BloodMoon: Captivated by the Forbidden Lycan Alpha
Chapter 95: CASSIUS TAKES THE BLAME

Chapter 95: CASSIUS TAKES THE BLAME

The back of a coward’s face as he runs away from his mistakes

Freyr stormed forward, his eyes burning with fury as he grabbed Cassius by the throat. The crack of bone and the strangled gasp that escaped Cassius’s lips sent a shiver down my spine. With terrifying ease, Freyr lifted him off the ground, Cassius’s feet kicking uselessly in the air as he clawed at the iron grip around his neck.

"You think you can get away unscathed by taking the blame?" Freyr hissed, his voice laced with venom. "I am no fool, Cassius. I know you’re too daft to come up with such a plan." His fingers tightened, and Cassius let out a choking sound, his face turning a sickening shade of red. "But I will get to the bottom of this. And once I do, Freyr’s lips curled into something between a snarl and a smirk, "no one will be spared."

With a sudden, ruthless motion, Freyr released him. Cassius crumpled to the ground in a heap, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with terror. He didn’t dare speak. He didn’t dare move.

The only sound was Desmond gritting his teeth so hard I could hear it over the howling wind. The tension in the air was suffocating.

Freyr straightened, his expression dark as he swept his gaze over all of us. "We’re returning to the Coven Council," he announced. His voice was sharp, a blade slicing through the thick silence. "We report our findings, and we prepare for what’s to come."

No one argued. No one questioned. One by one, we nodded. And then, without another word, Freyr turned on his heel and marched out of Bloodstone Mountain, his rage palpable. We followed in silence, the weight of his fury pressing down on all of us.

As we moved away from Bloodstone Mountain, I glanced back over my shoulder and noticed something, Desmond, Cassius, and the royal guards had stayed behind. A chuckle rumbled in my chest. Typical. Cowards knew better than to walk among the wolves they had wronged.

Shaking my head, I quickened my pace to match Freyr’s long, determined strides. His face was still twisted into a menacing scowl, his jaw tight, fists clenched as if he were restraining the urge to rip something or someone apart.

"Calm down," I scolded, bumping my shoulder into his.

He huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he slowed his steps just enough for Aggrey and Armon to catch up to us.

Then, like a dam breaking, his rage spilled out.

"What the hell is wrong with the Marcel family?" he growled, his voice thick with fury. "They killed Pa and feel no remorse about it. They harbored that wolf beast for years; let it fester in the shadows like a sickness. As if that wasn’t enough, they used Bloodstone bugs on our people, our people, Danté, and then dared to extend it to the Bay Shifter Pack just to wage war."

His words hit like hammer blows; his anger raw, unchecked.

"How many of our people have died?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "And for what? Power. Greed. Even the ones who planned the attack on the Kayne lands fell to their schemes. I am mortified," his voice cracked slightly, just for a second, before he masked it with rage, "mortified by the greed they’ve enacted on Paradise Coven. All of it, just so they could seize more power."

Freyr’s chest heaved, his breaths coming out sharp and uneven.

I let his words settle in the air between us, heavy like the storm clouds rolling over the horizon. There was no point in telling him he was right, we both knew it. There was no point in telling him to breathe, he’d been holding it all in for too long. So instead, I walked beside him, listening.

By the time we reached the Kayne lands, Sierra was already waiting for us. She stood at the entrance, her sharp eyes scanning each of us, reading the exhaustion in our steps, the tension still crackling in the air like a storm that had yet to break. Then her gaze settled on Freyr.

He didn’t meet her eyes.

Without hesitation, she crossed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace that softened the edges of his rage. "It’s okay, Freyr," she murmured against his shoulder. "Let’s go home. You’ll tell me everything, slowly."

Her voice was thick with sorrow, a quiet kind of grief that made the beast inside me shift uneasily. There was something in the way she held him, something in the way her fingers curled slightly against his back, as if she were trying to keep him from unraveling.

Beside me, I felt rather than saw Armon and Aggrey’s reaction, their breath hitching, their bodies tensing. We all knew the weight Freyr carried, and we all knew that whatever words he had to say, they would only make that weight heavier.

Silently, we followed Sierra inside.

The moment we stepped into the house, we were met with the piercing gazes of Qadira, Aurora, and Nessa. They took one look at our faces, at the exhaustion lining our features, at the silent fury still simmering in Freyr’s eyes, and they knew. Things had not gone well at Bloodstone Mountain. No one needed to say it aloud. Instead, the room sat in silence, thick with unspoken truths, waiting for the moment when someone, perhaps Freyr, perhaps one of us, would finally put them into words.

"What the hell happened?" Sierra asked, her voice calm, too calm.

I glanced at Freyr, already knowing he wouldn’t answer. His silence was a wall, thick and impenetrable, his jaw locked in that stubborn way of his. So, I did what needed to be done. I stepped in. Taking a deep breath, I began recounting everything, every grim detail since we arrived at Bloodstone Mountain. My voice was steady, but the weight of the words settled over the room like a heavy fog. I watched as Sierra’s expression shifted, as the color drained from her face when I revealed the worst of it.

"There was a she-wolf hiding in the Bloodstone Nest," I said, slow and deliberate, letting the reality of it sink in. "She fought Freyr. And she, " I hesitated only a fraction of a second before continuing. "She confessed to killing Dunco Kayne. She wanted the Kayne Stone. She sensed that Freyr had it. That’s why she came out of hiding."

The room plunged into silence. The kind that sucked the air out of your lungs.

Then, without a word, Sierra stood up and walked away.

I closed my eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly, before Qadira’s voice pulled me back.

"Go after her," she urged, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I nodded and hurried after Sierra.

I found her in her bedchamber, standing by the large windows, her back to me. The room felt heavier than it should have, as if the walls themselves carried the grief of the man who had once lived here.

I hesitated at the door, unwilling to step inside.

A long moment passed before Sierra finally spoke, her voice clipped but laced with something deeper. "Are you going to stand there all day, or are you coming in?"

I swallowed hard. "This was Dunco’s room," I whispered, the weight of it pressing against my chest. "It’s not right for me to enter."

She didn’t turn around, but I saw the way her shoulders tensed, the way her fingers curled slightly against the windowsill. And for a moment, I wondered if she felt the same weight I did, the lingering ghost of the man who had been taken from us.

Here’s your scene with a strong balance of dialogue, description, and emotion in Dante’s first-person point of view:

"You’re wrong," Sierra said, her voice steady but tinged with something unreadable, "This was not Dunco’s room. I moved when he passed on. Just come in."

I hesitated for a beat longer, then stepped inside.

The room didn’t carry the weight of Dunco’s presence, but it still felt heavy, like a space filled with unspoken grief. I walked over to where Sierra stood by the large windows, stopping just beside her. The soft glow of the moon cast a silver sheen over her face, highlighting the sadness that clung to her features like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

She turned slightly, tilting her head to look at me, and in a whisper, she spoke the truth we both knew but hadn’t dared to say aloud.

"They took him away from us because they wanted power." Her voice was barely audible, but the anger in it was sharp, cutting through the stillness of the room. "Tell me, Dante, why should I let them go?"

I said nothing, but I didn’t need to. She already knew my answer.

She exhaled sharply. "I know Freyr is holding back for my sake, but I will not let those bastards get away with killing Dunco. Not as long as I’m alive."

I nodded, understanding the fire in her words. The need for vengeance burned in her just as fiercely as it did in all of us.

But then she turned fully toward me, her eyes darker now, determined. "Dante, you must help me. Even if I lose my life, I will take them down one by one."

A weight settled in my chest at her words. The thought of losing Sierra, of watching her throw herself into anguish fueled by rage, tightened something inside me.

I let out a slow sigh. And before I could stop myself, I reached for her. Pulling her into my arms, I held her close. For a moment, she stiffened, but then she sank into the embrace, her fingers curling into the fabric of my coat as if holding onto something, onto me. Onto the promise that she wouldn’t have to carry this vengeance alone.