Chapter 198: Finished.

The door swung open without warning, its hinges groaning in protest. The air in the room shifted, heavy and cold, as a tall figure glided in with the kind of unhurried grace that belonged only to predators. Lady Vivian.She was elegance made flesh—long black hair cascading like silk down her back, the glint of gold catching in her hairpins and the rings on her slender fingers. Her gown was of deep velvet, each fold rich enough to drink in the dim light, trimmed with threads of gold that whispered of wealth and power. Yet there was nothing soft about her presence. The atmosphere itself seemed to stiffen as she crossed the threshold.

Without a word, her gaze flicked toward the two healers tending the bed. They froze, spines stiffening, before she issued her first command—quiet, but edged like a blade.

"Leave us."

There was no hesitation. No protest. The healers bowed and all but fled, their departure so hurried it left the faintest stir of air in their wake. Their trembling hands and quickened steps said more than words could—Lady Vivian was not in a forgiving mood.

The silence she left behind was thick.

On the bed, Harriet no longer screamed, but her face was streaked with dried tears. The redness of her eyes betrayed a night’s worth of grief, the kind that burrowed into the bones. Her breathing came in uneven waves, and though she didn’t speak, her gaze lifted warily toward the approaching figure.

Lady Vivian did not soften her step. She stopped at the foot of the bed, arms folding loosely, eyes hard as onyx. Her first words fell like stones.

"Yes, your family is dead."

The bluntness was a slap in itself. Harriet’s lips parted as fresh tears welled without restraint, blurring her vision.

"There’s nothing you can do," Vivian added, her tone flat.

If she noticed the way Harriet’s chin trembled, she didn’t show it.

"Worse," she continued, her voice silk over steel, "I heard you cannot even move your body. You’re practically useless."

The insult hung in the air like a bitter perfume. Harriet’s breath hitched. She could taste the salt of her own tears at the corner of her lips. Slowly, painfully, she managed to choke out, "...this... this is my fault?"

Vivian tilted her head slightly, almost curious. "If not yours, then whose fault is it? Your parents? Zyren? Me?"

The words cut sharper than any blade. Harriet flinched under them, but Vivian pressed on, merciless.

"If you had killed her and taken her place, Zyren would have protected you—and not her."

Her tone was almost conversational, but every syllable was aimed to pierce.

"She barely got a scratch on her face."

The contempt in her voice made Harriet’s blood burn. She struggled to sit up, her muscles straining, her hands trembling violently, but her body betrayed her—numb, heavy, and uncooperative. All she could do was glare at the woman who stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor.

Vivian’s eyes swept over Harriet’s fragile form, her lips tightening with something dangerously close to disgust.

"Of what use are you to me if you can’t even move?"

The quiet cruelty in the question shattered something in Harriet. Her eyelids fell shut, but the tears refused to stop, tracing hot lines down her pale cheeks. It was the look of someone too tired to argue with fate.

"Then kill me," Harriet whispered, her voice raw but steadying. She opened her eyes again, and there was something feverish in them now. "Kill me and get it over with."

Her gaze sharpened, almost pleading. "I’ll join my family in hell if I have to."

Something in the way she said it seemed to please Lady Vivian—though her face betrayed nothing. Her expression remained a mask of cold composure, but her eyes lingered on Harriet with faint interest, as if seeing a spark worth fanning.

Harriet’s voice rose again, sharp with despair. "I’m useless to you. Then end my misery!"

Her words trembled with a pain that went beyond the body, a wound carved deep into the soul. It was as if she were pouring her grief, her rage, and her exhaustion into the air, demanding an answer.

But Lady Vivian did not kill her. She studied Harriet for a long moment, then slowly shook her head.

"No," she said softly, but with a finality that crushed the air between them. "Not yet."

Her lips curved—not warmly, but with calculated intent. "Before you die, you can still do one thing for me."

The glint in her eyes was predatory, and Harriet felt it—though she didn’t care.

Vivian leaned in just enough for her next words to fall like poison. "I have a concoction that will let you walk. Use your limbs. For a short while, you will be as strong as a vampire. But after that..." Her tone cooled further, almost relishing it. "...you will die a terrible death."

The danger in the offer was plain. Harriet didn’t even blink. She was too far gone to care.

"I’ll do as you ask, Lady Vivian," she said, her voice low, nearly trembling from the strain of holding herself together. "As long as I get the death I need."

Her eyes closed again, but there was no peace in her face—only the endless replay of memories she could not banish. She tried not to think of her family, of their last moments, but the images came anyway, burning through her thoughts until the tears returned, warm and unstoppable.

Lady Vivian straightened, her shadow falling long over the bed. Without another word, she turned and swept from the room, her gown whispering across the floor. The moment she was gone, the suffocating weight of her presence lifted just enough for the healers to return.

They approached cautiously, their eyes flicking toward the door as if half-expecting Vivian to reappear. One carried a fresh basin of water; the other brought salves and cloth. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novelhall.com

They worked in silence for a moment before the older of the two finally spoke, her voice gentle but firm.

"It might seem bad right now," she said, adjusting Harriet’s blanket with careful hands, "but I promise— with intensive care, in a year or two, you’ll be able to use your limbs again without pain."

Her tone carried quiet certainty, the kind born of experience.

But Harriet wasn’t listening. Her gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the room, locked on a future she didn’t want. The words barely reached her, dissolving before they could root. The thought of years was unbearable—she didn’t want years. She didn’t even want days.

Her only answer was the faint sound of her breathing, steady but empty, as tears slid down her face without a sound.

************

The night reeked of iron and smoke. , glinting off claws and fangs as two hulking dark and standing beasts closed in on their prey. Their growls reverberated through the air, a low, primal thunder that made even the shadows flinch.

The creature they hunted—twice the size of either attacker—roared defiantly, its scaled black hide splitting under the weight of repeated blows. One monster lunged, its massive forelimbs striking like hammers, sending shockwaves through the ground. The other darted to the side, fangs sinking deep into the victim’s flank, tearing loose a ribbon of flesh.

The wounded beast staggered but did not fall. Its eyes—burning with a molten gold fury—met theirs with a promise of vengeance. It lashed out in a last desperate counter, claws catching the smaller monster across the chest and spraying the dirt with dark, steaming blood. The cry that followed was part pain, part rage, but neither attacker relented.

They drove it back into the trees, each strike slower than the last until finally the great beast faltered, its legs trembling beneath its massive weight. With one last bellow, it crashed to a knee, blood spilling freely from a dozen wounds. Still, death did not claim it.

A ragged breath escaped Clay’s lungs as he stepped away from the fallen foe. His shoulders heaved, fur receding in ripples as the monstrous form bled away, leaving behind the raw, battered flesh of a man. Claws became fingers, stained with blood not entirely his own. His chest rose and fell with the strain, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

He turned to the other monster, now too shifting into human shape, but Clay barely noticed. His gaze lingered on the dying—not dead—creature before them. Mercy had not been the reason for sparing it. No... Clay knew he wasn’t strong enough yet. Not for this fight. Not for the battles to come.

He dropped to one knee, his breath forming clouds in the chill night air. The copper tang of blood coated his tongue. We should have finished it. The thought bit at him like a blade, but deeper still was another truth—failure would cost the Zygon race everything.

"I swear..." His voice was hoarse, scraped raw by the growls that had been his only language moments ago. He clenched a fist, the blood drying on his skin like a mark of shame. "...I will do better. For us. For all of us."

The other warrior said nothing, but the silence carried understanding.

Clay rose slowly, casting one last look at the wounded monster dragging itself into the dark. This was not over. The hunt would continue, and when it did, he would be ready—not just as a beast, but as a Zygon determined to protect his own.

If not he would be killed and another would take his place... it was the way of beasts.