“That’s impossible. My father is an ordinary human. He doesn’t even know what silver needles are!”
Monica shouted through the cellar door, trying to convince Killian—and perhaps herself.
“Do you really think you understand anything about this world, Monica?” Killian’s voice came coldly from the other side. “Your noble father is nothing more than a fugitive hiding in Amberbridge. His freedom is almost over. Every Alpha in this province knows he broke the golden laws of werewolves.”
His footsteps receded as he walked away.
Monica sank against the wall.
All she could do now was pray her family would not be found.
She doubted anyone could recognize her parents by face alone. They had lived quietly and kept to themselves for years.
But scent was another matter.
Killian must have traced them that way.
That was, if her parents truly were werewolves at all.
Because Monica had never known herself to be one.
The next morning, the cellar door creaked open.
Sunlight flooded the room so suddenly that Monica had to shield her eyes. After a night trapped in darkness, the brightness felt like knives.
Killian stood in the doorway, smiling with chilling amusement.
In his hands were a pair of handcuffs, a collar, and a chain.
“Relax,” he said casually. “I’m not killing you yet. Not until I find your parents and execute them in front of you.”
Fear flashed across Monica’s face, and he seemed to enjoy it.
“But I’ve reconsidered something.”
He stepped inside.
“So beg me to spare your life, Monica. Go on.”
“You’re wrong, Killian.” Monica forced strength into her voice. “My father, my mother, my whole family—we are not werewolves. We are not rogues. We are not murderers. You have no proof for anything you’re saying.”
He tilted his head.
“You still deny it?”
His smile faded.
“Perhaps I should kill you first instead. One life for another seems fair.”
A shiver ran through Monica.
The grief in his eyes was worse than anger. It made him unpredictable.
Once, Killian had been the brilliant student everyone admired. Professors respected him. Women adored him.
Now he looked like someone hollowed out by rage.
“Zayn,” Killian called.
“Yes, Alpha?”
Zayn hurried over at once.
“This little mutt seems eager to die. Did you bring the silver axe?”
Before Zayn could move, Monica broke.
“Killian, please. Don’t kill me. Please!”
He sneered.
“Your begging is terrible. Are you pleading with me or ordering me? I do not take commands from someone like you.”
“I know you won’t believe me,” Monica said desperately. “But please… don’t kill anyone.”
“Still wrong.”
He gave a humorless laugh.
“You have no standing to ask anything of me.”
Zayn returned and placed a silver axe into Killian’s hand.
The flash of silver made Monica recoil.
She believed herself human, yet something primal inside her feared the metal instantly.
“You are not human, Monica,” Killian said softly. “You are a werewolf who refuses to admit it.”
He slowly raised the axe.
“And silver is forbidden between our kind—unless it is used for execution.”
His words struck deep, planting doubt and guilt where certainty had been.
What if her father truly had killed Alpha Gallagie?
“I’ll use this on your father,” Killian said, lifting the blade until it gleamed near her face.
Then Zayn returned carrying a steaming metal basin.
The smell reached Monica immediately.
Meat stew, rich with pepper and onions.
But the bowl looked like one meant for animals.
“Today, I’m merciful,” Killian said, noticing where her eyes had gone. “I’m letting you live. I’m even feeding you.”
His smile turned cruel.
“But mercy is never free.”
He crouched in front of her.
“You still haven’t begged properly or thanked me for my kindness. Try again.”
“Please let us live…” Monica whispered.
“Wrong,” he said sharply. “Only you are here. Beg clearly.”
She swallowed hard.
“Please let me live, Killian.”
Every word tasted like humiliation.
But she still wanted to survive.
“I’ll allow it,” he said grandly, like a king granting pardon. “Am I not generous?”
He waited.
“Thank you… for your generosity.”
A satisfied grin spread across his face.
It was the first time she had truly begged him.
“Better. Now you may have breakfast.”
He gestured toward the basin.
“Though naturally, that also has a price.”
His cruelty still had layers.
“I’ll pay anything if you let me go home,” Monica said suddenly.
Money moved the world. Surely even he had a price.
Killian laughed softly.
“You don’t need money for this worthless meal. I don’t want anything you own.”
His eyes darkened.
“This was prepared for my dog.”
He leaned closer.
“But I decided you could replace the one I gifted to my cousin.”
Monica trembled with fury.
She understood perfectly.
He wanted to degrade her as deeply as possible.
“You’re disgusting, Killian.”
“No,” he said calmly. “I’m merciful.”
He dropped the collar at her feet.
“I’m sparing your life. In return, you’ll take the dog’s place.”
“Then I refuse your food.”
He laughed again, as though she were a child throwing a tantrum.
“Really? You plan to starve yourself? By noon, you’ll be too weak to stand.”
His gaze hardened.
“Eat while I am still willing to feed you.”
Maybe pride would have to wait.
Maybe survival mattered more than dignity.
With shaking hands, Monica picked up the collar and fastened it around her neck.
“Look at me,” Killian ordered.
She fumbled with the buckle while he watched every second.
When she finished, he clipped the chain to the metal ring.
Satisfaction gleamed openly in his eyes.
“Now eat,” he said. “Like my dog. Use your mouth.”
To reach the basin, Monica had to kneel and bend low.
She lowered herself to the floor and leaned forward to sip the stew.
Above her, Killian held the chain loosely, smiling as if she already belonged to him.
The shame was unbearable.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she forced them back.
She had never imagined the brilliant university star, polished and admired by everyone, could become this.
He had once seemed intelligent, refined, disciplined.
Now she saw a broken man wearing power like a weapon.
And this man was meant to lead one of Amberbridge’s greatest packs.
“Finish it,” Killian said. “Don’t waste my generosity.”
He gave the chain a small tug.
“Afterward, you’ll learn what else a good dog should do.”
Monica paused and looked up.
His gaze was still locked on her.
Sharp.
Unblinking.
“Thank you, Killian,” she muttered.
“Clearly.”
He dismissed the words at once.
“Thank you for your generosity in giving me breakfast, Killian,” she said again, bitterness cutting through every syllable.
Killian laughed, thoroughly pleased with himself.
