Chapter 22: Different flavors of hell
MARGAUX
I stared at him, my pulse hammering so violently I thought it might crack my ribs. He stood there waiting, his ruined face expressionless in a way that made my stomach turn.
"You got to stay privileged and make your choice without even lifting a fucking finger." His voice came out cold and precise, each word landing like a blade. "I got my world burned right in front of me."
My throat closed. The bond between us pulsed with something dark and terrible, carrying emotions that threatened to drag me under. There was rage. There was also grief and a hatred so consuming it felt like it could swallow everything whole.
"So..." I forced the word past my lips. "This is about revenge."
"Yes."
The confirmation shouldn’t have shocked me. I’d felt it through the bond, tasted it in every interaction since I’d figured out who he really was. But hearing him say it out loud made it real in a way nothing else had.
"But I wasn’t the one who harmed your family." The words tumbled out, desperate and pleading. "I know it must have hurt. I can’t even imagine what you went through. But it was your father who was a traitor to the pack, and—"
His hand shot out before I could finish. Fingers wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air with brutality. My hands flew to his wrist, clawing at his grip while my lungs screamed for oxygen.
"My father was no traitor!" The words came out in a roar that shook the room. "None of us betrayed Beaumont. My father took his job seriously. He was loyal to a damn fault, and he did not deserve the end that he got."
I struggled against his iron grip, my vision starting to blur at the edges. The bond flared between us, carrying his fury in waves that crashed over me. I should have been terrified. I should have begged him to let go. But something in me refused to break.
I met his eyes even as darkness crept into my peripheral vision. I forced myself to hold his gaze while my lungs burned and my heartbeat thundered in my ears.
"The elder’s circle is never wrong." The words came out strangled and broken, barely audible past his grip. "He was trialed. The truth came out."
His fingers tightened fractionally. My nails dug harder into his wrist, drawing blood.
"I did read the files eventually." Black spots danced across my vision. "He sold information to our enemies. You were just blinded by how you knew your father, but facts don’t care about feelings."
Through the bond, I felt his desire to hurt me. The urge was visceral and overwhelming, pulsing through our connection like a living thing that wanted to consume us both. His hand trembled against my throat. The muscles in his jaw worked beneath scarred skin.
Then his eyes caught mine rolling upward.
Only then did he let go.
I collapsed against the wall, gasping and choking as air rushed back into my lungs. My hands went to my throat, feeling the tender skin where his fingers had pressed. Tears streamed down my face while I gulped down oxygen in desperate, ragged breaths.
"You still have not changed." He stepped back, his voice carrying something that might have been disappointment if it wasn’t buried under so much rage. "But my father was framed."
I coughed, my chest heaving. "That’s not—"
"I do not expect you to understand or even fucking have empathy." He cut through my protest like it meant nothing. "I have watched you over the years, and you have lived your life beautifully."
The words landed with deliberate cruelty. I stared at him through watering eyes, my throat throbbing where his hand had been.
"But that ends tonight." His lips curved into something that might have been a smile if it wasn’t so cold. "Now all that awaits you is suffering."
The finality in his voice made my blood run cold. This wasn’t just anger. This was calculated. Planned. He’d thought about this for years, probably perfecting every detail while I’d lived my life completely unaware.
"I’m sorry for what you went through." My voice came out rough and damaged. "I am. But this has nothing to do with me. The law happened, and it can be barbaric—I acknowledge that—but to carry all of that and place it on my head?" I pushed away from the wall, forcing myself to stand straight despite the trembling in my legs. "Are you insane? You must be!"
He closed the space between us in two strides. Without the mask, I was completely terrified. Not because of his face—the scars were terrible, yes, but they weren’t what made my heart race with genuine fear. It was the murderous intent pouring out of him through the bond. The absolute certainty that he would destroy me without hesitation or remorse.
"You are phase one." His voice dropped to something soft and deadly. "A conduit for my rage."
My fingers curled into fists at my sides. "You tell me this like you expect me to just lay down and take it."
"Take it or not, I do not care." He tilted his head slightly, studying me with those grey eyes that had once looked at me with something other than hatred. "It benefits me either way."
I opened my mouth to respond, but he kept talking.
"Stay and pay for the sins of your family and your pack. Leave, and I have an excuse to raze them to the ground." His lips curved into that cold, almost-smile again. "Your choice. Be a martyr or become a rogue. Trust me... Any is fine by me."
The options landed like stones in my stomach. Stay and endure whatever torture he’d planned, or run and watch him slaughter everyone I’d ever known. There was no third path , too. No escape route. Just two different flavors of hell.
"Étienne..." His name came out broken. "What happened to you?"
"You and Beaumont did." The response was immediate and certain. "You have no idea how long I have been holding on to this rage."
His hand reached up slowly, deliberately. One finger traced the line of my jaw, the touch almost gentle if you ignored the violence humming beneath his skin. The bond flared hot between us, carrying sensations that made my breath catch.
"I am going to enjoy this." His voice dropped lower, intimate and threatening at once. "So what is it going to be? I am giving you a choice now that you are an adult. Yourself or Beaumont?"
The parallel hit me with brutal clarity. He was playing this out exactly like when I’d had to choose between myself and him all those years ago. When I’d stood outside his cell and severed our bond to protect my family’s reputation. He wanted me to do the same thing now. He wanted me to choose myself and prove that I was exactly the selfish creature he believed me to be.
I closed my eyes. My hands balled into fists so tight that my nails cut into my palms. Every instinct screamed at me to run. To choose myself and let someone else deal with the consequences. To prove him right about who I was.
But I’d already done that once. I’d already chosen myself over someone, and it had led to this moment. To years of guilt that sat like lead in my chest. To a boy I’d cared about transforming into a man who wanted to watch me suffer.
I couldn’t do it again.
"Beaumont."
The word came out steadier than I felt. I opened my eyes and met his gaze directly, watching confusion flicker across his ruined face. He’d expected me to choose myself. Had probably counted on it even. Did he build his entire plan around the assumption that I would prove him right?
I liked that I’d proven him wrong. The small victory tasted bitter but real.
His expression shifted through several emotions too quickly for me to track. Confusion gave way to something darker. Something that looked almost like disappointment that I hadn’t followed his script.
"Oh really?" His voice came out soft and dangerous. "Then strip."
My eyes widened. My hands flew to the bodice of the red gown instinctively, fingers clutching at expensive fabric like it could protect me from what he was asking.
"What?"
"You heard me." He stepped back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Strip. Take off the dress."
My pulse hammered in my throat. The bond between us carried his satisfaction at my shock, his dark amusement at watching me squirm. He was enjoying this. Enjoying the power he held over me. Enjoying the way I’d walked right into his trap.
"I’m not going to—" The protest died in my throat when his expression went completely cold.
"You just chose Beaumont over yourself." His voice carried no emotion now, flat and final. "That means you accept the consequences of staying. So either take off the dress, or I’ll assume you lied and start planning which border village burns first."
My hands trembled against the bodice. Tears pricked behind my eyes again, hot and humiliating. He stood there watching me with those grey eyes that had once looked at me with something other than contempt, waiting to see if I would follow through or prove myself a liar.
The red fabric suddenly felt like it was suffocating me. Too tight. Too obvious. A mockery of what a wedding dress should be. I’d hated it from the moment I’d put it on, but now it felt like the last barrier between me and whatever hell he’d planned.
"Étienne, please." The words came out barely above a whisper. "Don’t do this."
"I do not care. I said strip."
"I..."
"I gave you a choice." He didn’t move. "You made it. Now live with it."