Chapter 7: Punishing the Scum Wolf for Her?
1610 Words
Chapter 7: Punishing the Scum Wolf for Her?
(Seraphina Vance's POV)
Damien gripped the front of the iron bar with one hand, his fingers wrapping around the metal like a vice. Julian's eyes widened in shock as he realized he couldn't pull his weapon free.
As Damien twisted his body slightly, his other hand shot out with lightning speed. He grabbed one of Julian's arms and wrenched it backward with brutal efficiency.
The crisp sound of a bone dislocating and fracturing echoed through the room. It was followed instantly by Julian's agonizing, blood-curdling scream.
The iron bar clattered to the floor as Julian collapsed, clutching his mangled arm to his chest. His face had gone white with shock and pain.
"My arm!" he gasped, his voice high and breathless. "You broke my f*****g arm!"
Damien Blackwood, however, didn't stop. He lifted his long leg and mercilessly kicked Julian Thorne in the chest!
The sound of ribs cracking echoed through the room like dry branches snapping. Julian's body flew backward, slamming into the wall with a sickening thud.
This time, Julian broke more than just his arm. Several ribs were fractured as well, his chest caving inward at an unnatural angle.
He didn't even have a chance to groan before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed unconscious on the floor. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, pooling on my wooden floorboards.
However, the forceful movement tore at Damien's own silver wound. He frowned, his face growing visibly paler than before.
The color drained from his already pale complexion, leaving him looking almost ghostly. Fine lines of pain etched themselves around his silver eyes.
I noticed this immediately. I didn't spare a glance for the unconscious Julian on the ground.
Instead, I walked over to Damien and anxiously asked, "Did your wound tear open? Should we go to the Pack Healer's Den?"
My voice was tight with worry. The way he'd moved to protect me, despite his injury, made my chest tighten with an emotion I couldn't name.
"No need, I'm fine," Damien replied curtly.
As he looked down at me, he inadvertently caught a glimpse of the snowy white skin revealed by the collar of my pajamas. The soft fabric had shifted during the chaos, exposing the delicate curve of my collarbone.
His silver eyes darkened for a moment before he abruptly shifted his gaze to the unconscious Julian. The muscle in his jaw ticked with tension.
"How do we deal with this thing?" His tone made it sound as if Julian was a piece of trash needing to be sorted.
The casual dismissal in his voice should have shocked me, but instead, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction. Julian had terrorized me for months, and now he was nothing more than an inconvenience to be handled.
The heaviness in my heart dissipated, and I almost felt like laughing. The relief was so overwhelming that I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.
But when I saw my damaged door hanging off its hinges and the chaotic mess in the living room, I couldn't smile anymore. Splinters of wood littered the floor, and my few belongings were scattered everywhere.
If Damien hadn't been here today, I couldn't imagine what the consequences would have been. Julian's rage had been beyond reason, his strength fueled by alcohol and jealousy.
The thought that I had been living under Julian's surveillance every day sent a chill down my spine. My skin crawled with the knowledge that he'd been watching me, recording my every move.
The violation made me feel nauseous and disgusted. How long had that camera been there? What had he seen?
I was so thankful I hadn't completed the mating ceremony with him. If I had been bound to him permanently, if he'd had legal claim over me...
The thought made my stomach turn. I bit my lip harder, tasting copper as lingering fear coursed through me.
I snapped back to reality to see Damien on his phone, speaking to someone with his usual calm and cold demeanor. His voice was steady despite the pain I could see etched in his features.
"Yes, bring it as soon as possible," he instructed.
Bring what? I blinked in confusion, watching as he ended the call with efficient precision.
His movements were controlled, professional, as if dealing with violent intruders was just another Tuesday evening for him. The contrast between his composure and my shaking hands was stark.
Ten minutes later, a team of men arrived. Damien said they are his guard. I began to suspect he was the head of a group of rogue wolves. They moved with military precision, their boots heavy on my wooden floors.
A man, called Caleb, swept the scene, taking in Julian's unconscious form and the destroyed door with professional assessment. He nodded once to Damien before directing his team.
After taking photos of the scene for evidence, they hauled Julian off. Two warriors lifted him like a sack of grain, his broken arm dangling at an unnatural angle.
The miniature camera and the iron bar were also taken away as crucial pieces of evidence.
"He is the heir of The Thorne Pack, Julian Thorne, they will answer for this," Caleb said quietly to Damien before they left.
Not long after the guards left, a specialized team arrived to install a new door. They worked with the same efficiency as Caleb's men, their tools gleaming in the lamplight.
They worked for about half an hour before the job was done. The sound of drilling and hammering filled the silence, oddly comforting after the violence.
I had wanted to offer them some water for their hard work. It seemed like the polite thing to do, especially since they were helping me.
But they left efficiently as soon as they finished, so I had to drop the idea. They packed their tools and disappeared into the night like ghosts.
Looking at the brand-new door, my eyes curved into a smile. The wood was rich and dark, with intricate metalwork that caught the light.
"This door looks so solid, it probably won't be so easy to break down." I ran my fingers along the smooth surface, marveling at the craftsmanship.
Damien, having finished inspecting the lock's performance, raised an eyebrow at my words. His silver eyes held a hint of amusement at my obvious understatement.
"Didn't they tell you? The material of this door is forged with reinforced steel." His voice carried a note of pride in the quality of work his men provided.
My mouth fell open in astonishment.
I pointed at the door with a trembling finger and asked with difficulty, "Is... is it too much of a waste to use such a good door for my small lodge?"
How could my humble, rented room in a neutral territory lodge deserve the same protection as an Alpha's den? The door probably cost more than I made in a year as a healer.
The materials alone were worth a fortune, not to mention the specialized craftsmanship required to work. It was the kind of protection reserved for the most important pack members.
Damien let out a soft chuckle at my bewildered expression. The sound was warm, almost fond, and it made something flutter in my chest.
But in the next second, his expression changed drastically. The color drained from his face completely, and fine beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
His hand moved instinctively to his abdomen, pressing against the wound through his shirt. The movement was subtle, but I caught it immediately.
I noticed almost instantly. "Is the wound hurting again? You just said you were fine, you call this fine?"
My voice rose with concern and frustration. How could he stand there acting like nothing was wrong when he was clearly in agony?
The stubborn set of his jaw told me he was about to deny it again. Men and their pride - it would be the death of them.
Without waiting for Damien to answer, I couldn't care less about propriety. I pulled him by the arm back to the living room, my grip firm despite his size advantage.
"You won't go to the Pack Healer, and I happen to a junior healer." My voice brooked no argument as I guided him toward the sofa.
"If you don't mind, I can help you."
Damien's brow furrowed tightly, conflict clear in his silver eyes. For a moment, I thought he might refuse again, his pride warring with his obvious pain.
But this time he didn't refuse her, giving a low "mm." The sound was barely audible, but it was agreement enough for me.
I had him sit on the sofa, the leather creaking under his weight. His massive frame made my modest furniture look almost comically small.
Then I lifted his shirt to check the wound. The fabric was expensive, finely woven, and now stained with his blood.
The bandage on his abdomen was already soaked red with blood, making me gasp. The white cloth had turned crimson, the metallic scent of blood mixing with silver.
The wound wasn't just torn; it was actively being poisoned by residual silver in his system.
The silver wound was torn open like this and lost his wolf，yet he could still kick Julian into disability. The contradiction boggled my mind - was he too strong, or was Julian too weak?
I collected my thoughts, pushing down my awe and focusing on the task at hand. While unwrapping the bandage with careful fingers, I said to Damien, "I'll try to be gentle. Let me know if it hurts."
- Writer
