Braiden
The last I saw, Ava was ripping my mother's head off. Then, all hell broke loose as both sides entered full-on attack
mode. Somehow, I now found myself here, cornered and outnumbered, the smug smirk on Sir Ravensborough's
face telling me this was his plan all along. S eparate me from Ava, Samuel, and the rest of the royal guards to take
me down. With me out of the picture, the wolves will be vulnerable. Leaderless. Exc ept he underestimates Ava.
They would still have her.
“This is your end, King of Werewolves.” Arrogant words coupled with an arrogant expression. I would rip it from
his face if it were the last thing I did.
I growl and paw the ground, ready for a fight. The Underground surrounding me are armed, some of their silver
bullets already lodged in my skin. As a black wolf, I could withstand more than most wolves, but even I had a limit.
Already, I could feel the effects weakening me. When I think how Ava endured this as a child and for most of her
life, my fur bristles with renewed determination. If I were going down, I would take as many with me as
possible—hopefully, even the devil himself.
In what may be my final moments, my thoughts go to Ava. She is alive, even if I can't reach her. It happens when
we're de ep in a fight; focus blocks everything else out. She isn’t dead—that much I know, as our mate bond
remains intact. I call out to her again, hoping to speak with her at least one more time.
“I wonder what will become of the royal pack once they find out you are gone. A blow to the werewolf world that
we will certainly take advantage of.” He continues smirking, and then I see him raise his hand, ready to signal the
attack.
Before his hand can drop, something comes flying over the man standing to his left, followed by a loud thud as it
lands right in front of Sir Ravensboroughs feet.
Jerry. His son. Lifeless eyes and pale, bloodless body, thanks to a large chunk of his neck missing.
His emotions change instantly, and I revel in his pain and the death of the man who had k ept me from my mate and
my beautiful daughter. If I were in my human form, I would spit on the corpse for good measure.
“No! Nooooo! Jerry!” He drops to his knees, his hands gently lifting the flopping head to rest on his thigh.
Who would have known. He actually has feelings.
His eyes shoot up to me and then outside the circle, looking for whoever did this. The anger and rage in their d epths
are a pleasant change from his arrogant smile.
“Kill them! Kill them all!” His shout sets everything in motion as gunshots fire. I jump to the side, a bullet grazing
my shoulder as I lunge for one of the guards. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another guard aim for me, a clear
shot to all my vital organs.
Before he can pull the trigger, a huge red and white blur pounces on him, ripping his arm straight out of the socket.
The next moment, wolves are peeling out of the darkness. Royal guards, Samuel, and even some of Darius’
warriors. Some of our men must have freed them from wherever they were being k ept.
It's absolute carnage, with our side having the upper hand. We are bigger, stronger, faster, and our healing makes us
a force to be reckoned with. I issue the instruction not to touch The Butcher, who is standing up, clearly panicked
as he looks for an exit. Even he can tell which way this will end and it’s definitely not in his favour. For the first
time since meeting him, fear r eplaces all other emotions. It is so strong that as the last of his guards fall, a stain
mars the crotch of his pants, and the stench of piss fills the air.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
I look around, my eyes finding the one person I long to see more than anyone—My Queen. Black eyes meet white,
but that is all the purity to be found. Ava's white coat is red with blood. We stroll towards each other, meeting in the
middle as our snouts touch. She looks like the angel of death.
Proud. Fierce. My equal in all ways. Mine.
I howl, followed by Ava and all the wolves around us. It is the sound of victory.
We walk over to Sir Ravensborough, his eyes wide with fright.
His fear-tainted scent, coupled with the smell of urine, makes the bile rise, and I almost vomit at the combination.
Samuel appears beside us, giving first me and then Ava some clothes.
While Ava shifts behind a tree, I stay where I am, my eyes never leaving the pitiful man standing before me.
Ava appears beside me, the blood from the battle thick on her skin. I am faring no better, and as the rest of the
wolves shift, we all look like the warriors we are. Bloodied, with their own blood and that of our enemies. I order
Samuel to arrange medical assistance for those shot with silver bullets, those effects not easy to overcome until the
pellets are removed.
“Please. Don’t kill me.” Ava laughs while I smirk. The change in the narrative now that The Butcher himself is
facing the end of his life is quite humorous.
I hated people like this. Where is his pride. At least if you are going to die, do it with a backbone still in place. He is
as spineless as his son.
Literally.
I put my arms around Ava, pulling her tight against my body.
“What makes you think I will let you live? After everything you have done to Ava. To our daughter. To our kind.
What makes you think you will be exempt from suffering in the same way. If not more.”
I kiss Ava on the head and then unwrap my arms around her.
“Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”
“No! Please. I will tell you everything. All three thousand five hundred wolves k ept at all thirty-five locations
worldwide. I’ll give them to you.
And all the senior members of The Underground. I’ll give you everything.”
Gasps echo around us, and my heart sinks at this news. So many wolves.
The entire operation. We could have it all, end The Underground for good,
if we spared this piece of shit's life. Revenge or all of that.
It's not my call to make.
I turn around, and Ava’s face is as shocked as the rest of us. And there are tears in her eyes.
“All those wolves. Suffering.” A tear slips from her eye, and I catch it with my thumb, a streak of white skin left in
its wake.
“You know as well as anyone what they go through. But the choice is still yours. If you want to end him, I will
stand behind you. We will find them another way.”
It is selfish, but I can’t take this away from her. After all this man has done to her, she has a right to end him. To
make him suffer.
She st eps toward the bastard who has created her worst memories, her worst events.
“I hate you. So much. Too much.” Her claws elongate, and he flinches as she puts her finger under his chin, the nail
poking into the skin until it draws blood.
She pushes it de eper, his face contorting with pain as tears stream down his face and snot starts running from his
nose.
“You’re pathetic. Really.”
She st eps back, a scowl on her face.
“I hate you, but I won’t let you make me a monster.” And with that, she walks away. It is done. This is the end.