Lucian's POV
I stood from the bed with the heat of fury still raw in my veins. The doctors hovered around with their herbs and bandages
"Take care of her," I said, my voice low and cold, "or you and your families will die in a way that will make the memory of this morning look merciful." The oldest healer paled and bowed, they all moved faster then, fingers suddenly steadier at the sight of my gaze.
I left them to their ministrations and walked out and into the hallways. Wherever my shadow fell, people shrank from it. Warriors scuttled into corners, servants pressed themselves flat against the stone.
The dining hall soon swam into view, the long table still set with food as if nothing at all had happened. Alpha Baston and his Luna rose as I entered, faces suddenly bright with practiced civility.
"Lord Lucian," Baston offered, bowing low, "now that you have settled the matter of your servant, perhaps..." His voice was too slow, too polite, like a man warming his words before he swallowed them.
"We should eat and discuss our battle plan to crush the Nightshade pack before they attack us," the Luna chimed, gliding forward in. She nodded at her son. "Aiden, pull out Lord Lucian's seat."
Aiden moved as told, though not without a sullen edge to the motion. He did it grumpily. I watched him, briefly, the same way a hunter watches a nervous animal, there was something in him I could not put a name to, but this hour was not for curiosity.
"Where are the ones who struck her?" I asked. The words were a blade coming loose, simple and to the point.
Baston stammered. "Who.... who..."
I moved a step closer to him and the motion alone made them step back in silence "You of all people should know better. I don't repeat my words Baston, not unless you want to die this instant"
Baston's practiced bravado cracked. He turned to the Luna, and she immediately stepped forward, her face a little too composed for someone who was pleading for my mercy.
"It was them," she said quickly, pointing toward two guards clustered by the door. "They...." Her voice faltered, and she looked for a way out. "They carried out the punishment."
I looked at her. "And you instructed them to, right?" I said.
Her composure dissolved into a little film of excuses. "I….. I only meant that she be disciplined just a little for ruining my dress. I did not...." Her words tumbled and fell.
The room did not see nor expect what came next. It was quick. It was clean. There was no flourish, no grand speech. I moved and closed the space between us before the animals of the hall could make sense of the motion. The Luna's breath hitched. In the time it takes a man to blink, my claws elongated and slashed her throat in one swift motion, the blood gushed out immediately, she went down in a way that asked no questions. She collapsed, a small, shocked heap, and fell lifeless on the floor, her blood forming a red pool beneath her.
Baston screamed, the sound raw as a torn thing in the hall. Aiden crumpled to his knees, the son's bravado shattering into incredulous horror. Around us, the pack stared as if the world had been turned sideways and asked to be understood anew.
I tasted her blood that sprayed all over my face on my tongue. The familiar and nourishing taste of iron was cold and actually cleaner than I had imagined. It made the world right. It made the ritual of retribution feel complete.
Two guards by the door tried to pull back at the sight. I called them and they hesitated but they came, legs uncertain, eyes wide.
"Orders do not absolve you from your crime," I told them quietly. "You did the deed, you touched what is mine and you have to lay for it."
I moved with the grace of what had been long practiced, reached out into each of chest simultaneously with my arm, breaking their ribs to get to their beating hearts and pulling it out. It was swift, final. When I finished, their bodied slumped on the floor along with their detached heart. The hall felt the change like a shutter closing. Noise rose, then fell away into a stunned, reverent hush. Some cried out, others turned their faces as if the scene were indecent to behold. Baston was still on his wife's body and whimpering like a wounded animal.
I did not linger to watch his pathetic grief. There was work to be done.
"Aveline," I said, my voice rough and steady. "She mentioned an uncle who raped her. Where is he?"
He made no move to answer, he only sobbed, whole body shaking, face buried against his wife's ruined dress.
I stepped forward. My fingers closed around the loose flesh at the base of his throat and, without effort, lifted him clear off the floor. He went silent the instant his feet left the stone. His hands flailed, clawing at me, at the air, at any hint of purchase. His eyes bulged, the color fled from his face and he began to sputter.
"What did I say about repeating myself, Baston?" I asked, my voice low and rough "Or do you need me to kill more of your people before you learn not to go against me in the slightest?"
He could not find his breath. His face reddened, his jaw worked. The hall stank of fear and iron and the small, pitiful sound he made when he tried to speak.
"One question. One last time," I told him, tightening my grip until his words were nothing but a gurgle. "Aveline's uncle, do you know where he is?"
At last he managed a hoarse, defeated "Yes," barely more than a whisper.
I let him fall and he dropped to his knees with a graceless thud, clutching at his own windpipe, eyes wild and wet with terror. He would not die now, not yet, but I wanted him broken and useful.
"Good," I said, cold and precise. "Give me everything you know about him. I will pay him a visit and he will pay for laying even a finger on what belongs to me."