Chapter 82: Worse Than Death

Chapter 82: Worse Than Death Kaya I don’t even need to step into the meeting room to feel Magnus’s presence radiating through the thick, closed door. Rana senses him immediately—she whimpers and paces inside my mind, clouding my thoughts with a flood of indecent desires. But it’s when the door finally opens and I walk in that it hits me full force. His scent—rich, warm, and intoxicating—is too sweet to ignore. And now that I know why it affects me so deeply, it’s no longer just confusing... it’s crippling. My knees threaten to give out the moment his honey-gold eyes lock onto mine. Smile at him, Rana whispers slyly, but instead of heeding her, I narrow my gaze, still staring at Magnus’s breathtaking face. His expression shifts—confusion first, then a flicker of hurt—but I don’t soften. I thought we agreed to make him suffer, Rana pouts, clearly displeased with my lack of cooperation. You agreed on that, I remind her, but still take a seat directly across from Magnus, ensuring he has no one else to look at but me. To Oliver––the only other present in this room––I offer a brief, though friendly smile. The moment I settle in, however, Magnus clears his throat and stands up, abandoning his chair to lean against the wall behind it, arms folded tightly across his chest. That’s when I notice it—bandages peeking out from beneath the cuff of his sleeve. And just like that, my spiteful pride dissolves into something bitter and aching. Regret settles in my chest like a stone. I wasn’t the only one who was hurt last night. Somehow, the wounds I inflict always seem to cut deeper than anyone else’s. And that thought leads to a chilling question: Is Gloria even still alive? "Kaya, as you’ve probably already guessed, this meeting is about what happened between you and Gamma Turner last night." Oliver’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade, and when I glance at him, his icy blue eyes pierce me with surgical precision—sharp, unwavering, and impossible to ignore. I flinch under the weight of that subtle accusation, startled by how quickly they’ve jumped to the heart of the matter. Still, I force myself to remain calm. After mentally sifting through a dozen possible responses, I settle for a simple nod. Oliver continues, his tone even but formal. "I want to assure you that everything we discuss here will remain confidential, so please feel free to speak freely." Confidential? My brow arches slightly as I glance toward Magnus, and he responds with the faintest nod—as if he, too, is privy to every stray thought running through my head. "I know you shifted," Oliver says, snapping my attention back to him. "And so does the rest of the pack. It was necessary... to proceed with the trial." "There’s going to be a trial?" I ask quietly, a knot forming in my stomach at the mere thought. "There has been a trial," Magnus corrects me, his voice unexpectedly cold, clipped with authority. "But our decision isn’t final yet. That’s where you come in." "What—"The word sticks to my throat, but a deep breath offers me just enough clarity to finish."What does that mean... for me?" Oliver turns to Magnus, who meets his look with something that borders on amusement. Then, to my utter confusion, both of them chuckle—low, dry, and slightly ironic. "It means we need to hear your opinion, Kaya," Oliver says gently, and I feel as though an enormous weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I want to sigh in relief—but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll just embarrass myself all over again. "Gloria’s punishment is inevitable," Magnus cuts in, his voice serious again. "But the severity... that’s for you to decide. We’re in agreement on execution." "Execution?!"The word escapes me louder than I intended, slicing through the room like a scream."You mean... you’re going to kill her?" Both men nod in unison, their expressions disturbingly blank—as if taking a life is as effortless as pouring a glass of water. That cold, clinical detachment sends a chill rippling down my spine. "Are there any other options?" I ask, even as Rana growls in frustration at my hesitation. I understand her rage. Gloria nearly killed me—twice. Her cruelty was deliberate, and she never once showed remorse. And yet, execution... It doesn’t feel right. But not because I’m weak.No. It’s because death is far too easy. I used to beg for death once. So many times that I lost count.And the only thing death ever promised... was relief. Gloria doesn’t deserve relief. She scorns the helpless, despises the weak—so let her see how much strength it truly takes to survive being powerless. "Exile," Oliver says at last, as if reading my mind. A sharp breath escapes me, filled with something between triumph and vindication. "Then throw her out," I say, my voice steadier now, firmer. "And make sure she never finds a home again." *** The forest smells different this evening. It’s colder than it should be, heavy with anticipation, the kind that sinks into your bones and refuses to let go. Leaves tremble with a wind that carries no warmth, only silence—and the gaze of dozens who have come to watch justice unfold. I walk beside Magnus and Oliver toward the starting border of the western woods. The scent of wolves fills the clearing—so many of them that it’s almost too overwhelming. Warriors, scouts, Omegas, Gammas. All gathered. All silent. Some stand in human form, arms folded, faces grim. Others remain shifted, eyes glowing like silent sentinels under the shade of the canopy. And every single one of them is here for her. Gloria Turner. She kneels in the center of the circle, hands bound behind her back, her dark hair tangled, her clothes torn and bloodied––a clear evidence of what had happened to her before she was brought here. Her lips are curled in defiance, but her eyes... her eyes betray what her mouth won’t admit. For once, she’s terrified. As I stand next to Oliver, my heart doesn’t race. For a moment, I scan the crowd in search of Samantha, but for some reason, I don’t see her. Aksel steps forward, his face grim, his voice carrying across the hush like a blade slicing through fog as he looms over Gloria’s slumped form. "Gloria Turner," he begins. "You have been found guilty of violating the sacred laws of our pack—endangering the life of a packmate, using illegal substances, and betraying your oath as Gamma Warrior." A pause. A slow breath. Deadly silence. "By order of the Alpha, the Council, and the law of the Blood Moon Pack, you are hereby stripped of your title and status. You are no longer welcome within this territory. And by the will of the Council, your scent will be marked and recorded across all allied lands, so that no other pack may accept you as their own. You are nothing now. To all wolves. To all shifters. The Mark of a Traitor is what will follow your name from now on. Forever." A ripple moves through the crowd, not a cheer, not a murmur—just a sharp intake of breath. No one speaks. No one defends her. That, more than anything, is what makes this real. Gloria opens her mouth to speak, but before she can even utter a word, two men step forward. One holds a thick syringe. The other forces her still, grabbing her by the hair and bending her neck forward. She thrashes for a moment, but it’s no use. Whatever they did to her prior to this must have been absolutely brutal. The needle plunges into the side of her neck. Aconite. The poison of wolves. It will stop her from shifting. Strip her of every strength she thought she had left. The effect is near-instant. Her body goes slack. Her lips tremble. Perhaps she wants to protest, but I guess she is smart enough to know that no one will take her side here. And then, a signal is given. Magnus raises his hand. Thirteen wolves step forward from the crowd—uniform in movement, eyes glowing bright, fangs already bared. And that’s when my heart jums to my throat. Samantha’s wolf is amongst them. She came forward to contribute to my tormentor’s punishment. The wolves growl, and Gloria tries to run before the order is given, her instincts taking over—but she barely gets ten paces before the Alpha’s command thunders through the link. "Go." The warriors burst forward like a wave of fury unleashed. The earth trembles beneath their paws as they descend upon her, not touching her, but herding her, snarling at her heels, snapping close enough to draw blood from her fear. I watch as she stumbles, scrambles, screaming through the trees. Leaves fly. Branches snap. Her scream is drowned in the wild chase. Time stands still, but even though I know she’s so far away now, her screams ring in my head like she’s still right beside me. When she finally crosses the final border, there’s a pulse. A ripple of magic—old and captivating—that burns into the earth. The territory seal brands her absence into the land itself. She is gone. The howls that follow from the depths of the forest are not ones of mourning. They are warnings. She can never return. She will never find a place to belong. And that punishment is truly worse than death.