Chapter 107 Too Late

Chapter 107 Too Late

Everest was just a step away from the animal's den, ready for blood when he heard the irritable clamor of Killorn's men. They proudly addressed him as their one-true leader, the sound of the werewolves pissing Everest off. He slinked into the shadows of the trees to see Killorn rushing forward.

Tch. Everest waited near the forest to see what Killorn would do. He watched with a jealous heart as Killorn reached into his jacket for a key mid-run.

If it had been Everest, he'd never physically punished Ophelia like this. If he had been her husband, he'd have many twisted things waiting for her, but never like this. Ropes in the bed, leather on her wrists, there were more than one way he'd treat his wife at her disobedience, but never beyond that. A wife was meant to be treasured... loved... protected. Killorn had failed all three.

And nothing pissed Everest off more than the fact that Ophelia would forgive her husband. Once again in his life, Everest had been too late.

"It should've been me ten years ago," Everest growled under his breath. "It should've been me taking the Overlord's orders."

Then, Everest was gone as quick as he came, knowing Ophelia would flood her husband's arms at the first opportunity. Not because she loved Killorn, but because in her eyes, he was the hero. Witness the debut of this chapter, unveiled through Ñôv€l--B1n.

At least, that was what Ophelia believed. Soon, time would tell.

- - - - -

The wildest image flooded Killorn's mind. Killorn felt his inner breast growl and break at the barriers that separated his humanity from a wolf. Ah, that was right. He had never shifted in front of Ophelia. He never intended for her to see it—the monstrosity he was. His fellow citizens were beautiful creatures with fur coats that glistened with youth. Killorn was a nasty one, large and unruly, built for things beyond dashing through a forest for a quick run. He was made to murder. To tear apart. To kill. It was all very much like the dogs he kept chained up.

Killorn pictured the worst things imaginable. Desolate eyes, hollow cheeks, blood spreading from her neck, and tears on her face. Her mangled skin, the pieces of her body torn apart, and her ripped skirt.

"Ophelia..." he murmured whilst fumbling for the key. What had he done?

In a moment of blind rage and anger, Killorn channeled a man he never wanted to see. He became a monster he never wished to witness. Killorn became his father.

Ophelia will forgive him one day, but Killorn will never forgive himself.

The first and only word he shouted against the howling wind was her. When he flung the doors open, snow plunging through the entrance, the wind biting at his skin, he cared for her. Only her. He should've known this much sooner, but did not.

"I smell like Nyx who is still a p-puppy, so they must see n-no harm in me" Ophelia responded. "I g-guess."

Each stutter, each difficulty, it all equated to more scars on his heart. Killorn did this to her. She had this issue when she first met him, but it was not this severe. From his inability to protect her, he made her stammer more severe.

Killorn was not good enough for Ophelia. He realized this quickly. His understanding was almost alarming as the thought of leaving her, so that she could thrive elsewhere. "I am hurting you more than I am helping you." Killorn took her into the castle. She didn't respond, but her silence spoke bounds. He was met with the tear-faced Janette who instantly summoned for a hot bath to be brought up. Beetle appeared exhausted, but dared to not say a single word. When they walked up the stairs, people bowed in respect.

Eventually, the couple made it back to their bedroom. Warmth flooded their chilled bones, but the painful silence reminded them of the loveless night. Only the crackle of the fireplace could be heard. A moment later, steaming water was brought into their adjoined bathroom. Soon, the bath was ready. No one expected their cruel Alpha to bring back a prisoner less than ten minutes after taking her there. Either Janette knew this was bound to happen, or she had hoped it would, for there was already a large and warm bathtub waiting for them. Yet, when Ophelia saw the area, she tensed up.

"No!" Ophelia shrieked, shoving him off of her. Killorn was flabbergasted. He stared at the emptiness of his palms and of his wife. Her expression was vicious. Her lovely features were twisted, her arms hugging the pillars of their bed tightly.

"Ophelia, I—"

"You've hurt me."

Another rare moment that she did not stutter and it was to stab him in the chest.

"Ophelia, I—"

"You've l-left me..." Ophelia's voice cracked. "To die."

Immediately, Killorn widened his eyes. "Never!" Killorn insisted, crossing the distance between them. "I will never fathom the thought of killing you. I have slain many, but it will never be you. Your blood will not be on my hands."

Killorn glanced her deep in the eyes. "This, I swear to you."

"Then someone else's hands," Ophelia softly said. He was floored. Ophelia swallowed. "One day, I will disobey you again... when the time comes, you will push me into the hands that kill me."

Killorn was ready to sink to his knees and beg. Then, she delivered the final blow.

"This, I swear to you," Ophelia whispered.