Alec sat in his room, his knuckles swollen, oozing with the same fresh blood that streaked the wall where his fists had collided time and time again until he lacked the strength to continue.
He sat now, his fist striking the floor, exhausted. The only small salvation was that Micah had claimed Jesse before her father could complete the rite. But seeing her like that, seeing what his own hands had done to her, he knew the damage had already been done. Her fight had been extinguished. He struck the floor again, his mangled flesh screaming in a protest he ignored.
‘Traitor, traitor, traitor.’ He pressed the heel of his hand to his heart, his eyes squeezing shut, only to see himself bringing down that weapon again and again. He felt a tug in his chest and was on his feet, staring outside at
