The makeshift infirmary stank of blood, antiseptic, and fear.
Adrian's men had dragged the surviving rogues into a storage room, binding their hands behind their backs with silver chains that hissed faintly against skin. Their howls had faded to low, guttural snarls, the sound of cornered animals ready to bite until their last breath.
Elara stood just outside the door, clutching a mug of tea she'd never drink. She didn't know why she followed him here—maybe it was the way his voice had turned cold as steel after the fight, the way his shoulders had squared like he was carrying something heavier than war.
Inside, Adrian stepped into the circle of prisoners, his boots echoing on the cement floor. No one spoke. No one dared.
Then, in one swift motion, he seized the nearest rogue by the jaw, forcing the man's head back.
"Who sent you?" His voice was low, almost calm. That was the danger in it.
The rogue laughed—a broken, wheezing sound. "You think I'd tell the Alpha of Black Fang anything? Kill me."
Adrian's lips curled into something that wasn't a smile. "Not yet."
He released the man's face only to drive his fist into his stomach. The impact echoed off the walls, and the rogue doubled over, choking. Adrian crouched, speaking so close the prisoner could feel his breath.
"You came for her," Adrian said. "You knew exactly where to find her. That means someone told you. Someone who knows my territory."
Elara's fingers tightened on the mug until her knuckles whitened.
The rogue's bloodied mouth twisted. "Your own people sell you out, Alpha. That's the way of the world. For the right price, they'll even sell your mate."
A muscle in Adrian's jaw ticked. "Who?"
The man chuckled again—slower this time, weaker. "Ask your Beta… if he's still breathing."
Adrian's hand shot to the rogue's throat in a blur, claws partially unsheathing, tips pressing against flesh. "You just made the biggest mistake of your life."
From where she stood, Elara's breath caught. She knew she should leave—give him space to deal with this darkness—but something in her refused to move.
The rogue choked out one final whisper. "She's worth more dead than alive, Alpha."
Adrian didn't kill him. Not yet. He released the man, stood, and turned toward the door. The moment his gaze met Elara's, the world seemed to narrow to just them.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice rough.
"I heard enough," she replied. "There's a traitor."
His eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind gold. "Yes. And I'll find them." He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "But until I do… you don't leave my sight. Not for a second."
It wasn't a request. It was an order.
And Elara realized with a shiver—it wasn't the rogues that terrified Adrian most.
It was the thought of losing her.