Two days later.
Noah's footsteps echoed down the long marble corridor beneath the mansion. Silas walked beside him, both dressed in black.
The basement was cold—stone and silence.
At the far end of the room, the omega girl was chained loosely to a chair. Not harmed. Not starving. But still… afraid.
She looked up the moment they entered.
Her lips trembled. "I didn't mean to hurt you. He told me to—he said it was just to make you dizzy, that you wouldn't be harmed."
Noah stared at her for a long moment.
"You did a good thing," he said at last.
Her eyes widened.
"What?"
"You made Sam tell the truth. You forced a truth I never would've gotten if not for what happened. For that—I thank you."
She relaxed slightly. "Then… you'll let me go?"
"Yes," Noah said.
Then stepped closer.
"But not untouched."
She didn't even scream when his claw-tipped fingers moved across her face—quick, surgical. She collapsed to the ground seconds later, breathing but broken.
Silas watched without emotion.
"Should I call the guards?" he asked.
Noah nodded. "Tell them to leave her in front of her pack's house. Scarred. Shamed. Marked."
"And the alpha?"
Noah's lips twitched into a cold smile. "Max and Lucien are handling him."
The old alpha didn't scream until the third finger was removed.
Max stood in the warehouse, gloves soaked in blood, eyes void of warmth.
Lucien stood across the room, watching the man try to crawl away.
"You thought you could drug our omega," Lucien said, voice low and icy.
"I didn't know!" the man sobbed. "They told me—he was just a—"
Lucien kicked him square in the chest, sending him flying back.
"I don't care what you thought."
Max grabbed him by the collar and leaned in.
"No one messes with the Vincents. Or the Andersons. Or the Millers."
He showed his fangs, biting deep into the man's shoulder—then pulled away slowly.
"A bite for a bite," Max whispered. "That's mafia law."