Ezra’s POV

Pay. She will pay in blood.

I stared at the severed head resting on the dining table. It had been staring back at me for hours, those blank, glassy eyes mocking my failure. A gift from my ex-mate, delivered on a silver platter.

"I am tired of losing," I muttered, my voice barely audible before I exploded. "WHAT AM I TO DO?!"

I swept the table clean, sending ceramic plates and crystal glasses shattering against the walls. My guards flinched, their heads bowed low. Even Kaecy, my own brother, stared at me with that same hollow, terrified look.

"Useless!" I lunged at a newly recruited general, pinning him to the table. "You have no ideas? No strategy? Sienna was more useful to me dead than you are alive!"

With a savage motion, I sliced his tongue out, throwing the wet, bloody muscle onto the table before him. He collapsed into a whimpering heap. When another guard dared to suggest I was losing my edge, I didn't hesitate—I silenced him with the same blade.

"Talk when I say talk," I snarled, watching the crimson bloom across the wood. "Or lose your tongue along with your pride."

I paced the room, the scent of rot and copper filling my nostrils.

I’ll take this entire pack down with me,

I thought, a manic smile spreading across my face.

As long as I get to break Cass. My sweet, defiant mate.

Kaecy’s POV

My brother had lost his mind. He was a monster who had turned our pack into a graveyard of his own making.

Ezra was pacing when Alpha Oliver walked in, his presence an unsettling contrast to Ezra’s chaotic energy. They discussed alliances, their voices low and calculated. Oliver was a parasite, feeding off Ezra’s madness to reclaim his own lost power.

"If we can't persuade the other packs to join us," Oliver said, his voice smooth as oil, "we will force their hand. They don't have to love us to fear us."

I stayed in the shadows, making myself invisible, as I had learned to do. As soon as the room cleared, the tension evaporated, replaced by a suffocating silence.

That night, I made my way to the game room—the only place we could breathe. Christoph, my father’s former beta, sat in the corner, nursing a drink. He, like me, played the role of the broken man, hiding in plain sight.

The old cook, Matilda, entered shortly after, carrying a tray of pastries. It was her usual routine, but tonight, the air carried a different weight.

"Here you go, young Alpha," she said, offering me a treat.

"Did the grain come from outside the pack?" I asked, my voice steady.

"No," she replied, her eyes meeting mine with a flicker of resolve. "But I’ll be using a new batch tomorrow morning. The blueberries are in bloom."

Christoph joined the dance. "We need to ensure the cooks throw away the rotten apples. Especially that one at the root, who is spoiling the rest."

"Is this apple newly arrived?" Matilda asked.

"Yes," the guard beside me replied, his hand trembling slightly.

It was code—a message hidden in mundane chatter. Ezra’s taster made poison impossible, but there were other ways to dismantle a tyrant. We were losing the pack to his madness, but we weren't powerless. Not yet.

Ezra thinks he has us on a leash,

I thought, watching his shadow lengthen against the wall.

He has no idea that the rot has already reached the foundation.