The first thing he did when he entered his bed chambers was to find the remaining pearl of the ring he'd kept safe after the Ring went missing and fixed it to its rightful place. Now, the ring was complete and it was glowing.

But, it wasn't making his pains easy. It wasn't easing the heaviness of his heart. Unlike before.

One side of his mouth twitched into something that would have resembled the shadow of a smile if he wasn't so empty inside. The ring never cured but it eases.

Today, it was doing nothing to ease the burning in his heart. Probably because the ring thinks he deserves it.

Pouty.

Hazel Smith is her name.

Ismena is her name.

He blinked hard, wishing he could block out all those voices, but it would be a futile attempt so he didn't even bother.

She was always pouting. No matter how hard the wolf tried to scare her, baring its teeth and growling at her all the time, the girl was never scared of them. She'd purse her lips into a pout, glare at him through those shiny brown eyes before she moves a few distances away from him, lowers herself to the floor, and began telling him stories about anything and everything.

That girl was his greatest guilt. It wasn't his packmates who died in that hellhole. It wasn't his female packmates he'd been forced to molest. It wasn't Nalaila. It was her.

Just thinking about the little girl was making his heart bleed. He'd been traumatized after being paired with Nalaila, he'd been sick to his stomach. Worry was eating at him when he never saw or heard about his sister for very long days.

Only for those monsters to get him high as a kite again and bring a victim much worse than his sister. The little girl who had been telling him stories so bravely, with her melodic voice and shiny brown eyes. The girl who was even younger than his own sister.

Those fearless happy eyes weren't so fearless anymore as they dragged her in. She was crying, pleading with them to let her out. Pouty had been drugged, the little girl's body so disoriented he'd felt it through his own drug haze.

When he'd woken up and saw the blood—there was so much of it, as usual—his heart had gone cold. He was dying in misery, but he felt better at the same time. She died.

It was better that she died. She wouldn't have to live with the trauma of what had happened today, for the rest of her life. She wouldn't have to live with the horrors of what had transpired in this lab—in his cage—for the rest of her life.

Pouty deserves better. That little girl deserves so much better. He wished she'd never met a man like him.

Because she died, he'd tried to push the memories of her to the deepest part of his heart, locked it up, and threw the keys away. That was the only way he could stay sane. That was the only way he could survive after everything he did to the little girl who looked at him like the sun rose and set on his head, like he couldn't do any wrong. The girl who looked at him like he would never hurt her.

But, she didn't die.

No, Pouty was alive and she went through worse than he'd imagined because of what he'd done to her. The voice of Alfred as he narrated in detail everything she'd gone through was like a suckers punch to his gut. Bile rose in his throat, just thinking about it.

A scream rose in the air. And another. And another.

They were filled with so much agony and misery that every changeling within a hundred miles would be able to feel them.

Wolfariane’s shoulders tensed. He placed the ring in the drawer before standing up and walking out of his bedroom towards her room. It was a struggle to breathe when his wolf was going berserk inside him like a feral animal.

He entered her bedroom, automatically glancing at the bed, but she wasn't there. He followed the sobs, walked deeper into the room, and found her sitting on the floor. She was so wrapped up in her grief, in misery that she didn't know she wasn't alone in the bedroom anymore.

Ismena startled slightly when a strong hand touched her shoulder. A shudder ripped from her as she smelled the familiarity of those strong arms that were reaching for her again and lifting her up.

Then, she was in his arms. He sat down on the edge of the bed, adjusting her on his lap before tugging her to his chest. Sobs after sobs racked her throat, she didn't try to hold them in.

"It's alright, Ena. You can let it all out. I've got you." He murmured into her hair, his hand stroking her blond mass in a consoling gesture.

For some reason, his words made her cry harder. Ismena felt like her heart was tearing apart in her chest—literally shredding apart. She was trembling, her tone muffled by his chest as she mourned the man that loved her unconditionally since she was a child.

Her father. Her poor father...

"It...hurts badly. It hurts so bad, Wolfie." She said, hoarsely. Her hand gripped her chest tight. Maybe, if I hold it tight, it would stop breaking.

It's been so long since he consoled someone close to him. Probably because everyone close to him had died apart from his sister who was still not close to getting healed after so many long years. As an alpha and a king, he consoled his people whenever they needed him, but it wasn't the same, especially when the woman in his arms was his mate.