Chapter 8: Power and Poison
1147 Words
Donnavan Black’s POV
The air in Donnavan Black’s office was thick with the stale bite of whiskey and damp parchment. He sat hunched at his desk, a half-empty bottle within arm’s reach, fingers drumming restlessly on oak stained by decades of secrets.
On the papers before him were coded manifests—drug crates disguised as herbal exports, encrypted coordinates for rogue wolf shipments, ledgers soaked in blood and profit.
“Ten more wolves this month,” he muttered, eyes gleaming. “And five crates of Silver Fang ready for distribution. The Council won’t see it coming.”
Behind him, Mary Black stood with her arms folded near the tall window, her silhouette a cold contrast to the fire flickering in the hearth.
“You’re pushing too fast,” she said evenly. “Silver Lake patrols are getting closer. If one of those mutts breaks, we’re exposed.”
Donnavan took a long drink from his glass and scoffed. “Let them bark. Rogues, orphans, addicts—no one cries for the ones we take. No one even notices they’re gone.”
Mary stepped forward, dropping a sealed folder onto his desk. “Noticed or not, we need tighter controls. This file says two shipments were delayed. One handler was caught with a pup in a border town. You promised clean operations.”
“I promised results,” he snapped, grabbing the file and flipping it open. “And we’re getting them. The wolves are desperate. They’ll sell out their own for a dose. Or a meal. We control supply, we control them.”
Mary studied him, her tone cool but laced with caution. “You’ve lost three handlers in a month. And you’re drinking more than usual.”
He glared at her. “I know what I’m doing. You think I built this empire off charm and charity?”
“No,” she said slowly, “but I know how quickly power crumbles when pride takes the wheel.”
Flashback: The Abuse Behind Closed Doors
The room had gone cold.
Isla, barely nine, huddled in the corner—shaking, silent. Donnavan stood over her, belt still in hand, the leather dark with blood. His breath reeked of whiskey and wolfsbane, the vile mix numbing both his guilt and his wolf.
“You think I wanted you?” he sneered. “You’re a parasite. A curse that should’ve died in the womb.”
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t cry anymore. That made it worse.
“Say something, damn you!” he roared, half-shifting in rage. Claws sprung from his fingers. Odin—his darker, feral wolf—pressed at the edge of his control.
He lunged, stopping just short. Just enough to scare. Just enough to remind her she was prey.
Back to Present
Donnavan set the glass down and exhaled sharply. Isla. That girl had grown too bold for her own good—too much like him, or worse, like Jeremy.
“I should’ve buried her with her damn mother,” he muttered. “She’s a liability.”
“She’s gaining confidence,” Mary agreed, eyeing him carefully. “Sierra’s losing her grip over her. The other pups are starting to notice.”
“Then put her back in her place.”
Mary hesitated. “We could use her. Leverage. She’s still your blood, Donnavan. That has weight, especially among the inner packs.”
“Blood?” He let out a hollow laugh. “Jeremy’s the only reason that girl has any spine. And he’s gone.”
Flashback: The Confrontation
It started with whispers. Quiet ones. Missing pups. Crates that didn’t add up. Moonroot shipments arriving with something darker.
Jeremy had always been too curious for his own good.
He burst into Donnavan’s office that day with fire in his eyes.
“You’re trafficking wolves—our kind. Addicts. Children. What the hell have you become?”
Donnavan had leaned back in his chair, calm. Cold.
“I’ve become what this pack needs. You and your noble delusions would’ve gotten us all killed.”
Jeremy slammed a fist onto the desk. “I’m taking this to the Council.”
“You won’t get the chance.”
Jeremy paused then—just for a second. But it was enough. Donnavan had already made up his mind.
Back to Present
Mary watched him from across the room, arms folded, voice quieter now. “You still think about that night?”
“I think about how necessary it was.” He stared into the fire. “Jeremy would’ve burned everything down to save a few strays. I saved the future.”
Mary didn’t argue, but her eyes narrowed slightly. “And what if Isla is more like him than you thought?”
“She’s not,” he snapped. “Jeremy was brave. Isla’s just a broken girl playing warrior.”
Mary raised an eyebrow. “Broken things have sharp edges.”
Donnavan grunted. “We’ll keep her under watch. Let Sierra torment her a little more. She’ll break eventually.”
Flashback
It was the night they found Jeremy’s body—or what everyone believed was his body.
The pack had gathered. Firelight bathed the clearing in gold and ash. Donnavan stood alone after they all left, staring at the pyre’s dying embers.
“Gone,” he whispered. “You coward.”
He hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even blinked. But something broke in him that night.
Jeremy had been the last voice of conscience. The last threat. With him gone, there were no more mirrors—no more reminders of what Donnavan could have been.
After that, the drinking worsened. The beatings escalated. Isla became an outlet. Dakota became a burden. The only thing left to love was power—and Mary, who fed it like a flame.
Mary sat on the edge of his desk, crossing one leg over the other. “Axel’s been sniffing around again. He’s asking questions about Sierra. About Isla.”
Donnavan growled. “Axel’s too wrapped up in his grief to do anything. His mate’s death broke him.”
“Grief can sharpen a man,” she replied. “We should watch him too.”
He downed the last of his drink and rose, pacing to the window. “We’ll deal with Axel if we must. For now, Isla’s the one we focus on.”
Mary stood and adjusted her blazer. “Then let me handle her. Keep her scared. Keep her confused.”
Donnavan nodded. “Do it quietly. No loose ends.”
Mary tilted her head. “And if she doesn’t break?”
“She will,” he said, eyes darkening. “Whatever spark Jeremy might’ve lit in her died the night I lit his pyre.”
But even as he said it, something twisted inside him—an itch he couldn’t quite reach. A whisper in the dark.
And still, he poured another drink.
- Writer
