Chapter 279
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Carmen stood silently in the Silverfang Hotel’s private box, her gaze fixed on the trembling figures before her as they devoured the towering cakes. To her, it was not a grotesque sight but a flawless performance—an execution of punishment wrapped in sugar.
Only when the last crumb vanished, when each parasite collapsed to the floor clutching their swollen stomachs, too weak to lift a finger, did Carmen incline her head ever so slightly. Satisfied, she turned and left without a word.
At the entrance, Duke fell into step beside her.
“Carmen, do you have classes this afternoon at Ashmoor Academy?” he asked softly.
Her tone was ice. “Why?”
He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Your birthday hasn’t come yet. If you’re free… perhaps you could come to my home. I’d like to celebrate it with you.”
Carmen’s sharp eyes met his. She saw only the raw sincerity in Duke’s gaze. For a heartbeat, she faltered, but then her lashes lowered.
“No need,” she said flatly, stepping past him.
But Duke’s hand shot out, clamping around her wrist with desperate strength.
Her brow furrowed, irritation flashing. “Something else?”
His voice cracked, the words spilling out with frustration. “Carmen, why must you always treat me so coldly? Before, you held me at a distance because you believed I was bound to others-misunderstanding me. But now? What excuse remains?”
Why?
The answer twisted bitterly inside her chest. Because there was never a future for them.
Soon, she would be leaving Stormridge with Riley and their mother, bound for lands far beyond the Ebonclaw Pack’s reach. Carmen had long ago sworn never to give her heart recklessly, never to hand over her soul to a man. That was the
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weakness of fools, of love-drunk she-wolves.
She had watched Riley suffer, seen how blind devotion destroyed. Carmen would not fall into the same pit. Passion burned hot, yes, but it always cooled to ash.
And once she was abroad, surrounded by the allure of tall, golden-haired Alphas from foreign packs, Duke’s familiar face would lose its power to stir her blood. A single tree was never worth forsaking an entire forest-she reminded herself of this with steely resolve.
But she would never say such things aloud.
Instead, her lips curved with cold dismissal. “Why take it seriously? It’s only a game.”
She let the words hang, then added with deliberate cruelty, “You’d best not tie yourself to me. Don’t forget-I am no innocent. Blood already stains my hands. Perhaps soon the enforcers of the Pack Council will come knocking. Stay too close, and it will drag you under with me.”
With that, she tore her wrist free. There was still work to be done.
Before she left Stormridge, every soul who had dared to harm Riley would be dealt with-thoroughly and permanently. Even if chains or death awaited Carmen in he end, at least her sister would never again fear wolves dressed as men.
Duke stood rooted as she walked away, his chest tight with helpless anger. His voice rose, raw and pleading, though the wind threatened to carry it off.
Carmen, next year-on this very day-I swear I’ll give you the grandest birthday you’ve ever known!”
Carmen’s steps faltered. A strange, unwelcome warmth surged in her heart. Yet she did not look back.
From that day forward, life appeared to fall into rhythm again.
But for the offenders trapped in the Silverfang Hotel’s private box, peace was an illusion.
Every evening after her lessons at Ashmoor Academy, Carmen arrived without fail, slipping into the shadows of the 101 VIP box. She was no guest but a warden- watching, calculating, ensuring every command of Lucien Duskgrave was obeyed.
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The suite was lavish, outfitted with dining hall, lounges, and washrooms. Without them, the prisoners’ filth would have turned the chamber into a rotting den within days.
Even so, for Zao, Aaron, Selene Ashford, and the rest, this month was no less than the hellfire of the Moon Goddess’s own judgment.
Day after day, the cakes were brought in. Towering. Gleaming white with frosting. Sweetness heavy as poison in the air. And day after day, they ate until their bodies trembled on the brink of collapse.
Their bellies distended, skin stretched, throats gagging on every mouthful. Yet Carmen’s presence ensured none dared resist. Whenever one faltered, her cold eyes and the flash of her knife reminded them what failure cost.
If vomit rose, they swallowed it back in terror. The one time Aaron dared retch, Carmen had forced him to lap up the bile and frosting from the floor like a beaten dog, her boot pressing cruelly to his back.
So they learned. Better to choke down the sugar than face the she-wolf’s wrath.
Each night, the Silverfang Den became their purgatory. And Carmen, the merciless sentinel, made certain their suffering never ended too soon.
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