(Rigel)

(The content of this Chapter can be disturbing for some readers. Contains torture. Discretion is advised. Keep your mental health in check.)

I sense extreme agitation from Amaia as if she is under stress.

What’s happening so early in the morning?

Arriving outside the door, I hear Alnilam and understand the reason for her stress.

That bastard, when is he going to stop hurting her?

I am about to barge inside and put an end to whatever new tactics he is using to torture her, when I hear the name Tarian. Her ex, who rejected and abandoned her. Alnilam tells her how he is with the Werewolf Council, awaiting trial.

Uh, no. I promised Amaia a garland of his bones. He tried to kill her; he doesn’t deserve a trial or a reason to live.

The location of the Werewolf Council is well known to me. I have been there many times in my childhood, and I know where they keep the prisoners.

My shadows merge with me, forming wings as well as camouflaging me. I take flight and it doesn’t take me long before arriving outside the Werewolf Council.

It’s a dull grey building with more concrete than one can imagine. Even looking at it will give someone depression.

Why are the werewolves such boring creatures is beyond me.

Without a care, I walk forward. My aura descends on the poor guards, and they lower their heads, whimpering, unaware of what’s hitting them. I face no difficulty and easily walk inside. My feet carry me towards the dungeon.

It’s a dark and grim place with not much light or heat.

Grabbing one of the guards, I hit him with an intense dose of my aura. He falls on his knees, whimpering. His eyes almost fall out of his sockets as he can’t see me but feels.

"Where is Tarian?" I question him, amusement dancing in my voice. The throbbing vein in his neck looks appetising but I am going to save my bloodlust for someone else.

With a shaky finger, he points towards the cell holding the weasel. Dropping the guard, I backhand him, turning him unconscious.

Amaia said, no killing. I am adhering to her advice except for one.

The scent of piss and blood hits me in abundance but I am no stranger to it. Being locked up for most of my life, I have regularly been humiliated in the worst ways possible. I know what’s done to prisoners.

Moving along the stony corridor, with my shadows alert on my shoulders, I stuff my hands deep in my pockets. I halt outside the cell that the guard has pointed towards.

My hateful gaze travels and finds the mut, scooped up in a corner, with his eyes closed, probably sleeping. The silver chains hold him, so he won’t transform.

The hatred consumes me, eroding me like acid. My hands turn into balls, stretching my veins. Eyes blaze with a fury I have been suppressing and it will be unleashed on him.

The shadows elongate ready to attack this piece of filth.

How dare he hurt my girl?

Any lingering humanity in me, I turn off as I let my shadows stuff his mouth, waking him up. His startled eyes shoot open as he finds me, standing outside his cell like his personal executioner.

He tries to scream but only muffled:

"uuuu," come out. Terror dances on his ugly face and I hit him with my aura, making that terror magnify.

He falls on the ground, whimpering, writhing in pain.

My shadows pull apart the heavy chains, holding his body and my darkness drags him out, ensuring his body feels the hardness of the ground.

I stretch apart the iron bars and take Tarian along. He and I will have a nice little chat before I execute my plans for him. My shadows ensure to keep Tarian concealed. We leave as I have come, and I take him towards the forest where he can freely scream, and no one will hear him.

I dump him on the forest floor between the fallen autumn leaves and twigs and he squeaks like a mouse about to be trampled under someone’s shoe.

Standing over him, I observe him. Every kind of horror is etched on his plain, uninterested face. There is nothing extraordinary about him and I want to complain to whatever god or goddess is out there on why my Queen was mated to this load of dog pile.

My shadows leave his mouth so he can speak.

"....who? Who are you?" He says trying to back away from me and against the thick tree trunk behind him.

Maliciously, I tilt my head at him. "Your slow and agonising death."

He trembles like a leaf which is about to fall. He is nothing but a wimp, undeserving of even looking in the direction of Amaia.

A weak pathetic man, he is not even an alpha. At least five of us are man enough for her. And this one took her virginity, her first kiss, her first love.

It enrages me to the point of madness.

I blink and the darkness dancing all around me turns into spears and impales this sorry excuse of a man to the tree by his hands and legs.

He screams so loud that the veins in his neck go taut. The blood oozes out of the punctured wounds on his palms and legs.

The scent of his blood hits the air, rousing my hunger.

"Please... please let me go. I beg you."

Good, this will be fun. I step closer. My hand claws around his neck and forcefully tilts it. He whimpers from the pain.

"You are wondering why you are in this situation. Let me refresh your memory."

My finger traces down the side of his neck, puncturing his artery. The blood gushes out. Horror intensifies on his face but my shadows hold him so tight he can’t even move a muscle.

"You were given a goddess to worship." I cover my hand with his blood and smear it all across his face.

"Instead of kissing the very ground she walked on, you hurt her. For that, I am sentencing you to a slow, merciless death."

I enjoy the horrors flashing on his face before my teeth elongate and dig into his neck. The taste is far from what Amaia’s blood holds but I have to make do.

"I ...am s...sorry, I wouldn’t... h...hurt her any...more." His voice breaks but it’s too late for him.

He thrashes, his body jerks but I don’t care.

Sating my thirst I leave enough blood in his system to keep him alive. His head hangs down but he is conscious and breathing.

I take my time decapitating his limbs, ears, eyes, hands, his dangling cock and then finally his heart, ridding this world of the pathetic asshole that he was.

Stepping back, I marvel at the piece of art I have created of him, and now all that is left is making the garland of his bones to be presented to my mate.

So I get to work, extracting bones from his ribs and arms. I will make the best garland in the world.