Dark Moon Rising

The Confrontation

Freya's POV

The Confrontation

We arrive at one of the underground dens where my packmates have locked away the rogue. He’s from the Shadow Claw Pack—wolves who are as elusive as shadows themselves. If one of them took his own life rather than reveal their secrets, it’ll probably take a while to crack this one.

The Shadow Claws are like ghosts. There’s nothing solid on them, not even the name of their Alpha. It’s unclear if the Alpha was even present tonight, though it was their pack that hosted the Gathering this year.

Lucian and I made the trek here together. He was reluctant about being blindfolded, but I couldn’t risk him knowing the location of our holding dens.

As we pass through the heavily guarded tunnels, we find Fen and Seraphina standing watch outside the cell. Alaric has already returned to Crimson Fang territory on Lucian’s command for reasons he hasn’t shared with me.

“Finally. What took you so long?” Seraphina mutters, her eyes narrowing.

“None of your business. Let’s get this over with—I wasn’t planning on lingering in Silverfang territory for long,” Lucian growls, his wolf barely restrained.

“Someone’s in a mood,” I murmur under my breath, drawing in a deep breath to steady myself.

Lucian shoots me a death glare, but I just flash him an innocent smile and roll my eyes before turning back to the cell door. I school my face into a mask of calm as I unlock it and push it open.

The rogue inside is shirtless, his chest marred with old scars. His cheek is bruised, likely from earlier when Fen got a little too enthusiastic. His eyes lock onto me, a smirk curling his lips.

I narrow my gaze, suppressing the urge to bare my fangs at him. Filthy rogue.

I sense Lucian tensing beside me, his fists clenching as if he’s moments away from shifting. The urge to tear the rogue apart is written all over him, but he holds back—for now.

Lucian's POV

The desire to rip this rogue to shreds burns through me, but I can’t figure out why. Is it because of how he’s looking at Freya?

Freya steps forward, her presence radiating dominance. I remain near the door, watching as her packmates move to the sides of the room, giving her space to work.

Her back is to me, but I swear I see a faint smile on her lips as she circles the rogue, assessing him like a predator sizing up its prey.

His torso is inked with tattoos, one of them bearing the mark of his pack—a snarling wolf beneath a crescent moon. Bruises scatter across his skin, evidence of the rough treatment he’s already endured.

She comes to a stop behind him, leaning in just enough to make him feel her breath on his neck.

“What’s your name?” she asks, her voice steady, calm.

“Zephyr,” he replies, almost too quietly.

She hums in response, turning to the table behind her, which is lined with various tools. Her eyes scan over them, clearly considering which one will coax the truth out of him.

“So, are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Zephyr snarls.

Freya turns back to him, a gleaming silver knife in her hand. She grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back so their eyes lock.

“Well then, may the Moon Goddess have mercy on you, because I won’t,” she says, her voice dripping with cold certainty.

Freya's POV

I stand over him, the rogue, or whatever his name is, and twirl my silver dagger between my fingers. The den is dead silent, every wolf here was waiting for my next move. He reminded me of my ex, at least in appearance. That bastard betrayed me, and I made sure he paid for it. A fair punishment, right?

With a swift motion, I plunge the dagger deep into his thigh, drawing a howl of pain that echoes through the room, a sound that almost feels like music to my ears. I twist the blade, earning another agonized cry. And too bad for him, the blade is not only silver but it’s also been dabbed in wolfsbane powder.

Then, I move to the other thigh, working my way up and down, slicing through flesh and muscle. If this doesn’t break him, we’ll go for what he holds most dear, his ability to sire pups. Even though it's already obvious that he won’t be able to after tonight, one way or another.

“Still not talking?” I ask my voice cold and taunting.

He’s panting heavily, glaring at me with a hatred that burns like fire. Speaking of burning, I should switch to something hotter. Maybe fire would force out the truth.

I sigh and circle him, laying the dagger down and letting my fingers glide over the array of tools before me. I pick up an artificial silver-tipped claw, one of my favorite implements. It’s quite precise, and perfect for carving out secrets.

The claw glints in the dim light as I inspect it with a smile. “I like silver claws,” I tell him, my tone almost conversational. “They’re quiet. They never run out of ammunition, unlike a gun.” Did I mentioned that i see the use of guns as something reserved for cowards?

His eyes shot at the claw, then quickly looked away.

“Guns are noisy and brutish; I don’t really like them. But I love my silver claws, because… they’re elegant, fast, and lethal.” I murmur, bringing the claw under his jaw, and lifting his head until his eyes meet mine.

He only glares at me.

My playful demeanor fades, replaced by my more serious, colder self.

“Do you know why you’re here?” I interrogate.

“Because you’re a b***h?” he spits out.

A smirk of amusement crosses my face. “Feisty. I like that.”

I sigh, tired of the evening’s games. “Look, we’re all weary here. Why not just spill everything you know, and I promise your death will be quick, painless even?” I raise my eyebrows in a mockingly suggestive way.

He stares at me with unrelenting hatred, the scent of defiance thick in the air.

My eyes narrow, the tension in the room palpable as I see his jaw tighten. His defiance is a challenge, one I can’t ignore. I glance at Lucian, who stands beside me, a silent understanding passing between us. It’s time to escalate.

With cold determination, I step closer, my gaze piercing into his very soul. “You think you’re tough, huh?” I hiss, my voice low and menacing. “But you have no idea what we’re capable of.”

I see fear flicker in his eyes, a glimmer of doubt cracking through his mask of arrogance. Victory feels close, just within reach.

Lucian steps forward, his presence a dark shadow at my side. He draws a thin line of blood along the man’s cheek with a flick of his wrist, a silent warning of what’s to come.

“You want to play games?” I growl, my patience wearing thin. “Fine. But you’re going to regret it.”

As Lucian’s blade hovers dangerously close to the man’s skin, inch by agonizing inch, a rush of adrenaline surges through me. This is it—the moment of truth.

“We’re not asking nicely anymore,” I murmur, my tone dripping with menace. “You have information, and we’re going to get it, one way or another.”

With each unanswered question, Lucian’s blade slashes through the man’s skin, leaving trails of crimson in its wake. I remain stoic, my gaze is unwavering as my companion pushes the boundaries of pain and fear, determined to extract the truth from our captive.

Finally, the man cracks, words tumbling from his lips like a dam breaking under pressure.

“I don’t know the Alpha’s true name—only his inner circle does. But the one I answer to…” he coughs, spitting out blood, hunched over as far as his restraints allow. “His name is Death Bringer. He is—”

He’s interrupted by laughter—mine and Seraphina’s.

The sound is almost broken, but seriously, Death Bringer? Who names their child something so cliché?

Our laughter dies down as all eyes in the room focus on us. Some look annoyed—Lucian, for example—while others, like our captive, glare at us with seething hatred.

We turn back to him, and he continues to talk, spilling more details about his Alpha’s plans and location. When he’s finally done, I stretch out my claws and strike a single blow to the rogue’s neck. A swift, merciful death. He didn’t deserve it, but I’m tired, and it seems our next destination is the Shadow Claw Pack’s territory, deep in the forest.

As I look into Lucian’s eyes, a silent understanding passes between us. We’re in this together, bound by blood and betrayal, forging ahead into the unknown.