Cass’s POV

I lie in bed with Colt, but sleep is a ghost. Every time I close my eyes, I see Julia’s lifeless face. My wolf-instinct screams that it was necessary, while my human conscience shudders at the brutality.

"Are you okay?" Colt whispers against my hair.

"I'm fine," I lie, kissing him to silence any further questions.

His hands drift to my hips, and within minutes, the heavy atmosphere of the room is replaced by the feverish, desperate friction of our bodies. He enters me, and for a moment, the world narrows down to his warmth and the rhythm of his breath. It’s pure, mindless bliss—an escape from the monster I’m becoming.

The next morning, the war room is filled with tension. Warrick, the generals, and Alpha Oliver—who wears a smile so fake it makes my skin crawl—are already waiting.

"There you are," Warrick says, his tone clipped.

I take my place, but I catch Oliver’s eyes. He’s standing with his hands behind his back, his smirk turning into something cold and jagged.

"I hate being underestimated," Oliver says, his voice suddenly sharp. He pulls out a black gas mask, clamping it over his face. His men follow suit in a heartbeat.

"What are you doing?!" Warrick roars, lunging forward.

But Oliver is faster. He plunges a silver-tipped knife deep into Warrick’s chest. The Alpha falls, motionless. Before we can process the betrayal, gas grenades explode at our feet. The air turns into liquid fire, burning my throat and eyes.

"Cass, go!" Colt screams, clutching his own neck, gasping for air.

I reach for him, but my limbs are made of lead. Men in masks swarm us, tearing me away from Colt’s desperate reach. A heavy, rough cloth is tied over my eyes, and before I can even scream, a blow to the back of my head plunges me into darkness.

When I wake, the hum of an engine tells me I’m in a moving vehicle.

"You're awake," Oliver’s voice comes from the gloom.

"You son of a bitch!" I lunged forward, but hands slammed me back into the seat.

"Don't hurt yourself," he says smoothly. "You're too valuable to damage."

"Why?" I choke out. "Was this the plan?"

"It was an opportunity. Your father cut me out of the alliance, and Ezra made me a better offer. I’m not taking you to him, though—he’d just kill you. You’re being sold to someone who appreciates your... unique talents."

The car stops in a muddy, desolate place that sounds like a bustling black-market bazaar. I’m dragged out and forced into a structure that smells of damp wood and iron.

"Welcome, Alpha Oliver," a man with a sharp, heavy accent says. It’s Zao.

"She's yours," Oliver says, avoiding my gaze.

Zao, a bald man covered in intricate, faded scars, steps forward. He studies me like a piece of livestock. "Royal blood, and a gift that bends reality. You will be an exquisite addition to my collection."

"You can't tame me!" I snarl, my voice cracking.

Zao chuckles. "I don't tame. I break."

His men swarm me, pinning me to a heavy wooden table. I thrash, trying to command them to stop, but I’m panicked, my mind fracturing under the assault.

Zao produces an ornate, silver-wrought iron mask—a half-mask designed to cover the eyes. It’s incredibly thick.

"A custom fit," Zao explains. "It’s thick enough to ensure that when anyone looks into your eyes, they see only darkness. Your power will be sealed, yet you will still be able to serve your purpose."

He presses the mask onto my face. I buck, and it clatters to the floor.

Zao doesn't blink. He turns to his men. "Bring the bolts."

One man steps forward, holding four heavy, threaded metal bolts. Another produces an electric screwdriver.

My blood turns to ice. "What are you doing?"

"Relax," Zao says, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as he holds the mask over my face again. "This will only hurt a lot."