Brutal Punishments

"You're going to regret this!" Luna Cora snarls. The threat echoes down the hallway, sharp and laced with venom. I sprint away from the freshly painted room, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. My wolf, Sterling, pushes against my mind, his fur bristling with territorial rage. He wants to turn around. He wants to bare his teeth and challenge the mate of our Alpha for the blatant disrespect and assault. I shove him back into the recesses of my consciousness, building a thick mental wall. A mute Omega does not fight a Luna. If I fight, I die. We run.

I navigate the winding corridors of the Crimson Hollow pack house. The scent of pine and lemon cleaner burns my nose, masking the lingering musk of the heavy Alpha presence in the building. My chest heaves with every rapid breath. The front door is closer, but I cannot leave without her.

I skid into the massive industrial kitchen. Steam rises from huge steel pots on the stoves. The smell of roasted meat and garlic fills the air, mixing with the scent of fresh herbs. Marta stands at the center island, chopping vegetables with practiced rhythm. Her graying hair is pinned back, sweat forming on her brow. My adoptive mother. The only wolf in this goddess-forsaken pack who shows me an ounce of genuine kindness.

I rush forward, my feet slipping slightly on the smooth tiled floor. I grab her wrist.

She jumps, her knife clattering against the wooden cutting board. She slaps my hand away, her eyes widening in sudden surprise. She signs with quick, frustrated movements. *What are you doing?*

I do not have time to sign a full explanation. I just know the Luna’s fury will not be contained to that room. If Cora wants me dead, she will punish anyone who cares for me. I grab Marta's wrist again, ignoring her silent protests, and drag her toward the heavy metal back door.

She yanks her arm hard, breaking my grip. She plants her feet, her expression shifting from confusion to stern demand. *Explain.*

My hands tremble as I raise them to sign. *I did something bad. We have to go. Now.*

Her eyes soften with immediate, motherly concern. *Go where?*

Before I can form the signs for the deep woods, heavy boots pound against the tile behind us.

"There he is!" a gruff voice shouts.

I snap my head around. A dozen armored pack guards flood into the kitchen, their weapons drawn, blocking the interior exits.

"Get him!" the lead guard barks.

Panic spikes in my veins. I grab Marta’s hand and shove open the back door. The cool afternoon air hits my face. We burst out onto the dirt path behind the pack house. I pull Marta along as fast as I can, aiming for the dense tree line. The forest is our only chance. If we make it to the thick brush, we might lose them in the shadows.

But Marta is older. Her knees are bad. She struggles to match my frantic, desperate pace. The thud of combat boots grows louder, closing the distance with terrifying speed.

Marta’s foot catches on a raised tree root. She stumbles forward, her grip tearing from my hand. She hits the ground hard, a cloud of dust rising around her. She scrapes her palms and knees over loose rocks and debris. A silent gasp leaves her mouth.

I slide to a halt and pivot, dropping to my knees to haul her up. My fingers grip her shoulders, but a massive shadow falls over us. We are surrounded. At least twenty heavily armed guards form a tight circle, cutting off every possible escape route.

Two massive guards step forward. They snatch Marta by the arms, hoisting her up just to shove her aside. She crashes back into the dirt, clutching her ribs. A pained groan escapes her lips.

"Leave her!" I try to yell, but the words trap themselves in my damaged throat. Only a broken, guttural noise spills out.

A pair of thick arms wraps around my torso from behind. Another guard grabs my hair, yanking my head back. A steel-toed boot slams into the back of my knees. My legs buckle, sending me crashing down into the dirt.

Marta pushes herself up on her trembling hands. She signs desperately at the men, tears cutting clean lines through the dirt on her face. *Please, stop! He is a good boy! Spare him!*

A guard steps toward her and swings his heavy boot. The toe connects with her stomach. All the air leaves her lungs in a hollow wheeze. She curls into a tight ball on the ground, tears streaming down her bruised cheeks.

A deep, primal growl vibrates in my chest. Sterling thrashes against his cage. He demands blood. He demands retribution for his mother.

"Shut the fuck up, mutt," the guard holding my neck snarls. A massive fist connects with my jaw.

Bone crunches under the impact. The metallic taste of blood floods my mouth. The blow snaps my head to the side, black spots dancing across my vision. The guards do not stop. They take turns beating me without mercy. A boot catches my ribs. A heavy baton buries into my gut. A knee smashes against my temple. Each strike sends a new wave of blinding agony radiating through my nervous system. My wolf roars, scratching frantically at my mind, but I keep him locked down. Using an Omega wolf against Alpha-trained guards is certain suicide.

Marta opens her mouth in silent, agonizing wails. She crawls forward, grabbing at the armored legs of the men kicking me. She slaps their thighs, her face contorted in pure anguish. A guard shoves her backward with a careless flick of his wrist. She tumbles into the dirt again. Through the swelling of my left eye, I catch her gaze. I shake my head. *Stop. Don't fight them.* My plea is silent. She only cries harder, her hands trembling helplessly in the dust.

My vision blurs. The left side of my face goes numb. Just as I feel my consciousness slipping, a sharp command cuts through the courtyard.

The guards freeze. They step back, forming a neat pathway through the circle.

The heavy thud of designer shoes signals his arrival. Jaxon. The favored future Alpha. His broad shoulders block out the sun, his cold blue eyes locking onto my bleeding form. Right behind him is Luna Cora.

She puts on a masterclass performance. Her blonde hair is a tangled mess. The expensive scarlet dress she wore is torn at the bust and ripped along her thighs. She intentionally dragged her nails through the fabric to sell her disgusting lie. She covers her face, sobbing with dramatic, heaving breaths.

"Is he the one?" Jaxon asks, his voice thick with malicious anticipation. The prospect of inflicting severe violence brings a twisted, sadistic light to his eyes.

"Yes!" Cora wails theatrically. She points a manicured, trembling finger right at me. "He is the one. He tried to rape me!"

The lethal accusation hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. I force my jaw open, desperate to frantically protest, to deny the claim. I need to tell them about her sick advances, about the zipper, about the pink paint. But the old, familiar paralysis grips my vocal cords. A pathetic, stuttered gasp is the only sound I manage. My muteness is a prison, leaving me defenseless against her lies.

Marta shoves past the legs of a guard. She throws herself onto her knees in front of Jaxon. She points at me, shaking her head vigorously. A loud, desperate groan tears from her throat as she begs for my life.

Jaxon’s lip curls in deep disgust. He does not hesitate. He backhands the deaf woman across the face with brutal force. The crack of skin against skin sounds like a gunshot. Marta spins sideways, hitting the dirt face-first. She goes still.

Rage erupts in my chest, hot and blinding, but the guards pin my arms tighter behind my back.

"Someone get this moaning bitch out of here," Jaxon orders.

Two guards grab Marta by her armpits. They drag her limp body across the dirt, hauling her back toward the pack house. I watch her shoes drag limp trails in the dust until they disappear behind the heavy metal doors.

Jaxon steps closer. He crouches in front of me, grabbing my chin with a vice-like grip. His nails dig deep into my bruised skin, forcing me to meet his cold stare.

"Take this piece of shit to the dungeons," Jaxon commands. A slow, sickening smirk stretches across his face. "I will show him what happens when you try to rape your Luna."

From the corner of my good eye, I see Cora drop her hands. Her theatrical sobbing pauses for a fraction of a second. A sly, triumphant grin flashes across her lips. Then, she buries her face again, resuming her loud wails. The guards yank me upward by my hair and the metal cuffs around my wrists, dragging my battered body toward the one place I fear more than death.

The dungeons rest far beneath the training grounds. The air turns frigid the moment we cross the underground threshold. Damp stone walls stretch into a sprawling maze of black tunnels. Torches cast flickering, sickly orange light over the iron bars. The stench of stale blood, voided bowels, and rotting flesh suffocates the narrow corridors. I swallow hard, trying to fight the rising nausea.

Echoing moans of broken prisoners bounce against the wet stone. Each step downward feels like a step closer to hell.

The guards drag me into the center of the main torture chamber. The ceiling is high, vaulted in solid rock. Thick iron rings hang from rusted chains. Instruments of torment line the walls—crowbars, pliers, spiked bats, and leather whips coated in dried, dark flakes.

A guard unlocks my handcuffs. For a second, my arms fall to my sides, blood rushing back into my fingertips. But the relief dies instantly. They grab my wrists and force them into thick, heavy iron shackles dangling from a central chain. The pulley grinds above me. The chain retracts, yanking my arms high above my head. My shoulders scream in protest as my feet are lifted off the ground, leaving only the tips of my toes grazing the cold, blood-stained floor.

"Strip him," Jaxon orders, his voice echoing off the walls.

A guard steps forward. He grabs the collar of my shirt and rips downward. The fabric tears away, exposing my bruised chest. Then, rough hands yank at my jeans and underwear, tearing them roughly from my body. The cold dungeon air bites into my naked skin. I am left bare, swaying helplessly from the iron rings. Utter vulnerability crashes over me.

Jaxon walks into my line of sight. He stops in front of the weapons wall. His fingers trail over the tools before settling on a long, heavy chain whip. Torches glint off the tiny, razor-sharp blades woven into the leather. The sound of those razors dragging across the stone floor makes the hair on my arms stand up.

*Please, Moon Goddess,* I pray silently. *Just let my heart stop.*

The guards step aside. Jaxon circles around me, the heavy whip trailing behind him. Luna Cora steps out of the shadows, her arms wrapped around herself, playing the traumatized victim perfectly.

"I should kill you," Jaxon sneers from behind my exposed back. The leather creaks as he pulls his arm back. "But first, I think I am going to enjoy this."

The air cracks.

The first strike hits my back like a lightning bolt. Razors slice through my skin, carving deep trenches into my muscles. Fire erupts across my nerve endings. I clench my jaw, my teeth grinding together so hard my jaw aches. I swallow the scream clawing at my throat. I will not give them the satisfaction.

Another loud crack. The whip wraps around my ribs. The blades bite into my side, tearing chunks of flesh away as Jaxon yanks the weapon back. Blood warm and wet trickles down my spine, pooling at my hips, dripping down my thighs onto the floor.

My body convulses forward with each impact. Three. Four. Five.

The pain transforms into a blinding white static in my brain. Sterling whines in my head, pacing his mental cage, sharing the agonizing trauma of our torn flesh. The sharp metal barbs dig deeper with every swing.

"Scream, mutt!" Jaxon barks, his breathing growing heavy with exertion.

I keep my mouth shut. I bite down on my tongue until I taste the sharp, metallic tang of copper. I focus my blurry vision on Luna Cora standing near the heavy wooden door. Fat tears roll down her cheeks for the guards to see, but her eyes are bright with sick, undeniable pleasure. She is feeding on my destruction from the shadows.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

The skin of my back is gone, replaced by raw, shredded meat. My knees buckle, placing my entire body weight on my dislocated shoulders. The iron cuffs cut into my wrists, slick with my own sweat and blood.

Fifteen.

Jaxon stops. He breathes heavily, infuriated by my unbroken silence. He throws the bloody whip to the corner. It hits the damp wall with a wet slap. He marches to my front, his boots splashing in the small puddles of my blood.

"You think you are so tough?" he spits, grabbing my jaw. His thumb presses into my swollen eye. "I am going to make you talk. I will have you begging for death."

He drops my face and walks toward a blazing iron brazier in the corner. Glowing red coals crackle in the heat. Jaxon grabs a long, thick silver rod. He plunges the metal tip deep into the coals. Silver is a wolf's worst enemy. It stops healing. It burns like acid.

Sterling howls in my mind, a desperate, frantic sound. He pushes at the barrier, trying to force a shift. But shifting while chained in silver is a death sentence. It would tear our bones apart. I build my mental walls higher, locking him away to save us both.

Jaxon pulls the rod from the fire. The flat square tip glows a furious, sizzling orange. The heat radiates across the room, warming my freezing, naked body. He brings the brand right up to my face. The scorching metal singes the tips of my eyelashes.

"Are you afraid, mutt?" Jaxon snickers cruelly.

Sweat and blood drip from my chin. I stare into his blue eyes, keeping my expression as blank as my agonizing pain allows. I swallow the dry lump in my throat, refusing to grant him a single sound.

My silence enrages him further. His face twists into an ugly scowl. He lowers the rod, trailing the blinding heat down my bruised chest, over my stomach, stopping at the soft, unprotected flesh of my right hip.

He shoves the glowing metal deep into my skin.

A thousand needles of pure fire pierce my hip. Sizzling smoke rises instantly, filling the damp air with the putrid, unmistakable stench of burning wolf flesh. The silver burns through the top layer of skin, melting fat and muscle. My back arches against the chains. My muscles seize, tight as steel cables. The agony is beyond words. It is a blinding, deafening roar in my skull. I bite through my bottom lip. Blood spills down my chin. A muffled, guttural groan rips through my closed teeth. I gasp for air, choking on the smoke of my own burning skin.

Heavy boots march down the corridor. The rhythmic thud of authority echoes through the dungeon. The guards in the room snap to attention, standing rigid with their hands behind their backs.

Alpha Dorian arrives.

My biological father.

He steps into the torchlight, his massive frame radiating dominance. His Beta and Gamma flank him, their expressions grim. Alpha Dorian’s cold, unfeeling eyes sweep the room. He takes in the blood on the floor, the shredded flesh of my back, my naked, trembling body chained to the ceiling.

Jaxon curses under his breath. He pulls the brand away from my hip, taking a chunk of charred skin with it. He drops the rod onto the stone floor with a loud clatter. I hang limp, my chest heaving, fighting the blackness creeping at the edges of my vision.

Cora breaks the silence. She launches herself across the room, throwing her arms around Dorian’s neck. She buries her face in his broad chest, resuming her frantic, tearful act.

Gamma Declan steps forward. He looks at my mutilated body, his jaw tightening. A flicker of pity flashes in his eyes before he moves to gently pull Cora away from the Alpha. She growls at Declan, but he holds her firmly by the waist.

"What exactly is going on here?" Dorian demands, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates in the stones.

Jaxon crosses his arms, leaning back on his heels with arrogant confidence. "What does it look like?" he snaps back carelessly.

The air in the dungeon freezes. The guards hold their breath. Jaxon realizes his massive mistake a second too late. His hands drop to his sides, his eyes widening.

Dorian’s icy stare narrows. The Alpha does not shout. He does not yell. He moves with terrifying calmness. He steps past Jaxon, bends down, and picks up the discarded silver branding rod. The metal still pulses with a dull, hot red glow.

"Do you know why they call me the Crimson Alpha, son?" Dorian asks smoothly.

Jaxon swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "N-no, Alpha."

In a blur of motion, Dorian closes the gap. He slams the glowing square of silver directly into the center of Jaxon’s bare chest.

Jaxon’s mouth flies open. A horrific, ear-piercing scream tears from his lungs. The smell of burning flesh returns, this time mixed with Jaxon's terrified cries. Cora screams in pure horror, thrashing against Declan’s grip, begging Dorian to stop. Dorian ignores her. He presses the rod harder without a single flinch, driving the searing metal deeper into his favored son’s pectoral muscle.

"It is because I draw blood at the first sign of disrespect," Dorian murmurs coldly, his face an emotionless mask.

He pulls the rod away and tosses it carelessly into the corner. Jaxon collapses to the stone floor, clutching his scorched chest, screaming in pure agony.

"Remember your place, boy," Dorian growls down at him.

Dorian turns his attention back to me. His cold brown eyes scan my ruined body. The deep lashes, the burn on my hip, the blood pooling around my toes. He does not show a shred of fatherly concern.

"And what was the crime that justified this mess?" Dorian asks, pointing a finger at my chest.

"He tried to take advantage of me!" Cora yells, breaking free from Declan. She points her finger at my bloody face. Her chest heaves with manufactured panic. "He tried to rape me! We cannot have a monster among us, Alpha! If he tries this with his Luna, who is to say he will not attack another woman? Or a child?"

Dorian stiffens. His broad shoulders square as he looks from Cora to me. "What did you say?"

Cora forces a pathetic whimper. "He tried to force himself on me."

I look directly into my father's eyes. Behind the thick fog of my physical pain, I watch the gears turn in his mind. For a split, imperceptible second, the truth registers in his cold stare. Dorian is no fool. He knows my gentle nature. He knows I am physically incapable of overpowering his mate, let alone attempting to assault her. He knows perfectly well that she is lying.

But Dorian is a politician first and a father never. Contradicting his Luna in front of the guards, his Beta, and his Gamma would weaken his political standing. It would create rumors. It would show cracks in his authority.

His face hardens back into unyielding stone. The truth does not matter here. Only the image of the Crimson Alpha matters.

"Then you are right," Dorian declares loudly, his voice booming through the chamber. "We cannot have a monster among us."

Cora’s face lights up with visible frustration mixed with relief. She expects him to order my execution right here. She wants to watch them cut my throat.

"Cut him down," Dorian commands the guards.

Cora’s smile vanishes in pure horror. "What? No! Why are you letting him go?"

Dorian snaps his head toward her. The sheer weight of his Alpha aura forces her mouth shut. She shrinks back, trembling under his glare.

"From here on out, this mute mutt is stripped of his omega title," Dorian announces, ensuring his voice reaches every corner of the dungeon. "He is a Rogue now. Should he ever set foot on Crimson Hollow territory again... he is to be killed on sight."

The words hit me harder than the razor whip.

A Rogue. A wolf without a pack. Without a home, without protection, hunted by everyone. It is the ultimate death sentence, just executed over a longer period of time. My heart ruptures in my chest. The profound rejection from my own father, severing the sacred pack bond, tears a hole in my soul. I want to scream at him. I want to beg him to just kill me now instead of condemning me to slowly starve or be hunted by feral wolves. But my throat remains locked in broken silence.

"Everyone out," Dorian orders quietly. "I will handle the Rogue from here."

The guards do not hesitate. They file out the heavy iron door. Declan guides a fuming Cora out of the room. Jaxon staggers to his feet, clutching his burnt chest, and limps out behind them.

The heavy door clicks shut. I am left alone hanging from the chains with the towering Crimson Alpha. The dungeon feels darker now, the air chilling my raw wounds.

Dorian steps close, his shadow covering my battered body. I keep my eyes on the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

"Do not for a second think I am sparing you," Dorian growls, his glare freezing my blood. "You are still the greatest failure of my life. Nothing makes me happier than to finally be rid of you."

His venomous words sting far worse than the bleeding lashes on my back. I am nothing to him. I was never his son. I am just a stain on his perfect legacy.

Dorian turns his back on me, walking toward the iron door. He grabs the thick handle and pauses, sighing dismissively without looking back.

"You may take Marta with you. I have no use for her here," he says into the darkness. "And may I never see you two again."