Free Web NovelChapter 98: Chapter 97: The Interrogation
Dawn broke cold and gray over the Blackwood estate.
Eve woke to Damian’s hand gently shaking her shoulder. "It’s time."
She sat up, her body protesting the movement. Every muscle ached from last night’s thorough claiming, and the soreness between her thighs was a constant reminder of how brutal her mates could be when possessiveness overtook them.
"How long did I sleep?" she asked, her voice rough.
"Three hours," Damian replied, already dressed in dark tactical clothing that made him look even more intimidating than usual. "Not enough, but it’ll have to do. Cassandra’s been in holding all night. She’s had time to think about her situation. Time to get scared."
"Good," Eve said, surprising herself with the coldness in her own voice. "She should be scared."
Damon appeared in the doorway, similarly dressed in black. "The interrogation room is ready. Elder Markov is standing by in case we need his expertise with truth compulsions. And Marcus will be there as witness to ensure pack law is followed."
"Pack law," Eve repeated. "What does that mean for Cassandra?"
"It means if she’s found guilty of treason....attempting to harm or expose the Luna to any form of danger, the penalty is death," Silas said quietly from where he leaned against the wall. "But we have to prove intent first. Have to determine if she was acting alone or if she’s part of a larger conspiracy."
Eve stood, moving to the closet, she selected fitted black pants and a deep crimson blouse.....colors that matched the brothers’ own dark aesthetic. When she emerged from the bathroom after a quick shower, Silas was waiting with a leather jacket.
"Armor," he said simply, helping her into it. "Not literal, but it’ll make you feel more protected."
Eve appreciated the gesture more than she could articulate. The jacket did make her feel stronger, more capable of facing what was coming.
They descended into the estate’s lower levels....past the training room, past the storage areas, down stone stairs that seemed to go on forever. The temperature dropped with each step, and the air grew thick with moisture and something else. Fear. Old fear, baked into the stones from decades of use.
"The Blackwood family has maintained this interrogation facility for three generations," Damian explained as they walked. "Pack law sometimes requires... harsh methods to extract truth. Especially when pack security is at stake."
They reached a heavy iron door at the bottom of the stairs. Damon pulled it open, and the smell hit Eve immediately....rust, mold, old blood, and beneath it all, the acrid scent of terror.
The dungeon was exactly as brutal as the smell suggested.
The main chamber stretched about thirty feet across, with a low ceiling supported by thick stone pillars. Torches lined the walls....actual torches, because apparently electricity was too modern for this particular hell.....casting flickering shadows that made everything look demonic. The floor was bare stone, stained dark in places where blood had soaked in over the years and never quite washed out.
Chains hung from the ceiling and walls.....some with manacles still attached, some ending in hooks that Eve didn’t want to think too hard about. A large wooden table dominated one corner, its surface scarred with gouges and burns. Instruments hung on the wall beside it: knives of various sizes, pliers, something that looked disturbingly like a medieval branks, and tools Eve couldn’t even identify.
But the centerpiece of the room was the chair.
Bolted to the floor in the exact center of the chamber, it was constructed of dark metal....probably iron, given the slight smell of rust. Manacles were built into the arms and legs, designed to hold someone immobile. But what made it truly horrifying were the modifications: small blades protruding from the back at strategic points, not enough to kill but enough to cause constant pain if the occupant moved. Grooves carved into the seat to allow blood to drain. Restraints positioned to force the body into stress positions that would become agonizing over time.
And sitting in that chair, already manacled and trembling, was Cassandra.
"Please," Cassandra whispered. "Please, I can explain....."
"You’ll explain when we tell you to speak," Damian said coldly, moving to stand directly in front of her. "Right now, you’ll listen."
Elder Markov stood in one corner, his robes looking almost priestly in the torchlight. Marcus Senior, the pack’s beta stood at attention near the door.
"Cassandra," Damian began formally. "You stand accused of attempted theft of Luna’s personal property, specifically items related to her heritage and position. You stand accused of potential treason against the pack by attempting to provide sensitive information to unknown parties. How do you plead?"
"I.....I didn’t mean..." Cassandra’s voice broke. "I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I just....."
"Answer the question," Damian’s voice cracked like a whip. "Guilty or not guilty."
Cassandra’s shoulders slumped. "Guilty," she whispered. "Guilty to the theft. But not to treason. I wasn’t going to sell the information, I swear....."
"Then what were you going to do with it?" Damon asked, circling behind the chair like a shark. "Why steal documents about Eve’s heritage? Why take the royal seal, the letters from her birth parents?"
Cassandra’s eyes flickered to Eve, and there was such raw pain and jealousy in them that Eve actually took a step back.
"Because I wanted to understand," Cassandra said, her voice gaining a bitter edge. "Wanted to know what made her so special. What made her worthy of what I could never have."
"Explain," Silas commanded.
Cassandra laughed....a broken, ugly sound. "You really don’t know? You three brilliant alphas haven’t figured it out?" She looked directly at Eve. "I loved them. Loved them for years. Served them in every way....warmed their beds, gave them everything I had to give. And they used me. Fucked me when convenient and discarded me when I became inconvenient."
"We were clear from the beginning," Damian said, his voice hard. "You agreed to a physical arrangement with no emotional attachment.
"Respectfully?" Cassandra’s voice rose to a near-shriek. "You threw me away like garbage! Told me I was a ’complication’ that needed to be ’managed.’ Made me continue seeing you every day, knowing I’d been replaced by whatever flavor of the month caught your attention!"
Her eyes burned with hatred as she stared at Eve. "And then she came. This nothing girl, this whore from a strip club, and suddenly you three were transformed. Suddenly there was romance, devotion, love. Everything you said didn’t exist, everything you claimed you weren’t capable of....you gave it all to her!"
"Because she’s our mate," Damon said simply. "Our fated mate. Something you could never be, no matter how long you waited or how much you wanted it."
The words landed like physical blows. Cassandra flinched, more tears streaming down her face. frёeωebɳovel.com
"I know that now," she whispered. "I know I never had a chance. But it still hurts. Still makes me want to tear her apart for having what should have been mine."
Eve felt sick. This wasn’t just jealousy.....this was years of obsession, of delusional hope, of watching and waiting and convincing herself that eventually the brothers would see her worth.
"So you stole from her," Silas said. "Took her heritage, her history, her connection to her birth family. Why? To hurt her? To have leverage?"
"Both," Cassandra admitted. "I wanted her to feel what I felt....the loss of something precious. The violation of having important things taken. And yes, I thought... if I had proof of her royal lineage, maybe I could use it. Trade it for something. Get money and leave this place, leave all of you behind." fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
"Who were you going to sell it to?" Damian demanded.
Cassandra shook her head. "I don’t know. I hadn’t gotten that far. I was still just... gathering information. Learning what she was. Understanding why she mattered so much."
"Liar." Damon moved to the wall, selecting one of the knives. The torchlight glinted off the blade as he tested its edge. "You’re lying, Cassandra. You had a buyer. Someone contacted you. Who was it?"
"No one!" Cassandra’s voice rose in panic as Damon approached with the knife. "I swear, no one contacted me, I was acting alone...."
"Elder Markov," Damian said calmly. "Truth compulsion, please."
