Cris had ordered Annie to bring Aurora into his chamber in three days, regardless of whether she had recovered.

Now, seeing her arrive on her own, it seemed her condition had improved.

However, Cris was exhausted, and he had far more pressing matters to attend to than enjoying his enemy's daughter.

When he entered the room, he found Aurora asleep on the sofa. She was curled up so tightly that he might have missed her if he hadn't looked carefully. Her body was small and frail.

Cris frowned, pausing for a moment to stare at the fragile figure on his sofa. Her slight movements as she breathed confirmed she was still alive, which was fortunate—he hadn't even begun yet.

But Cris didn't have time to deal with her now; he needed to visit Mitchell in the dungeon.

With that thought, Cris headed to the bathroom and took a quick shower to wash away the stench of blood. After changing into clean clothes, he left the room without sparing another glance at the small form on his sofa.

Cris headed straight to the dungeon, where he was greeted by his gamma, Evan, who was grinning from ear to ear at the sight of him.

"Are we ready to chop off all his fingers?" Evan asked eagerly as he approached the alpha. "Can I do it? I'll slice them off, one by one."

Cris shot the gamma a quick, emotionless glance. "I heard you already chopped off his manhood."

"Sure did," Evan replied proudly. "I cut it off and made him watch as the dog devoured it."

"Okay." That was all Cris said, but he didn't explicitly grant permission to cut off Mitchell's fingers.

"Hmph, cutting off his fingers won't kill him," Evan muttered to himself. But before he could continue grumbling, Joan smacked the back of his head, silencing him as they entered the cell where Mitchell was held.

Thankfully, Mitchell was a shifter; otherwise, he would have been on the brink of death in his current condition.

"Fuck you, slave! FUCK YOU!" Mitchell roared in fury when he saw Cris. He was stripped naked, his castrated manhood grotesquely visible. It was an ugly, messy sight. "I should have killed you! I SHOULD HAVE LET THOSE SAVAGES CUT YOU TO PIECES!"

Mitchell had a twisted obsession with forcing his slaves into sexual acts, particularly enjoying watching men violate other men.

His favorite slaves had been, Evan and Cris, the latter of whom was given to him by his father as a birthday gift, while Joan was under his father's possession.

"What?!" Mitchell roared and then he cackled. "Do you like it?! I bet you will never forget that sweet moment when those men fucked you!"

Mitchell was right. None of them would ever forget those dark days. Even if, by some miracle, their minds could forget, their bodies wouldn't. The scars were there, etched into their flesh.

"My people will get me out of here, and you will suffer! YOU WILL TASTE MY WRATH!" Mitchell looked deranged. "I AM YOUR MASTER, YOU FUCKING SLAVES!"

Evan was the first to crack. His usual carefree expression twisted into something dangerous. His cold eyes grew even colder. As he marched toward Mitchell, claws emerging from his fingers, he was ready to silence this bastard forever.

"Stop him," Cris said to Joan. "I need him alive. Death is too easy for him."

Joan immediately rushed to stop Evan, but it took two more guards to drag the gamma away, as he had lost control. Finally, the alpha exerted his dominance, suppressing Evan's beast and preventing him from shifting—a power Cris could wield now that he was alpha.

"LET ME GO! I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM!" Evan roared, his voice feral.

On a normal day, Evan looked like a sweet boy, someone who wouldn't hurt a fly. But when his trauma was triggered, he became a danger to anyone near him—until he was forcibly stopped.

It wasn't the alpha, nor the beta, who had the most blood on their hands. It was him. During the coup, he became a killing machine.

If Cris hadn't stopped Evan back then, he would have kept on killing until he couldn't anymore.

Evan was dragged out of the cell, but his roars and curses echoed from a distance as he was forcibly calmed down in another room.

"What? Have you gone soft on me?" Mitchell laughed, his whole body trembling with mirth. His laughter reverberated through the dim cell. "You're just like your father—a soft-hearted coward. That's why my father was able to raze your pack."

Cris's father had been just and wise, respected by all. But it seemed those traits didn't suit this world—a world where violence ruled, and the weak were killed to display power.

"Oh, I heard how my father killed Leana…" Mitchell's voice grew eerie, and a smile tugged at his lips as he saw the change in Cris's expression at the mention of her name. "I heard she was pregnant with your first child." He smirked as he saw the flash of anger in Cris's dark eyes.

This was exactly what he wanted. If physical torture couldn't break him, he could still wound him by reminding him of his mate's tragic death.

"She called your name, my father said..."