A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 52: Blood Price (+18)

Author’s Note: The following scene contains elements of torture and may be discomforting to some readers. Please proceed with caution.

Ace’s POV

My attention snapped to Aldrin. His jaw was clenched so tight the tendons in his neck stood out like cords, his breaths shallow and uneven. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead, and his eyes—glassy, unfocused—flickered with pain. Broken ribs, most likely. When our eyes met, his pupils contracted like a cornered animal’s - the glassy sheen of pain couldn’t mask the fear underneath.

Kilo’s voice cut through the room, rough and defiant. "You pieces of shit!" He jerked against the black magic chains binding him to the chair, the metal links clinking like a death knell. "What the hell are you planning to do with us?"

Ray’s fist cracked against Kilo’s cheekbone before the last word had fully left his mouth. The impact sent Kilo and the chair skidding sideways, legs screeching against the floor. Blood sprayed from his split lip, droplets scattering in an arc before splattering against the cold ground. Kilo’s chest heaved, his nostrils flaring as he choked back any sound of pain.

"Kilo!" Mush’s voice was a frayed thread, weak and trembling. His face had gone ashen, either from blood loss or the magic chains leeching the strength from his limbs. His fingers twitched uselessly against the restraints.

Aldrin found his voice, though it cracked like dry kindling. "When I get my hands on you—"

I turned my head just enough to pin him with a glare—cold, deliberate, promising nothing but suffering. His threat died in his throat, his breath catching as something darker flickered in his eyes. Fear.

"Chief Gareth, you’re free to leave if this bothers you," Ray said, flexing his fingers and wiping Kilo’s blood from his knuckles, "You don’t have to watch this."

The chief stood rigid near the door, his hands clenched at his sides. The lines of his shoulders were tight, his gaze darting away from the bandits as if their pain pricked at something inside him. "I’ll stay," he muttered. "But don’t worry. I won’t get in your way."

Ray righted Kilo’s chair with a bored sigh while I stepped closer, my shadow falling over the three of them. My smile was thin, calculated. "Listen carefully," I said, my voice smooth as silk but edged like a blade. "Answer our questions, and this ends. Refuse..." I let the silence stretch, thick and suffocating. "...and we’ll peel the life from you, breath by breath."

Their eyes—wide, defiant, terrified—flickered between us.

"First question." My boots echoed as I paced. "Where’s your hideout?"

Kilo spat a glob of blood at my feet. "Rot in—"

My fist drove into his stomach. He doubled over with a choked gasp, his body convulsing as a strangled "Arghhh!" tore from his throat. Mush squeezed his eyes shut, his lips pressed into a bloodless line. Aldrin snarled, straining against the chains, veins bulging along his arms as he tried—and failed—to shift into his werewolf form. The magic links glowed faintly, draining his energy, leaving him panting and weak.

Ray exhaled through his nose, his voice dripping with icy precision. "Let’s try again. Hideout location?"

Silence.

Ray moved before the last echo of his words had faded. His fingers dug into Mush’s wounded arm, pressing into torn flesh with deliberate cruelty.

"ARRGHH! STOP—!" Mush’s scream dissolved into a whimper as Ray withdrew his hand, fingers glistening with fresh blood.

I crouched before Aldrin, fingers closing around his windpipe. His chair legs shrieked as I lifted him until we were eye-to-bloodshot eye. "Last chance," I whispered. "Or I let him peel your friends apart."

"Just... kill us..." Mush wheezed.

I slammed Aldrin into the wall. His head snapped back with a crack, fresh blood blossoming from his nose.

Why rush?" I snarled, whirling on Mush. "Consider this punishment for the travelers, merchants, and suppy caravans you murdered and robbed." My fist slammed into his jaw. The crack of bone echoed through the room.

Kilo’s laughter bubbled up through the blood in his mouth. "We only killed fighters. Ask your precious villagers... how many we let run..."

"This is pointless," Ray said, rolling his shoulders with a sigh. "Chief, fetch us duct tape, a hammer, and pliers." His fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on his thigh.

"Okay," Chief Gareth muttered, his voice hollow as he slipped out.

"I’m getting peckish," Ray mused, circling Kilo like a shark. "Your loyalty is touching. Shame your boss left you to die like the strays you are." His sudden laugh made even me tense.

"We’re nothing," Kilo roared. "So kill us alrea—!"

Ray’s boot slammed into his ribs. The force sent Kilo crashing into the wall, his body folding with a wheezing gasp before he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

"Kilo, shut up—!" Aldrin choked out, still tangled in chains on the floor.

The door creaked open as Chief Gareth returned, his arms laden with tools that clattered ominously. Ray snatched them from his hands before the chief could hesitate, his grin stretching wider—a predator savoring the hunt.

"What are you—" Mush’s question dissolved into a shrill scream as Ray slapped duct tape across his mouth.

The metallic screech of the tape roll echoed through the room as Ray worked with disturbing precision, humming under his breath like a craftsman beginning his work.

The pliers gleamed as he positioned them around Mush’s fingernail. Now, with pliers gripping Mush’s fingernail, he wrenched it free in one brutal motion.

"Aghhh—!" Mush’s scream vibrated uselessly behind the tape, his body jerking against the restraints. Blood welled from the torn flesh, pooling beneath his twitching fingers, dripping onto the stone floor in fat, crimson drops.

He had earned the title "artist of agony" for a reason.

I righted Aldrin’s chair, leaning close enough to smell the sour fear on his breath. "Every scream from your friends," I whispered, "is your doing. Their pain is your choice."

Ray’s cheerful countdown cut through Mush’s whimpers. "Three... two... one..." Each number punctuated by another nail ripped free, each scream more strangled than the last. Blood pooled on the floorboards, dark and viscous.

Mush’s entire body convulsed against his restraints, his face a grotesque mask of agony behind the silver tape. Kilo had gone frighteningly still, his breathing shallow as he watched his companion’s fingers become raw, bleeding stumps.

"Do you enjoy watching them suffer?" I asked Aldrin, tilting my head. His pupils dilated until only a thin ring of color remained.

"No!" he gasped, his voice breaking.

Ray moved to Kilo next, the hammer’s head catching the light as he swung. The crunch of breaking bone made even Chief Gareth flinch. Kilo’s scream tore through the room, his body arching against the chains.

I could see Ray slipping - his movements becoming sharper, less controlled. The way his breath hitched with each new injury he inflicted. We needed to end this.

With deliberate slowness, I removed my contact lens. My silver eye gleamed unnaturally in the dim light. Aldrin recoiled as if struck, his throat working soundlessly.

"One chance," I murmured, crouching to his eye level. "The hideout location, and all three of you will live." Behind me, Ray brought the hammer down on Mush’s pinkie with a wet snap. "Or he keeps going until there’s nothing left to break."

Aldrin’s chest heaved. "You’re... you’re Prince Ace. What could Silverhowl possibly want with—"

"Location." My voice cracked like a whip. "Now."

The sounds of Ray’s work filled the heavy silence - the creak of the hammer’s handle, Mush’s choked sobs, the drip of blood on stone.

"Northwest," Aldrin finally whispered, his voice breaking. "Three acacia trees mark the center. Please... just stop."

I stood, wiping crimson streaks from my hands onto my pants. The metallic scent clung to my skin. "If this is false," I said softly, "you’ll beg for death long before it comes." The contact lens slid back into place, my disguise restored.

Ray stood frozen, hammer poised mid-swing, his chest heaving. His knuckles were white around the tool’s handle.

"R." I caught his wrist. His pulse rabbited against my fingers. "We have what we need."

Chief Gareth stood by the door, his face ashen, but he nodded stiffly.

In the bathroom, the water ran pink as we scrubbed our hands raw. The copper tang of blood mixed with the sharp scent of soap. Outside, the night air was bracingly cold, clearing the last remnants of violence from my lungs.

The bandits’ pained whimpers faded behind us as we stepped into the moonlight. Somewhere northwest, their comrades waited.

Tonight, this ends.