The cold, damp air of the Blood Moon dungeons clung like death.

Torches flickered along the stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows that seemed to move on their own. The deeper they descended, the less the sounds of the territory above could be heard. Down here, only silence and screams remained.

Lyra walked beside Damon, her arms crossed. Her eyes scanned every cell they passed—each one housing either silence, blood, or both.

“I assume this rogue girl’s more than just a stray?” she finally asked.

“She crossed the border half-dead and lived,” Damon said. “And she’s the Alpha’s mate.”

Lyra paused in her steps, brows arching. “His what?”

Damon didn’t answer. His jaw clenched as he pushed open the heavy iron door at the far end of the corridor. Inside, the cell was lit only by a single hanging lantern. Chains clinked against the walls, and in the center, slumped against the cold stone, was Seraphina.

Her hair was matted with blood and sweat. Her breathing was shallow, but she was awake barely.

Her head rose slowly at the sound of the door creaking open. Her eyes met Damon’s.

“This thing is the alpha's mate?” Lyra asked, stepping forward.

Seraphina’s lips parted, her voice hoarse. “If you’re here to torture me, save your breath. I have nothing to say to people who chain the innocent.”

Damon chuckled darkly. "You're like a wild wandering stray cat and that makes you far from innocent. Creatures like you don't deserve to exist.”

He reached behind him and unlatched a hidden compartment in the wall. From it, he drew a long, coiled metal whip—its surface glinting like liquid silver, razor-edged and serrated.

But most chilling of all were the tips, each one embedded with sharpened fangs, real werewolf fangs, extracted from traitors of the pack, enchanted to slice through healing skin and delay regeneration.

Lyra’s expression didn’t change, but even she felt a chill crawl up her spine.

Damon ran a hand down the length of the whip. “This—” he said, letting it hiss as it unwound to the floor, “—is fangsteel. Made from the teeth of wolves who betrayed their packs. It doesn’t just rip skin... it remembers betrayal.”

He stepped forward slowly.

“Tell me, little rogue... who sent you?”

Seraphina met his eyes. Despite the fear, despite the weight of pain about to fall upon her there was still fire.

“No one.”

Crack.

The whip hit the ground beside her foot—deliberately missing, but close enough to singe.

“Speak now, while I'm still being nice.” Damon said calmly.

But She remained silent.

The whip came down again.

Crack!

A sharp tear split across Seraphina’s already bruised and bloodied back, flesh breaking beneath the enchanted fangsteel. Her body convulsed, shackled wrists straining against the iron chains.

Her breath hitched, but she didn't scream. She already lost the strength to. Blood dripped freely, trailing from her torn skin down to the stone floor.

Damon stood cold and focused, the whip steady in his gloved hand. “You’re strong, I’ll give you that,” he muttered darkly. “But even wolves have a breaking point.”

He circled her slowly, watching her head hang low, tangled hair plastered to her face with sweat and blood.

“You’re no ordinary rogue. Are there others? Were you planted here to claim to be the alpha's mate?”

Silence.

“Who are you working for?!”

Seraphina lifted her head just slightly, eyes barely visible under blood-matted lashes. Her lips parted, cracked and dry. Her voice, if it could still be called that, was hoarse and broken:

“…Just let me die…”

Damon’s expression hardened. His jaw clenched and without hesitation-

Crack!

One last strike.

It sent her crashing to the ground, her knees finally giving out. The chains above clinked as her limp body slumped against them. Her breathing slowed, shallow and ragged. Her eyes fluttered, then closed.

She had passed out.

Damon let out a breath. Not satisfaction, not guilt. Just… cold detachment. He stared at the crimson-laced whip for a moment longer before turning toward the wall. With practiced ease, he opened the iron locker embedded into the stone and coiled the whip carefully back inside.

The weapon made from werewolf fangs let out a low metallic hiss as it was sealed shut.

He turned to the two guards standing at attention nearby.

“Secure her limbs. Shackles on her wrists and ankles. No food. No water. No conversation.”

“Yes, Beta,” they responded in unison, immediately stepping forward to obey.

Damon gave her one last glance. Her body looked smaller somehow—fragile even, despite her silence.

“Keep an eye on her. If she escapes, you're all dead.” He said before walking away with Lyra.

---

~THE BLACKMAW PACK~

Joren woke up, bandages wrapped tight around his chest and forehead. Every breath burned. His body felt like it had been shattered and stitched back together.

“Sera.... Seraphina run...”

Groaning, he blinked against the sting in his eyes and saw a shadowed figure standing by the doorway.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Joren asked, wincing as he tried to move.

The man stepped forward, his presence commanding, dangerous. There was a scar slicing through one brow and the weight of blood on his aura.

" Talon, Alpha of the Blackmaw territory. My warriors found you almost dead in the hills."

Joren’s heart skipped. He pushed himself up with a pained grunt, eyes wide. “My sister. I need to find my sister Sera!”

Talon narrowed his eyes, arms crossing.

“Your sister wasn’t with you when we found you. If she was caught in the same attack, then I suggest you prepare yourself cause she's dead.”

“No…” Joren shook his head stubbornly. “She’s strong. She wouldn’t die, and certainly not like that.”

Talon’s voice turned blunt, cold.

“You were found half-dead, torn apart. Whatever happened out there, it wasn’t mercy. If she’s alive, she’s suffering. If not…” He trailed off.

Joren’s face twisted in pain. “The Blood Moon Pack. They were attacking another territory. We were just passing through and got caught up in the middle. They killed everyone… they killed her.”

Talon watched him carefully, like a predator reading a wounded animal.

“So the mighty Blood Moon Pack took something from you too,” he murmured. “Then we have something in common.”

Joren looked up slowly, chest heaving. “What do you mean?”

Talon’s eyes gleamed. “They exiled me. Cast me out like a dog. Stripped me of my birthright. While I bled for them, they crowned Rael Fang as Alpha and turned their backs on me.”

He stepped closer, voice turning to steel. “But I’ve built something stronger here. Blackmaw doesn’t bow. Blackmaw survives. We’ve waited and we’ve watched and now… we strike. I've waited so long to have my revenge on them."

Joren stared, grief warping into fury. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we join forces,” Talon said. “You want vengeance and I want my throne. Together, we will bring down the Blood Moon Pack. Burn their banners and shatter their bloodlines.”

He extended a hand.

“You get your revenge, Joren. I get justice. What do you say?”

Joren looked at the hand for a long moment.

Then he took it.

“Let’s make them bleed. I'll make them pay for killing my sister.”