Chapter 5: The Queen of Rotting Things
864 Words
The walk to the pack house took ten minutes.
Felt like ten years.
Every step squelched. Blood between my toes. Marcus's blood. Lucas's blood. Thomas's blood. The third one—I didn't even catch his name. Didn't matter. Dead men don't need names. Dead men just need dirt.
Ryder was behind me. Quiet now. He'd stopped shaking. Stopped crying. Maybe he accepted it. Maybe he was just in shock. Either way, he kept walking. That made him braver than most.
The trees were thinning. Lights ahead. The pack house. Big. Warm. Full of people who wanted me dead.
Good, the voice whispered. Let them come. Let them all come.
"You're smiling," Ryder said. His voice was hollow.
"Am I?"
"Yeah. It's not a nice smile."
I touched my face. My lips were curved. My teeth were showing. It felt like a snarl wearing a smile's clothes.
The first wave hit me before I saw them.
Two wolves. Big ones. Black fur. Yellow eyes. Damian's personal guard. They didn't growl. Didn't warn. Just attacked.
Smart dogs.
The first one jumped for my throat. I stepped left. My hand found his jaw. I grabbed the top. I grabbed the bottom. And I pulled.
Crack.
His head opened like a rotten fruit. He fell. Twitching. Dead before he hit the ground.
The second one stopped. Whined. Backed away.
"No, no, no," I whispered. "You came all this way."
I was on him before he could run. My knee on his chest. My fingers in his fur. He was crying. Whimpering like a pup.
"Shh," I said. "It'll hurt less if you stop fighting."
He shifted back. Human. Naked. A kid. Maybe seventeen. Tears in his eyes. Piss running down his leg.
"Please," he begged. "Please, Lila. I didn't—I wasn't—"
"Were you there?" I asked softly. "At the rejection?"
He nodded. Crying harder.
"Did you laugh?"
He nodded again.
I looked at his face. Young. Scared. Stupid.
I let him go.
He scrambled backward. Sobbing. Gasping.
"Run," I said. "Tell Damian I'm coming. Tell him to pray to whatever god he believes in. Because I don't believe in any. And I'm almost there."
The boy ran. Naked. Pissing himself. Screaming into the night.
Ryder stared at me. "Why did you—"
"Because," I said, wiping my hands on my torn shirt, "dead men can't deliver messages. And I want Damian to know. I want him to feel it. The waiting. The fear. The slow rot."
I started walking again.
"The killing is quick," I said over my shoulder. "The terror? That's the real feast."
The pack house gates were open.
Cowards. They knew locking them wouldn't stop me. So they left them open. An invitation. Or a trap.
I walked through.
The courtyard was empty. No guards. No warriors. Just shadows and wind and the smell of smoke from the chimneys.
"They're inside," Ryder whispered. "Waiting."
"Good. Less walking for me."
The front door was heavy oak. Old. Scarred. I'd polished it a hundred times. Kneeling. Rag in hand. Watching others walk past me like I was furniture.
I kicked it.
The door flew off its hinges.
Wood splintered. Metal groaned. The door landed ten feet inside, skidding across the marble floor.
The great hall was full.
Every pack member. Every warrior. Every elder. Sarah was there. Standing by the throne. Her perfect face pale. Her perfect hands shaking.
And Damian.
He sat on the Alpha throne. Gold. Stupid. Ugly. Like him. He was in his human form. No shirt. Muscles tense. His eyes were locked on me.
"Lila," he said. His voice was calm. Too calm. "You've made a mess."
I stepped over the broken door. My bare feet on the cold marble. Blood prints following me like flowers.
"I'm just getting started," I said.
Damian stood up. Slow. Deliberate. His claws extended. His eyes glowed gold.
"You think killing a few warriors makes you dangerous?" He laughed. Cold. Empty. "I've killed hundreds. I killed your mother while she begged."
The hall went silent.
No one knew. No one but me. And now? Now everyone heard.
Sarah's mouth opened. Closed. Her face went white.
Damian realized his mistake. His eyes flickered. Just for a second. But I saw it.
Fear.
"You're right," I said softly. "You killed her. And I hid under the bed like a rat. But I'm not a rat anymore, Damian."
My bones cracked. My skin ripped. The black fur exploded out of me like smoke from a fire.
I shifted.
Not slowly. Not painfully. In a heartbeat. One second I was a bloody girl in torn clothes. The next? A monster.
Black fur. Purple eyes. Teeth like daggers. Twice his size. Three times his fury.
The pack screamed. Women grabbed children. Men grabbed weapons that wouldn't save them.
Damian stepped back. One step. Then another.
"Lila," he said. His voice cracked. "We can talk about this."
I opened my mouth. My voice came out wrong. Deep. Rumbling. Like stones falling down a well.
"Talk?" I laughed. The sound shook the chandeliers. "My mother talked. Begged. Screamed. You didn't listen."
I took a step forward.
"Now? Now you listen."
- Writer
