Adrien.
"Stop!" My voice echoed throughout the hallway.
I honestly couldn't tell when the word 'stop' formed in my head, or why they almost slipped past my lips. It wasn't logic that stirred them. It wasn't reason. It was something tangled and raw, pulling at me from two opposite directions at once. The conflict raging inside my mind felt foreign, unrecognizable, as though I was standing in the middle of a storm I didn't understand how I had walked into.
I had made vows to myself long before this moment ever existed.
I had promised that when I finally found my mate, I would honor her. Protect her. Treat her with respect no matter the cost. I had imagined a bond filled with loyalty and devotion, imagined myself giving her everything—comfort, safety, indulgence. I had sworn she would never have to fight for my attention or my protection. She would be cherished. Spoiled. Shielded from harm by my very presence.
And then I found her.
A rogue.
Untamed. Defiant. A complication I hadn't prepared for.
From the moment she stepped into my world, nothing had been simple. Every instinct I had carefully shaped as an Alpha clashed violently with the expectations I had built around the word mate. She made everything harder—every decision heavier, every emotion sharper. She didn't fit the image I had clung to for years, and I resented her for that more than I wanted to admit.
I wanted to step forward. I wanted to tell my brothers to stop. The urge rose in my chest, thick and insistent, begging to be acknowledged.
But then my mind betrayed me.
The memory replayed itself without mercy—the sight that greeted us as we entered the room, burned into my thoughts with brutal clarity. The scene twisted the knot in my chest tighter, poisoning my hesitation with anger and doubt. At that moment, it felt justified. It felt deserved. A sharp voice inside me whispered that she needed to learn, that a little punishment wouldn't break her. Wouldn't hurt her.
I told myself it was necessary.
I told myself she had brought it on herself.
Yet the moment my gaze dropped to her knees, everything shifted.
Blood stained her skin, bright and unforgiving against the floor. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't exaggerated. It was real. Raw. The sight struck something deep inside me, something I hadn't been able to silence no matter how hard I tried. My chest tightened painfully, an instinct surging up before I could stop it—an overwhelming need to step in front of her, to shield her, to make the world back away.
Protect her.
The contradiction left me unsteady.
Why did she have to hurt Anabel?
The question gnawed at me, refusing to settle. No matter how I turned it over in my mind, it scraped at my thoughts, sharp and unresolved. And beneath that question lurked another, darker one—one I didn't want to acknowledge but couldn't ignore.
What if she wasn't just difficult?
What if she was dangerous?
The possibility that she could be a spy coiled tightly in my chest, cold and unsettling. It poisoned every instinct, every emotion, making it impossible to know which part of me to trust—the Alpha sworn to protect his pack, or the mate drawn inexplicably toward the woman bleeding on the floor.
I turned back, half-expecting resistance, half-expecting chaos—but the room was already emptying. My brothers were outside. All of them. Standing in the hallway, their gaze fixed on me, pressing down on me. It was a silent reminder of where my loyalty was meant to lie. Any decision I made now couldn't stand apart from them. It had to align. It had to support them.
We had sworn to that long ago.
Not in words spoken lightly, but in blood and battle and shared scars. We had promised to stand together regardless of circumstance, regardless of who stood on the other side of us. That oath echoed now, binding and unyielding. Breaking it wasn't an option. It never had been.
My wolf stirred, his voice cutting through the chaos in my head, low and insistent.
"Everyone wants her punished. Why object?"
The question wasn't cruel. It was practical. Pack-minded. Alpha-minded.
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening as if the answer were lodged there, refusing to go down. My chest rose and fell once, slow and heavy, before I nodded in agreement—not to my brothers, not to anyone, but to the voice inside me that demanded order over doubt.
"Stop," I said again, my voice sharper this time, commanding attention without raising it. The word carried weight now, final and deliberate. "I haven't expressed my anger yet," I added, each syllable measured, controlled, as though restraint alone proved I was still in charge.
I moved forward.
Each step felt heavier than the last, my boots striking the floor with dull finality. I bent down in front of her, lowering myself until we were eye level. Her face was pale, marked with pain, but it was her eyes that stopped me.
Golden.
They locked onto mine, unflinching despite everything. There was no plea there. No apology. Just a depth that pulled at me without warning, dragging my thoughts somewhere dangerous—somewhere I didn't want to acknowledge. For a split second, the world narrowed to that gaze, and everything else blurred at the edges.
I raised my hand.
It hovered in the air between us.
The moment stretched, fragile and strained. My fingers twitched, uncertainty creeping in where fury was supposed to live. Those eyes… they unraveled something in me, tugged at instincts I had spent years mastering, burying. My breath hitched, the hesitation burning like a weakness I couldn't afford.
I shook my head sharply, as if I could dislodge the feeling by force.
And then my hand came down.
The impact echoed through the space, sharp and final. Her head snapped to the side as my palm connected with her face. Blood bloomed at her lips, thick and red, trailing down her chin in a slow, damning line.
I straightened, my heart pounding harder than it should have.
She deserved it, I told myself.
I repeated it silently, clinging to the words as if they could anchor me. As if they could silence the unease curling in my chest. This was justice. This was the order. This was what everyone wanted.
And that had to be enough.