Chapter 137: Chapter 137 Blood on My Hands
Seraphina’s POV
The world turned ice cold around me, as if all warmth had been drained from existence. I stared down at the ground where the brutal reality of my actions hit me like a freight train, so massive and devastating that my mind fought against accepting it.
The person sprawled in the dirt was not Dorian.
He was a large man, his body contorted unnaturally against the earth. Blood was everywhere, thick and dark, soaking into the dust beneath him. It streamed from his ears and nose, pooling around his head in a grotesque halo. A horrific gash stretched across his abdomen, bleeding out so rapidly I could barely process the sight.
My gaze traveled from his broad shoulder up to his neck, then to his face.
Time stopped.
It was Quincy. Julian’s father. My father-in-law.
"No," I breathed. "No, no, no, no."
I stared at my trembling hands. They shook violently, coated in sticky crimson that felt heavier than lead. I had done this. I had been aiming for Dorian.
I kept shaking my head, stepping backward slowly, that single word falling from my lips like a broken prayer.
Dorian’s hand suddenly clamped down on my shoulder with bruising force. He shook me from my paralyzed state of horror.
"Quit your pathetic sniveling, Seraphina," he sneered, his voice cutting and devoid of any warmth. "You got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you? You’re just a little monster, same as me. We’re both Daddy-made monsters."
"I’m not a monster!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "It was an accident! I would never hurt him!"
Dorian let out a cold, bitter laugh. "No accident here, little wolf. You were gunning for me. You just ended up murdering your mate’s father instead. So tell me, what are you going to say to Julian?"
He leaned closer, his breath frigid against my ear. "Everyone warned you the White Wolf could destroy everything, right? But they forgot to mention that I know exactly what White Wolves can do. And lucky for me, unlucky for you, I’m the only one who knows how to stop them. You’re not nearly as powerful as you believe, and you will never, ever be able to destroy me."
Then he vanished. Like smoke dissolving into air, leaving me alone with the corpse.
Terrible silence blanketed the clearing. The shock was so complete I couldn’t feel my legs beneath me. I collapsed to my knees beside Quincy.
He lay motionless. Utterly still.
I knew I should check for a pulse. I knew I should attempt to help. But I couldn’t make my hands move. They were drenched in blood, and each time I looked at them, I saw that gaping wound across his stomach, the carnage around his face. I had caused this. Even if he wasn’t my intended target, it was still my doing.
I knelt there, staring at the devastation I had wrought, unable to breathe, unable to cry.
The sound of running footsteps and panicked breathing shattered my trance. I forced myself to look up.
Julian appeared through the trees.
He spotted me first. Relief and deep concern crossed his features as he rushed toward me. Through our wolf bond, I felt his presence like a painful echo in my chest. He could sense my terror and overwhelming guilt.
But as he drew nearer, his eyes dropped. They landed on his father’s body and he froze completely. The concern vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, soul-crushing anguish. He released a sound that scraped against my eardrums, a high, mournful wail. Without looking at me, he dropped beside Quincy.
"Dad! Wake up! Please!" he screamed, his voice splintering.
Finally, he looked up at me. His eyes, now wide and glacial, swept over my form. They took in my dress, stained crimson. They saw my hands, covered in damning evidence.
He looked from the blood on my hands back to the blood surrounding his father, and the anguish transformed into something else entirely. Something razor-sharp and terrifying.
My vision tilted. The power I had unleashed, the blood, and the crushing weight of Julian’s despair became too much. The edges of the clearing blurred, and darkness consumed me.
I awakened cold, aching, and with a vicious headache that felt like hammers pounding my skull. I was lying on the hardwood floor of our bedroom.
The memory crashed over me like a tidal wave. The body, the blood, Dorian’s cruel smirk, Julian’s agonized screams.
A strangled sob tore from my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I scrambled up and bolted toward the bathroom, stumbling over my unsteady legs.
I ripped off my dress and cranked the shower to full blast. I needed to be clean. I needed every trace of that awful stickiness gone, even the memory of it.
I scrubbed my skin until it was raw and blotchy. I felt no pain, completely disconnected from my own body. The memories refused to wash away.
I sank onto the cold marble shower floor, pulling my knees to my chest. Hot water poured down on me, mixing with my endless tears. I sat there sobbing until my body ached and my throat burned.
Then the water stopped.
I looked up through the steam and tears. Julian stood there, silent.
He opened the shower door and retrieved a thick robe from the hook. Without speaking, he wrapped it around my trembling form, shut off the water, and guided me to the bedroom.
His touch was gentle but clinical, like a stranger’s.
I perched on the bed’s edge, shivering, tears still flowing. I reached out desperately to touch his arm, to feel our mate bond’s connection and beg him to hold me.
He flinched away.
He jerked his arm back as if my touch would sear him.
"Stop," he said. His voice was low, flat, and arctic.
My heart shattered. "Julian, please," I begged, reaching again. "I didn’t mean to! You know I wouldn’t kill anyone! It was an accident, I was trying to protect you—"
"I don’t know anything," he cut me off, his eyes dark with despair. He ran his hand through his hair, staring at the ceiling as if fighting to hold himself together. "You’re extremely lucky I brought you here first instead of throwing you directly into a cell, Seraphina."
He looked back at me, his face empty. "I have one question and I need complete honesty."
I nodded frantically, waiting for the question that would either save or damn me.
"Did you kill my father?"
I stared down at my hands. They were clean now, pink and raw from scrubbing. But the image of blood remained. I met his eyes.
In that moment, he saw the answer.
We were mated, connected. The instant I looked at him, he felt the guilt, the horror, the paralyzing truth radiating from me.
The pain struck him like a physical blow. I felt it deep within me, a blinding rush of hurt and disappointment that instantly became terrible, burning hatred.
"You," he roared.
"You did it! How?" His voice was hoarse, thick with unshed tears. "How, Seraphina? Why did you kill him? Why did you take my father from me?"
He didn’t wait for my response. He moved toward me with predatory speed.
He grabbed my arm roughly, not gently, in a punishing grip that made me cry out. He yanked me from the bed and began dragging me from the room.
"Julian, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!" I sobbed, stumbling to match his furious pace.
He hauled me through the house and outside. Everyone stared. Fang members stopped their activities and watched in horrified silence as their Alpha roughly dragged his crying, half-dressed mate across the grounds.
The walk was a blur of shame and pain. He didn’t stop, didn’t acknowledge me, didn’t slow until we reached the pack cells.
He halted at the heavy steel door. I clung to his arm, pleading. "Please, Julian, don’t! You know I loved him! I love you! Please!"
He remained silent. He unlocked the door, yanked me forward, and shoved me inside. I hit the cold, damp stone floor hard.
I looked up at him, silently pleading, but he was already turning away. He didn’t spare me a single glance.
