabric of her dress and ripped it off in one swift motion. The sound of tearing cloth filled the small attic room.
She didn't react much this time—the fever and pain clearly overwhelming her ability to fight back. I stared down at her, feeling an awkward tension settle over me. Here I was, removing my mate's dress when I was supposed to hate her.
The irony wasn't lost on me. This wasn't how I'd imagined our first... whatever this was. I was supposed to kill her, not undress her to tend to her wounds.
But the next second, my eyes fell on her back, and every other thought vanished from my mind.
Her beautiful skin was covered with whip marks—dozens of them, big and small, crisscrossing her back in angry red welts. Some were fresh, still bleeding slightly, while others had begun to scab over.
The pattern was deliberate, methodical. Someone had done this to her systematically.
My vision went red.
Blake exploded in my mind like a volcano, his rage so intense it nearly knocked me to my knees. KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL! HOW DARE THEY HURT OUR MATE!
He clawed at my consciousness, trying to take control, wanting to tear apart everyone in this house with his bare hands. I could feel him pushing against my mental barriers, desperate for blood and vengeance.
I gritted my teeth, every muscle in my body tensing as I fought to rein him in. "Blake, stop!"
But he wouldn't listen. His fury was beyond reason, beyond control. They hurt her! They tortured her! I'll rip their throats out! I'll burn this whole place down!
"Do you want to kill everyone first?" I shouted mentally, my voice echoing through our shared consciousness, "Or let me treat her first?"
That stopped him cold.
Blake immediately went quiet, his rage shifting into something more focused. Treat Mate, he said simply, his voice still vibrating with barely contained violence. Treat Mate First. Then Kill.
I sighed heavily, running a hand through my hair as I looked down at her beautiful back marred by those terrible red marks. This was the woman I hated. I was supposed to feel good, satisfied to see her in pain.
But, I wasn't. Instead, I felt a pain deep down in my chest, as if those marks were made on my body. Suddenly, at this moment, there was a soft knock at the door.
I turned and saw the pack doctor standing in the doorway, her head lowered and her body trembling with obvious fear. "Treat her," I said coldly.
She nodded immediately and stepped inside the room.