The Wolf God's Unwanted Luna

Zaliver’s POV

I stepped directly in front of him. The moment his eyes found mine, his expression crumpled. The last bit of color drained from his face, sweat trickling down his temple and shimmering in the dim light. His jaw trembled.

I gave him a wide grin, letting my fangs show. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

Raising my hand, I extended a single claw and pointed it straight at his chest.

"Last chance, Jack," I said, the words almost gentle. "Make it easy on yourself. Tell me what I want to know."

His gaze dropped to the ground, his lips trembling, but no sound came out. I could feel the wolf in him stirring, caught right on the edge between submission and rebellion. He was trying to cling to whatever pride he had left for his mate.

So be it.

I exhaled slowly, the smile never leaving my face. "Alright then."

Turning on my heel, I crossed the room and grabbed the small metal cart tucked into the shadows. Its squeaking wheels cut through the silence as I rolled it forward. Jack stiffened instantly, the scent of his fear sharpening and turning sour in the air.

As the cart came into his line of sight, he froze. His body locked up, his breath catching so hard I thought his heart might actually stop from the shock. Then, he exploded into a frantic thrash against his chains.

Right as his panic spiked, I felt a sharp pull from the bond, Vivian. Her emotions tried to bleed into mine, urgent and frantic, but I shut them out cold. I couldn’t let her distract me right now. I’d check on her later.

"Don’t worry," I said, casually waving a hand toward the sharp instruments resting on the tray. "That’s for later." I crouched until I was at eye level. "Right now? I’m just going to peel your skin off, piece by piece, and maybe snap a few bones while I’m at it. I’d go for a punch or two, but let’s be honest... I might kill you too quickly, and I’d hate to cut this short."

My beast rumbled in agreement, practically salivating at the anticipation. Around us, the shadows thickened again, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Jack’s terror-filled eyes reflected the storm he was about to endure. The darkness hadn’t finished with him yet. Not even close.

I dragged my claws across his chest, slow and deliberate. Four clean gashes split his skin wide open. Jack let out a strangled cry, pain seeping from his lungs along with the blood. His body jolted against the chair, the chains clinking in rhythm with his agony. The wounds bled heavily, and then... sluggish and slow... they began to knit back together.

I met his gaze. His face was slick with cold sweat, his teeth gritted as he shot me a glare dripping with venom. But that hatred was premature; we hadn’t even truly started yet.

Reaching out, I grabbed the torn fabric of his shirt and shredded it the rest of the way off, baring his torso to the cold air. I didn’t want anything getting in the way of what came next. If he was lucky, I wouldn’t make it to his back. But men in his position were rarely lucky.

"You can’t regenerate flesh that isn’t there," I murmured, my voice curling like smoke, dark and laced with something far from human.

My beast purred in satisfaction.

I lifted my hand, extended my claws, and drove them deep into the top of his left shoulder. Jack’s scream shattered the quiet, a sound of pure, soul-deep terror. I didn’t flinch. Carving a clean square into the flesh, I locked eyes with him as his body shuddered violently.

Before the wound could try to close, I slipped my claws beneath the skin and dragged downward, ripping the flesh open with brutal force until I reached his elbow. The skin peeled back in one long, sticky strip. Jack wailed, his back arching off the chair as I tore the chunk clean off.

The meat squelched in my hand, slick and dripping red. He looked down at his arm, and I saw the exact moment his mind broke a little. His eyes widened in horror, his breath caught, and he gagged. A heartbeat later, he twisted his head and vomited off the side of the chair.

The stench hit me, and I wrinkled my nose, taking a half-step back. Out of everything in this process, that was the one part I loathed.

"You ready for round two, little coward?" I asked, my voice ice-cold and completely unbothered.

I didn’t wait for an answer. Reaching for his other shoulder, I repeated the same brutal ritual. Skin ripped, blood poured, and Jack’s screams bounced off the concrete walls like a sick symphony.

When it was done, I stood back slightly, holding both strips of flayed meat in my hands. His arms were a raw mess of muscle, torn tendons, and pulsing veins. Blood gushed down to his wrists and pooled beneath him.

I looked down at him as his head lolled forward, barely able to stay upright. He was right on the verge of losing consciousness. Weak.

"No, no, don’t you dare pass out on me," I growled. "Wake up, Jack. Because if you don’t start talking, this only gets worse. Think about it... The faster you give me what I want, the sooner I end it. I might even let you see Martha again."

His eyes snapped open at her name. That rage was back, this time animalistic and raw. He bared his teeth and lunged at me, but the chains yanked him back like a dog.

"Don’t you say her name! You have no right!" he spat, his voice wild with desperate fury. "The only thing keeping me going is knowing what he’s going to do to her! The same way you took my mate, I hope he tears your little whore apart! You’ll suffer worse than I did. He promised it’d be slow, painful.."

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