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“Don’t lie to me,” I hiss, my control slipping enough that I know my eyes are glowing green in the dim light. “I can smell the deception on you. I’m a werewolf, you son of a bitch.”

True terror blooms in his eyes then—the primal fear of prey recognizing a predator. Something inhuman. Something lethal.

“A werewolf?” he chokes out.

I smile, letting him see just a hint of my elongated canines. “I’m your worst nightmare. I’m what waits in the dark for men like you. And I’ve been very, very patient.”

With my free hand, I reach into my pocket and pull out a zip tie. I’ve come prepared and planned this moment down to the last detail. Justin’s eyes fix on the plastic restraint, understanding dawning in his gaze.

“No, please. I swear I’ll leave her alone,” he babbles, renewed panic giving him strength to struggle against my grip. “You’ll never hear from me again. I’ll move away.”

“Too fucking late,” I cut him off, dragging him toward one of the dining chairs. “You had your chance, fucktard.”

I throw him into the chair with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. Before he can recover, I’ve secured his wrists behind the chair’s back, the zip tie biting into his skin. A second tie locks his ankles to the chair legs. His chest heaves with panicked breaths, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Please,” he tries again, his voice breaking. “I’ll do anything. I have money?—”

“I don’t want your money,” I interrupt, circling the chair like the predator I am. “I want your fear. I want you to understand exactly how Mia felt every time you threatened her. Every time you made her feel small, trapped, and afraid.”

I pause behind him, leaning down to speak directly into his ear. “I want you to know what it feels like to be at themercy of someone stronger than you. Someone who could end your existence with a flick of their wrist.”

He’s trembling now, the chair rattling slightly against the floor. I can smell urine—he’s wet himself in fear. Good. My wolf howls in satisfaction, demanding more and demanding blood.

I move to the kitchen, aware of Justin’s eyes following my every move. Methodically, I open drawers, examining their contents before closing them again. I take my time, letting his terror build with each passing moment. Finally, I find what I’m looking for—a wooden rolling pin, heavy and solid in my hand.

“Do you know what the worst part is, Justin?” I ask conversationally as I return to stand before him. “It’s not that you hurt her physically. It’s that you made her believe she deserved it. Made her think she was worthless.”

I grip the rolling pin tighter, watching his eyes fix on it with frozen horror.

“She’s ours now,” I continue, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Our omega. Our mate. And she’s carrying our pups.”

His eyes widen at this revelation. “What the fuck are you talking about? Pups?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re just human. Just meat and bone and fear,” I say, smiling as I tap the rolling pin against my palm. “The point is, she belongs to us now. To our pack. And we protect what’s ours.”

“You’re insane,” he whispers, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “You’re fucking insane.”

“Maybe,” I growl. “You shouldn’t have messed with my omega.”

I let my control slip a little more, allowing the shift to begin. Not fully, since he doesn’t deserve to see my wolf form—but enough that my eyes glow in the dim light, that myteeth lengthen visibly, that my nails sharpen into claws that dig into the wood of the rolling pin.

Justin screams- a high, thin sound of pure terror that satisfies something primal inside me.

This is what I want. And this is what he deserves.

“I made you a promise last time,” I remind him, raising the rolling pin. “I told you that if you ever contacted Mia again, I would end you. And that it wouldn’t be quick. Remember, fuckface?”

“Please,” he sobs, mucus running from his nose, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything. Anything!”

I lean in close, inhaling his fear like a fine wine. “I know you will. That’s what makes this so amazing, right?”

The rolling pin comes down, not on his head or his fingers as he expects, but on the coffee table beside him.

The wood splinters, the table collapsing in a shower of broken glass and crushed beer cans. Justin flinches so hard that the chair nearly tips over.

“That’s going to be your skull very soon,” I tell him quietly as he screams bloody murder, and I smile.

thirty-one