Chapter 0162

One month ago

Five months. Five long months I'd spent hunting Victor Blackwood, and now I finally had him trapped. The bastard was slippery, I'd give him that, but this time, there was no escape.

I sat in my car outside a rundown motel off some forgotten highway in the middle of nowhere, Arizona. The place reeked of desperation and cheap liquor. My team had the building surrounded. We'd spotted him earlier, and to avoid any complications, we'd spun some bullshit story to the clueless human kid at the front desk—something about us being federal agents and Victor being a fugitive. Didn’t matter. The lie was just to keep the local cops from interfering and giving him another chance to vanish like he had before.

The door to his room creaked open. Victor stepped out, glancing around like a cornered animal before slinging his bag over his shoulder. He was about to bolt again. Lucky for me, we’d caught up just in time.

My men moved in fast, cutting off his escape. He dropped his bag, muscles tensing for a fight, but they hit him with wolfsbane darts before he could shift. Within seconds, he crumpled to the ground.

I got out of the car and strode over, grabbing a fistful of his hair to yank his face up to mine. His eyes were hazy, but he was still conscious.

"Got you, you worthless piece of shit," I snarled. "Time to pay for what you did."

Victor had been rotting in my dungeons for nearly a month now. The first week, I didn’t even bother questioning him—just used him as a punching bag. All the rage, the frustration, the years of loneliness, the agony of losing Evelyn, the bitter resentment of being forced to choose a Luna who wasn’t my fated mate—it all poured out every time I stepped into that cell.

Honestly, I was surprised he was still breathing. The bastard could take a beating, I’d give him that. Maybe he had some Alpha blood in him after all. Most Betas would’ve broken by now.

I wiped his blood off my knuckles and glared down at him. "Why did you do it?"

Same question I’d asked every day for the past three weeks.

Same answer.

"I didn’t kill her," he rasped, his voice raw from screaming.

His arms were shackled above his head with silver cuffs, his body hanging limp, feet barely scraping the floor.

"Bullshit," I snapped. "You were found holding her body. Covered in her blood. Tell me why."

He lifted his head with effort, one eye swollen shut, the other barely open. "I didn’t do it. I swear."

I drove my fist into his stomach. "You expect me to believe that? After what you did to Evelyn? You tried to force a mate bond on her. You’re a monster."

He coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. "What I did to Evelyn was wrong. I’ll pay for that. But I didn’t kill your mother."

I grabbed his hair again, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Admit it. Just say it, and I’ll make it quick. Keep lying, and this"—I gestured to the bloodstained room—"never ends."

He locked eyes with me, defiance burning through the pain. "I. Didn’t. Do. It."

I let go with a snarl. "Fine. Suffer, then."

Twenty minutes later, he was unconscious.

I turned to the guards. "Get him down. Feed him. Keep him alive." I wiped my hands on my pants. "Call me if he talks."

The dungeons were soundproofed, reinforced so no one upstairs could hear the screams. Werewolves were violent creatures, but the pups and pregnant females didn’t need to know what happened down here.

At the top of the stairs, Nathaniel was waiting. He took one look at me—covered in blood—and grimaced. "You need a shower."

I glanced down. He wasn’t wrong.

"Walk with me," he said, keeping his voice low.

I followed, making sure the halls were empty. Couldn’t have the pack seeing their future Alpha like this.

Not yet.