Chapter 89
89
Third Person’s POV
“Ulrik,” her voice raspy and pained, her breath still foul, “why did you scar my face?”
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“The word ‘Bitch‘ was carved into your cheek with wolfsbane. I had to cut it out or you’d wear it forever,” Ulrik’s tone was icy, masking the turmoil within.
Scarring his mate brought immense inner pain.
His wolf curled up, whimpering, but he had no choice.
“Those bastards,” Velda cursed. “Solanke, I’ll kill you!”
Ulrik gripped her chin, leaned in, and demanded, “Tell me, did you butcher villages at Bloodscar Border? Did you kill innocents?”
Velda, consumed by anguish, screamed hysterically at his question, “I regret it! I should have wiped out everyone, not just those three villages!”
Ulrik reeled, his gaze turning terrifying.
He continued, “What about torturing prisoners?”
“Of course,” Velda’s eyes blazed with madness. “I had his face sliced, his glands torn out–all to make him reveal his identity. I only regret not doing worse!”
“So Solanke was desperate to sign the treaty because of him,” Ulrik realized.
Ulrik felt a cold, icy chill grip his heart, squeezing it with an almost palpable dread.
No matter how slow–witted he might have been in the past, he now grasped the identity of that person with a clarity that was both blinding and terrifying.
It was clear to Ulrik now. Solanke’s frantic desperation to sign the treaty with Velda, bypassing negotiations with Alpha Zander, must have been to save this person–the son of the Western Tribes‘ current Lycan King.
No wonder the Western Tribes‘ wolves had shown up at the southern border with such urgency and determination.
It all made sense now.
After years of bitter and contentious border disputes, Solanke had hastily signed a treaty with Velda, as if driven by some unseen force.
Ulrik should have noticed something was wrong back when he burned the food warehouse in Snowdeer Town.
By the time he arrived, the treaty was already signed, and it seemed as if the pieces of a puzzle he had long
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overlooked were now fitting together in a way that was both inevitable and horrifying.
Now it was clear–Solanke had been desperate to rescue that person.
Ulrik stared at Velda as if at a stranger.
The woman before him was a cruel, heartless monster–not the Velda he’d loved.
He’d traded his honors and betrayed Adelaide for this? 2
He was a fool.
She’d once spoken of justice, of how sheathewolves could have careers beyond caring for pups.
Her eyes had then burned with idealism.
Now, Ulrik’s legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, laughing hysterically–a laugh laced with madness.
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Velda, terrified, struggled to sit up.
“Ulrik… what’s wrong? Don’t scare me.”
Ulrik laughed until tears streamed down his face. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs as tears trickled through his fingers.
Suddenly, he stopped and glared at her.
“Your wolf lies!” Ulrik’s eyes blazed crimson, his voice trembling with pheromone–charged authority.
His eyes blazed with fury and anguish. “You did this! Your torture and massacres led to Adelaide’s family slaughter and the Frostfang Pack’s destruction!”
Velda, terrified by his stare, shook her head in denial.
“No, it was the Western Tribes. I had nothing to do with it.”
The robe she wore was suddenly soaked in blood, and the wounds on her waist and abdomen emitted a white sage odor.
This was the pheromone brand left by the Western Tribes‘ royal family during interrogation, now clashing intensely with the residual cedar mark within her.
Ulrik’s eyes blazed with pain and despair as he questioned, “Why have you become such a person? Why are your methods so cruel? How could you do this?”
Velda, unrepentant, retorted, “They were harboring a Western Tribes‘ general. I just wanted to flush him out… Ulrik, I don’t know why you think me cruel.”
“I killed innocents, but they were Western Tribes. You can’t be soft on the battlefield.”
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