CHAPTER SIX
Luna Celeste understood the intent in Alpha Thorne’s eyes—it wasn’t merely punishment he wanted. He wished her to endure agony that etched itself into her soul.
Her throat tightened, and she inhaled shakily before stepping toward the glowing bed of embers. A hush fell over the gathering. Even the seasoned warriors were taken aback by her resolve.
Alpha Thorne had a reputation for being merciless, but everyone knew he wasn’t without compassion—at least not toward his own pack.
Had she simply pleaded for mercy, there was a chance he might have reconsidered. But Celeste stood her ground, dignity intact, though she teetered on the brink of collapse.
Alpha Thorne’s features remained carved in stone, his obsidian gaze never straying from her figure. There was no mistaking it—he intended to crush what little pride she clung to.
Offered the death she yearned for, Celeste approached the searing coals and paused mere inches from them.
The heat radiated so fiercely it penetrated the flimsy clothes she'd received from Beta Kaelin.
Clenching her jaw, she kicked off her sandal.
Then, lifting her bare foot, she pressed it against the blistering coals.
A guttural gasp echoed from the watching warriors. The air thickened with the scent of charred skin, and pain lanced through her, stealing her breath.
Celeste was no stranger to pain.
Years of rigorous training in the Wolfsbane Pack had prepared her for much.
But this?
This was torture in its purest form.
Without the strength of her wolf to numb the agony, she felt every spark, every nerve igniting in a blaze of torment. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she forced herself to remain upright.
She lifted her foot, intending to step back, but two burning coals clung to her sole. Her balance faltered, and she braced for the inevitable fall.
Instead of the unforgiving ground, she landed in strong, unyielding arms.
Alpha Thorne.
His warmth enveloped her, his scent—spiced cedar and stormy rain—fogged her senses. Without hesitation, he removed the coals fused to her flesh, unaffected by the heat.
His own hands began to smoke, but his werewolf healing was swift.
Beta Kaelin’s confident smirk froze. She had expected Celeste to perish, not to be caught in the arms of their Alpha.
Her gaze sharpened with jealousy, yet in the blink of an eye, Alpha Thorne's expression shifted again—sympathy buried beneath irritation.
The warriors exhaled collectively, relieved that Celeste’s stubborn defiance hadn’t claimed her life.
Despite the burn, she was breathtaking—her face glistening with sweat, jaw clenched against the agony.
Thorne watched her wound closely, expecting the rapid healing characteristic of their kind. But nothing changed. Suspicion flickered in his eyes.
“Fetch the pack medic,” he barked, directing the order at Kaelin.
Then, to the warriors, he added, “Clear the coals.”
Celeste stirred in his arms, struggling weakly. Panic laced her features. If he discovered her wolf was gone, she was finished.
“I can still do it,” she insisted, thrashing against his hold. “I’m not done!”
His grip tightened, his gaze darkening.
Tears slipped from her eyes. “Let me die,” she whispered brokenly.
Ignoring her, he carried her back to her quarters, setting her down on the bed with no gentleness. “Eat that food, or finish what you started,” he ordered.
Her foot throbbed, scorched beyond recognition. He still believed her wolf would heal it. When nothing happened, he turned to search for the first aid kit. Mid-search, a flicker at the window made him snarl.
“Who’s there?” he growled, bolting outside.
No one.
When he returned, the thought gnawed at him. “Why hasn’t your wound healed at all?”
Celeste froze, her heart hammering in panic. To deflect, she grabbed the cold bowl of food and began shoveling noodles into her mouth. “I was hungry...” she muttered between bites.
For the first time, Alpha Thorne was rendered speechless. No woman had ever baffled him like this—prideful, fierce, and somehow still ridiculous.
Despite himself, he nearly laughed. But concern crept into his chest. The lack of healing wasn’t normal.
His phone rang before he could question her further.
“Alpha, everything is ready at the Wolfsbane base,” came the voice.
Glancing at Celeste, still forcing down cold food like it was her last meal, he murmured, “I’m on my way.”
Without another word, he turned and left.
Celeste let the fork drop from her hand, coughing slightly from overeating. The doctor entered with Kaelin just as she was catching her breath. He was the same physician who’d treated her before—though she hadn’t realized.
Kaelin’s eyes narrowed. “Where is Alpha Thorne?”
Celeste shrugged. “How should I know?” she retorted, masking her pain behind sarcasm as the doctor tended her wounds.
Kaelin left the room, frustrated, and tried to reach Thorne. No answer.
Elsewhere, Alpha Thorne—now in his wolf form—raced through the woods toward Wolfsbane territory. His warriors awaited.
It was the dead of night, long past when most attacks occurred. But that was the point. No one expected violence now.
Upon arrival, he shifted, donned a mask and black clothes, and gave his orders.
“Make sure the ones who hurt her and the executioner pay,” he commanded.
Everyone knew who he meant.
“No shifting. Keep it quiet,” he added sternly.
It was easier when dealing with humans, but attacking werewolves without using their own forms was risky. If the enemy shifted, they could overpower them.
“What about our scent?” Ronan asked.
Thorne nearly cursed. He’d almost forgotten.
“Vodka?” he asked.
Three bottles emerged. The warriors doused themselves in alcohol and drank a shot each. The pungent smell masked their scent perfectly.
“I’ll deal with the executioner,” Ronan said grimly, holding up his phone. It played footage of Celeste’s public beating.
Thorne clenched his fists. Silent fury rolled off him.
“You handle Brielle,” Ronan added. “She’ll be with Alpha Alaric.”
Thorne nodded. “If anyone gets in your way—kill or knock them out.”
They moved swiftly, masks down.
Thorne took out the gate guards with brutal efficiency. Inside, the four-man team infiltrated the pack house, their victims never getting the chance to shift.
When Thorne reached Alaric’s quarters, the guards were dispatched instantly. The door wasn’t even locked.
Inside, dim light from the bathroom cast long shadows across the room. Only one figure lay on the bed.
Just as Thorne crept forward, Brielle stepped out of the bathroom. She spotted the intruder and opened her mouth to scream—but his blow hit before she could.
She slammed against the wall and dropped unconscious.
As Thorne raised his blade, Alpha Alaric stirred at the noise. The bathroom door had shut automatically, plunging the room into darkness. He flipped on the bedside lamp just as Thorne prepared to strike.
Alaric lunged, kicking the knife from his hand. But before he could alert his pack via mindlink, Thorne launched into him with a flurry of punches.
Alaric couldn’t shift. The assault was too fast, too relentless.
“Who are you?” he gasped, already bloody.
Another punch silenced him.
Thorne picked up the dagger again. But before he could strike, a voice crackled into his mind.
‘Alpha, we have only a few seconds. They’re at the gate!’