Page 91 of My Only Luna

Through the sea of wolves, I catch a glimpse of Alejandro, the only one in human form, easily fending off the wolves and cutting them down with the daggers he carries. His eyes meet mine as I rip through wolf after wolf. I need to get moving. The faster I get to the pack areas, the quicker I can have the grounds secured and find Scarlett.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alejandro watching me as I run off before he begins running in my direction, but I don’t try to stop him. I cut a path through enemy wolves, not caring how many I am cutting down. Shortly after the wolves have thinned, I’m able to make my way through to the centre of the pack living areas.

Everything is dead silent, too silent. I sniff the air, but there is not even a hint of Scarlett around. The smell of blood and wolfsbane clings to the air. I rush to the packhouse, shifting backas I push open the door.

My eyes widen when I see children, adults, mainly women and the elderly, lying around – each one sporting bruises and injuries. Some injuries are light, others are badly injured, bleeding dangerously. Some are critical and others are simply slightly injured.

Those who aren’t as injured are tending to those who need help. My stomach twists at the sight of them.

“What happened here?” I ask quietly. One of the men looks up, his eyes lighting up with what I recognise as hope when he sees the two of us at the door.

“Alpha Zidane… Someone ratted us out, and he took his anger out on us,” he says, his eyes haunted. “He killed so many of us.”

What else did I expect from him? He has no remorse or compassion for anyone, not even for his own people.

“That bastard…” I growl.

“He made us confess if we were going to betray him.”

Of course, with the Alpha command, no one would have been able to deny his command to speak. I’ve used it myself. I never saw it as a curse or a problem until now, realising as one could use it for good, where others could use it for the wrong reasons.

A few more of our team approach us and I run my hand through my hair. “Check the entire place. The cells, the mansion – look everywhere for Scarlett! I want another squad to help the injured,” I command, pointing to certain wolves, signalling to them in separate directions to guide them where they need to go.

Someone tosses me a pair of pants. “Might want to cover up. You’re distracting people,” he murmurs, jerking his head towards those around us and I cock a brow before pulling themon. Usually I would have a smart reply, but the grim conditions around us stop me.

I glance over at Alejandro, who had been the first to follow me. “Can you help them check the surroundings?” For the first time, he simply gives a curt nod and listens. He doesn’t listen to anyone, but at least on the battlefield, he doesn’t let his arrogance get in the way.

It’s all clear.

There’s no sign of the Luna.

No sign of Zidane Malone.

Fuck, where are you, Kitten?

A few more confirmations later, my stomach is knotting with sickening dread.

She isn’t here.

Striding over to Liam and a few other warriors, I take a phone from one of my men and call Aaron.

“Has he said anything?” I ask, trying not to sound as desperate and worried as I feel. I am the Alpha, and I need to stay strong for my people.

“I was trying to get through to you. He just said something about a cavern and then the bastard ripped his own tongue out,” Aaron growls through the phone. I close my eyes. It has already been a while since Scarlett was taken. Each minute is killing me.

“That’s all he said, a cavern?” I repeat. What cavern? It feels like we are grasping at straws. “What cavern?”

“I know which one. I know where that is.” A weak yet recognisable voice comes from behind us.

I turn and spot Candice standing there, her body trembling as if every breath is a struggle. She’s barely able to hold herselfup, swaying slightly, her legs threatening to give way. One of the other pack members hurries to her side, catching her before she collapses.

The sight of her is horrifying. Blood drips steadily from deep wounds, pooling beneath her feet. Her skin, in places, has been sliced and left hanging grotesquely. The sheer brutality of it churns my stomach, and I have to fight the rising urge to retch. I’ve seen injuries before, but nothing like this, only in Scarlett’s nightmares. Compared to Candice’s, the injuries of the others in the morbid packhouse hall seem like nothing.

I can’t even comprehend how she’s still standing. Several small daggers are embedded in her body, weaving in and out of her flesh. Cruelly left there, as if to mock her resilience. One pierces her upper arm, another her wrist.

Her cheek bears a jagged cut, and another dagger is lodged in her scalp, its hilt covered in blood. It’s clear whoever did this wasn’t just aiming to kill her, they wanted her to suffer, savouring every second of her pain. And there’s only one sick bastard who would do that.

Zidane. But to his own mother? That is pure evil.

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