Chapter Nine— Reckoning in the Guest Wing
953 Words
Alpha Treston sat with Taunie curled against him, her head resting on his chest, her breathing soft but uneven. Every time she shifted, he felt the tremor in her muscles — the lingering fear, the pain, the exhaustion. His wolf pressed forward, protective, furious, aching to tear apart anyone who had ever laid a hand on her.
He brushed a thumb along her cheek, careful not to touch the bruised areas.
She leaned into the contact anyway.
She felt safe enough to sleep.
But not safe enough to let go of him.
Treston kept one arm around her, the other resting on his knee, fingers tapping with barely contained rage.
Jermaine was coming.
He had been in the dungeon when Treston found her — had watched the moment Treston realized the broken girl on the floor was his fated mate. Jermaine had seen the fury ignite in Treston’s eyes. He knew exactly why he’d been summoned.
And still, Treston waited.
Taunie stirred, voice small. “He’s… he’s coming, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Treston murmured, tightening his hold. “But you’re not facing him alone.”
She swallowed hard, fingers curling into his shirt. “I don’t want him near me.”
“You won’t have to endure that,” he said, voice low and steady. “Not while I’m breathing.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Taunie flinched violently.
Treston’s wolf surged, dominance flooding the room so thick the air vibrated. He didn’t tell her to be brave. He didn’t tell her it was fine. He simply shifted her gently behind him, shielding her with his body as he stood.
“Enter,” he said, voice like a blade.
The door opened.
Alpha Jermaine stepped inside.
He looked nothing like the confident host from earlier. His face was pale, eyes hollow, shoulders tense with a mixture of guilt, shock, and something darker.
His gaze flicked to Taunie.
She whimpered and hid behind Treston.
Jermaine’s breath hitched.
Treston didn’t move aside. Didn’t bow. Didn’t acknowledge Jermaine’s rank.
He stared him down, voice quiet but lethal.
“You watched me find her,” Treston said. “You watched me lift her out of your dungeon. You watched her cry in my arms.”
Jermaine swallowed hard. “Treston—”
“No.” Treston stepped forward, dominance slamming into the room like a shockwave. “You don’t speak until I’m finished.”
Jermaine froze.
Treston’s voice dropped to a growl.
“You beat my mate. You let your pack torture her. You left her to rot under your own house.”
Jermaine’s eyes filled with something between horror and regret — but Treston didn’t care.
“You invited me here to find my fated mate,” Treston said, “and I did.”
He glanced back at Taunie, softening for a heartbeat.
“Now I’m going to protect her.”
His gaze snapped back to Jermaine, cold and merciless.
“And you are going to answer for what you did.”
Alpha Jermaine stepped farther into the room, shoulders squared, trying to reclaim the authority he’d lost the moment Treston carried Taunie out of the dungeon.
His eyes flicked to her — trembling behind Treston, wrapped in his shirt, refusing to look at Jermaine — and something ugly twisted across his face. Not guilt. Not remorse.
Annoyance.
“This is my pack,” Jermaine said, voice cold and dismissive. “And in my pack, omegas know their place. She is nothing more than—”
Treston moved before the sentence finished.
One second Jermaine was talking.
The next, Treston’s hand was wrapped around his throat.
Jermaine’s back slammed against the wall, the air punched from his lungs. Treston didn’t roar. He didn’t lose control. His dominance was quiet, focused, lethal — the kind that didn’t need volume to be terrifying.
“You will never,” Treston said, voice low and vibrating with restrained fury, “speak about my mate like that again.”
Jermaine clawed at his wrist, but Treston didn’t budge.
Taunie whimpered behind him.
Treston’s eyes darkened. “She hears you. She remembers everything you did. And you dare call her ‘nothing’?”
Jermaine tried to respond, but Treston tightened his grip just enough to silence him.
Then — with deliberate calm — Treston dragged Jermaine out of the room.
He didn’t throw him.
He didn’t shove him.
He walked him backward by the throat, step by step, until they were in the hallway.
Then he kicked the door shut behind him so Taunie wouldn’t see what came next.
Jermaine barely had time to inhale before Treston leaned in and delivered a brutal head‑butt — controlled, precise, meant to stun, not maim. Jermaine staggered, grabbing the wall for balance.
Treston didn’t give him time to recover.
A punch to the ribs.
A strike to the jaw.
A knee to the stomach.
Not graphic.
Not excessive.
Just enough to make Jermaine understand exactly who he had provoked.
Jermaine collapsed to one knee, breath ragged.
Treston stood over him, chest rising and falling with the effort of holding himself back from doing more.
“This isn’t a disagreement,” Treston said quietly. “This isn’t a misunderstanding.”
Jermaine looked up, dazed, furious, humiliated.
Treston’s voice dropped to a deadly calm.
“This is war.”
The words hung in the hallway like a death sentence.
Jermaine’s eyes widened — not in fear, but in the dawning realization that he had just created an enemy he could never overpower.
And Treston turned his back on him, walking back into the room where Taunie waited — choosing her over Jermaine, over diplomacy, over peace.
The door closed.
The war began.
- Writer
