Chapter 101: Chapter 101 Destruction From Within
Perry’s POV
I tossed the final limb to the wild wolves, watching them devour it with savage satisfaction. The pack looked more robust now, their muscles rippling beneath thick fur.
They’d gorged themselves these past several days.
The memory hit me—discovering this wolf pack during my first exile. Father had hurled me into these woods when I was barely adolescent, still unable to shift, all for his twisted amusement. He wanted to watch me suffer.
I tracked the last wolf as it seized a massive chunk of meat and disappeared behind the ancient oak. Following its path, I spotted what made my chest constrict—a pregnant female wolf waiting as her mate delivered the meal.
The scene ripped through me like claws. My lungs seized as the memories crashed down.
My child. Gone.
Our baby, lost because of my failures.
I’d buried this agony for days, wearing rage like armor. But beneath the fury, a tempest raged unchecked.
This tender moment between mates became my breaking point. My knees hit the forest floor as I clutched my chest, gasping for air. The weight of reality crushed down, and I couldn’t fight it anymore.
Truth battered against my defenses, shattering every wall I’d built.
——
The warriors exchanged uncertain glances as their king collapsed, his face twisted in anguish. None dared approach—they all knew better.
"Should we check on the king?" the first warrior whispered to his companion.
Four men stood frozen, but nobody moved.
"You go check," the second warrior suggested, though his feet remained planted.
"What about calling the royal gamma or beta?" another offered.
"Good thinking. Find beta Flynn or gamma Timothy."
One warrior sprinted away while the others held their positions, eyes locked on their suffering king. When Perry suddenly shifted into his beast form, they scattered like startled deer.
Instead of charging them, the massive wolf bolted toward the forest depths.
"What now?" The first warrior’s voice cracked with terror.
"Follow him into the forest?"
The others stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
Nobody entered those woods and returned alive—except the king. But now both wild wolves and the Mad King prowled those shadows. Who’d be insane enough to follow?
"We wait for the royal beta or gamma," one finally decided, and the others nodded frantically.
——
"Marcela!" Timothy roared for the healer, but an omega appeared instead, drawn by his desperate shouts. "Get the healer now!"
The omega froze at the sight of all the blood, her face draining white.
"Call the healer, NOW!" His voice cracked like thunder.
She snapped out of her shock and bolted to find Marcela.
He pressed his hands against the worst wounds, trying to stem the bleeding, but gashes covered her entire body. Two hands weren’t nearly enough.
"Damn it all!"
He cursed under his breath, mind racing. An attack? No—these wounds weren’t meant to kill quickly.
He’d seen enough torture to recognize the pattern. These cuts were designed to cause maximum pain, not death.
"Did you do this to yourself?" He shook his head in disbelief. How had everything changed so drastically?
This morning, Phoebe had been catatonic, completely unresponsive. Marcela should have noticed if something shifted.
She’d only left to prepare medicine—a brief task.
"Timothy!"
"Get in here, quick!"
Marcela’s face went ashen at the carnage, but she recovered fast, rushing to examine Phoebe’s condition.
"Why is she like this?" Marcela’s voice broke. "I left her moments ago!"
"I don’t know! She was already like this when I arrived!" Timothy stepped back, letting Marcela take over. Her healing magic flowed immediately, fighting to preserve Phoebe’s fading life.
Marcela poured all her strength into stopping the hemorrhaging, but some wounds ran too deep.
"Did someone attack her?" Marcela glanced at the overturned table and shattered glass littering the floor. But even as she asked, doubt clouded her features.
Timothy shared her suspicion. "No. I don’t think anyone attacked her." The words tasted bitter, but he couldn’t keep them locked inside. "I think she tried to kill herself."
No foreign scents lingered in this room—only Phoebe’s blood and their own panic. This destruction came from within.
