The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King

Chapter 77: Chapter 77 The Bloodshed Hidden Behind Gentleness

Aria’s POV

He stood there like an avenging angel, chest heaving, grey eyes practically glowing with rage.

His white shirt was slightly rumpled, and I could see a white bandage wrapped around his head.

Oh God. He’d come straight from the hospital.

Then I watched as Damian approach Connor and seize his throat with one hand.

The wolf dangled from Damian’s grip like a rag doll, his feet kicking uselessly in the air.

I’d never seen anything like it—the sheer, effortless strength it took to hold a grown man up by his throat with one hand.

But it was Damian’s face that made my blood run cold.

He looked... calm. Eerily, terrifyingly calm. Like he was discussing the weather instead of choking the life out of someone.

"Which hand?" His voice was soft. Conversational. "Which hand touched what’s mine?"

Connor made a strangled sound, clawing at Damian’s iron grip.

"Answer me." Still that same gentle tone, but something dark and ancient flickered in those silver-gray eyes. "Or I’ll just take them both."

"Damian—" I started, but he cut me off without even looking at me.

"Stay back, Aria."

It wasn’t a request. It was an order, backed by enough authority that my body obeyed before my mind could catch up. I took three steps back, hating myself for it even as I moved.

The second wolf—the tall one who’d boxed me in—tried to make a run for it. He made it exactly two steps before Damian’s foot came down on his ankle with an audible crack.

The scream that followed made every head in the bar turn our way.

"Going somewhere?" Damian still hadn’t raised his voice. He dropped Connor, who crumpled to the floor gasping and retching, and turned his full attention to the one now writhing on the ground. "I asked a simple question. Which. Hand. Touched. Her."

"P-please, Alpha King, we didn’t know—"

"You didn’t know?" Damian crouched down, and even from where I stood, I could see the smile that curved his lips. It was the most frightening thing I’d ever seen.

"You didn’t know that touching an Alpha King’s mate without permission carries a death sentence? That laying hands on any claimed female is grounds for immediate execution?"

My stomach turned over. Death sentence. Execution. These were words that belonged in medieval history books, not modern conversations.

But the terror on both wolves’ faces told me Damian wasn’t exaggerating.

"Right hand," the second one sobbed. "It was my right hand, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was marked—"

"Marked or not, you had no right to touch her." Damian’s hand shot out, faster than my eyes could follow, and grabbed the wolf’s right wrist. "This hand?"

"Yes! Yes, please, I’ll never—"

The crack of breaking bone cut off his words.

I flinched at the sound, at the scream that followed. Rachel grabbed my arm, her face white with shock.

The music had stopped. Everyone was staring now, a circle of horrified faces watching Damian systematically destroy these men.

"And you." Damian turned back to Connor, who was trying to crawl away, still gasping for air. "You put your hands on her arm. You were going to—"

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. His boot came down on the wolf’s hand with enough force that I heard bones shatter.

Another scream. More blood.

This was the Alpha King. The man whose gentleness with me had made me forget that he ruled through fear, that beneath his tender touches lay a predator who could destroy lives without blinking.

I wanted to look away. Wanted to tell him to stop.

But my voice had abandoned me, trapped somewhere between horror and a sick, twisted satisfaction that these men were paying for what they’d tried to do.

What was wrong with me?

"Damian, that’s enough." A new voice cut through the chaos—Rick, pushing through the crowd with three other massive men at his back. "Alpha, please. You’re still recovering from—"

"I’m fine." Damian straightened slowly, deliberately. Blood spattered his dress shirt—not his own. The wound in his side had to be screaming in protest, but his face showed nothing. "Take these three to the holding cells. I’ll deal with them properly tomorrow."

"Alpha King, please—" Connor tried one more time, reaching out with his unbroken hand. "We’ll do anything, we’ll leave the territory, just please don’t—"

Damian’s boot came down on those fingers. Another crack. Another scream.

"You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do." His voice never rose above that terrifying calm. "And right now, I’m telling you to shut the fuck up before I rip your tongue out and make you swallow it."

Silence fell like a hammer.

Rick and his men moved quickly, hauling all three wolves to their feet despite their injuries. The crowd parted to let them through, everyone carefully avoiding eye contact with Damian.

Then Damian turned to me. Really looked at me. And for just a second, I saw past the cold Alpha King facade to something raw and desperate underneath.

But the desperation quickly morphed into something else. Something darker.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, dangerous.

"What am I doing here?" I shot back, the wine making me braver than I should be. "What are YOU doing here, Damian?"

"I asked you first." He took a step closer, and I could see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "Answer me, Aria."

"I’m having drinks with a friend. Not that it’s any of your business." I crossed my arms. "You don’t get to keep things from me and then demand answers."

"Keep things from you?" His eyes flashed. "I’m trying to protect you—"

"By lying to me? By treating me like I’m too fragile to handle the truth?"

"That’s not—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him in waves. "Goddammit, Aria, you don’t understand—"

"Then make me understand!" My voice rose. "Or better yet, explain why you’re here. Are you following me now? Tracking my every move like I’m some possession—"

"You’re not a possession." The words came out like gravel. "You’re my mate. My future Queen. And when I got word that you were alone in a bar surrounded by unmated wolves, you’re damn right I came."

"I don’t need a babysitter—"

Before I could finish, Damian closed the distance between us in two strides and swept me up into his arms.

"Damian! Put me down!" I twisted in his grip. "I can walk perfectly fine—"

My hand pressed against his side and he sucked in a sharp breath.

I felt the dampness through his shirt but asked innocently, "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing." He kept walking, jaw clenched.

Fine. If he wanted to be stubborn, I’d make him regret it. I pressed harder against the spot as he took another step.

His breathing hitched but he didn’t stop.

"Really think you should put me down," I said, digging my fingers deeper.

"I’m fine," he ground out, though sweat beaded his forehead.

I shifted again, bumping his injured side. This time he stumbled, biting his lip hard to stay silent.

Seeing him fight so hard not to show pain—probably to keep from worrying me—made my chest tighten.

"Damian, please," I whispered, anger melting away. "You’re hurt."