The storm raged on, but inside the clearing, silence fell heavy after Dante's body hit the ground with a lifeless thud. Isabella's sobs were strangled into broken gasps, her eyes drowning in grief until her body, unable to bear the torment, surrendered—collapsing into unconsciousness.
Theodore's sharp gaze shifted, a side-eye dripping with cruel amusement, as though even her fainting was a performance meant for his twisted pleasure. He crouched over Dante's broken form, pressing a finger against his throat, confirming the faint pulse—or the lack thereof. A dark smirk curved his lips as he straightened.
"Throw his carcass into the river," he commanded coldly, his tone laced with venomous indifference. His men bowed, dragging Dante's bleeding body away into the shadows of the night.
Then, with calculated slowness, Theodore's boots carried him toward Isabella. He crouched, brushing aside the damp strand of hair clinging to her pale cheek. His voice dropped into a whisper, intimate yet sinister.
"What do you think now, my darling?" His words slithered like poison. "Your lover lies with the river, and you—" he paused, a cruel smile tugging at his lips, "you have nowhere to run. See what you've done? If you hadn't chased him… if you hadn't dared to betray me… perhaps your sweet little wolf would still be breathing."
His hand coiled around her waist, tightening possessively, dragging her limp form against his chest. His grip was unyielding, almost punishing, as though she was a trophy claimed in blood. With a harsh snap of his voice, he ordered his pack, "Clean this mess. Every drop of blood erased."
Carrying her through the storm, Theodore strode into his looming mansion—stone walls echoing his dominance, firelight flickering like the heartbeat of a beast. He laid her on the silken sheets, his dark shadow towering over her fragile frame.
Leaning close, he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her forehead. His voice, low and serpentine, dripped with contradictions—hatred and desire tangled into one.
"Even though I loathed you," he whispered against her skin, "somehow, now, my hatred has ebbed. You gave me this gift—you let me bury the enemy of my past. For that…" his eyes gleamed with manic devotion, "…my darling, I think my wrath towards you has quieted… just a little."
And with that, the Alpha of shadows lingered over her, half in love, half in madness—his possession carved deeper than any wound, binding her fate to his psychotic embrace.