CHAPTER 103: MORON

Kaya

The pain hits me in repeating cycles. In and out, I get better and then relapse again.

There are hands touching me all over, lips mumbling something near my ear, yet I refuse to move. I don’t even open my eyes.

I am as good as dead anyway.

Sometimes I feel a burning pain as my veins are drained of blood. Cold metal piercing thin blue vessels. It makes me want to sleep, but I fight that urge like a cornered beast, because I don’t want to sleep. Because I don’t want to dream.

Because in my dreams, I am always hurting.

And sometimes... I remember. Remember the past that only brings more ache to my exhausted heart.

Damien’s plan was easy and straightforward: he needed a lot of money very fast, and the only way he knew how to do it was murder.

He said he wanted to protect me and execute revenge on my behalf. He said he wanted to create a world where I would feel safe and loved. He said he needed my help. He said he needed time. But he made a promise.

The same way I made mine.

So I trusted him. It was difficult not to.

When he held me close and told me how wonderful I was. When he kissed my scars and told me I was precious. When he showered me with love and gifts and made me feel special.

He said I was special. He said I was a diamond in the rough.

So I believed him. My starved heart needed someone to believe.

And just like that, we set forward, stealing, murdering, burning everything down.

Rogue packs. Separate clans. Wealthy wolves. Wealthy hunters. Anyone who was too weak to protect their health.

Little by little, we gathered money, power, land, and people. We built a pack in secret––loyal, angry, and utterly brainwashed. Because Damien was good at it. He was the devil, a charmer with an irresistible allure. And I was not the only one who fell for it.

Then, one day, he woke me up and smiled at me, peppering my face with light kisses like he always did.

"It’s time, precious," he told me in the most tender way. "We are finally ready."

Once again, the plan was easy––Camilla Theon of Cold Wind Pack needed a savior; someone to take her as his wife and save her pack from going bankrupt. Her father was weak, yet greedy for money.

Damien was strong and had a lot of wealth.

Camilla had no say in the matter.

And neither did I.

The union was struck. The packs were merged. And I lost my freedom again.

I was Damien’s favorite... among many others who were now a lot more important to him.

"I need you to give me your blood." One day, I heard Damien say that to me as he led me to a brightly lit, white room with only one bed and several unfamiliar machines in the middle.

"What.. for?" I asked like a fool, my blood freezing just from a mere thought.

He smiled at me and kissed my forehead, gently nudging me on the back as he walked me toward the bed. "You know my plan is very dangerous, sweetheart. There are a lot of powerful figures around me who get very suspicious of my favoring you above my Luna. They want proof that there is nothing wrong with you. They want to feel safe."

I didn’t know what it meant back then. I thought it was Camilla’s idea to begin with––perhaps she was scared to share a bed with a man whose bed was shared more often.

I guess, it made sense to me back then.

And I didn’t question him. During all the years we’ve been together, I knew I never had to question him. He always knew what he was doing. He always had a plan. He wanted me to be safe...

In and out.

Back into the room, out of the room. A needle in my vein, a needle out of my vein.

Blood out of my body. Blood into plastic bags.

He wanted me to be safe. He had a plan.

I was a fucking moron.

"Miss?"

A soft female voice brushes the edges of my consciousness, its pleasant sound almost soothing against my feverish mind.

I wince, my lashes fluttering, but my hazy state is hard to shake off.

"Miss?" The voice insists, louder this time, and somehow, I can’t help but react to it.

"Ugh," is the first sound that I can squeeze out of me, groaning as I realize my voice is out of my control.

"Can you hear me, Miss?" The woman’s voice is clearer now, and just as I am about to try and speak again, a small, yet rough hand presses against my forehead, forcing my eyes to snap open.

"Good, you’re back," the woman says, a soft smile on her thin lips.

My vision is still blurry, but I can see a general outline of her appearance. The woman before me is old, her long, gray hair gathered into a thick, tight braid that cascades over her shoulder. She has a small face and sharp features, but the wrinkles between her brows and around her mouth betray her withering beauty.

She keeps smiling at me––a genuine and kind smile, like a mother watching a child.

For a moment, I feel at ease. But that feeling doesn’t last too long.

Suddenly, a wave of panic crushes over me, spiking all my senses at once, yet somehow, all I can do is start hyperventilating and widen my eyes in an unexplainable fear.

The woman clearly sees it as the smile on her face fades, the corners of her lips turn down instead, the look of worry is too prominent.

"You must be shocked," she says in the sme calm voice. "I am Serena, and I am here to help you get better."

"Get... better?" I murmur, my confusion only growing. "How––"

I don’t get to finish, I don’t really need to. My eyes shift around, taking in my surroundings, and I see everything. The vials and tubes, the empty glasses smeared with liquids, the powders, the notes, the hourglass.

The woman before me is a witch.