Chapter 8 Killing Spree

Cypress stormed into the packhouse, his mind racing. The witch's words echoed relentlessly: Her love-and her blood-are the keys to breaking your curse. He didn't have time to waste.

"Finn!" Cypress bellowed, his voice reverberating through the halls.

Finn appeared moments later, his face tense but calm. "What now?"

"Octavia," Cypress growled. "I want her back. Find the buyer and buy her back. Whatever it takes."

Finn shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Cypress's intense gaze. "She can't be bought back."

"What do you mean she can't?" Cypress's tone was dangerously low.

Finn hesitated, then finally met his alpha's gaze. "Because I didn't sell her."

The room went silent, save for the sound of Cypress's sharp inhale. His eyes darkened, and his fists clenched at his sides.

"You didn't sell her?" Cypress said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I couldn't do it," Finn admitted. "I let her go."

"You what?" Cypress took a menacing step forward, his towering frame radiating fury. "You disobeyed my direct order?"

"She didn't deserve it," Finn said, his voice steady despite the tension. "You rejected her, yes. But selling her like she was property? That wasn't right. So, I gave her a chance to escape."

Cypress's nostrils flared, and for a moment, it seemed like he might strike Finn. But he stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "Where is she now?"

"I sent her to a village far from here," Finn said. "She should be safe there."

"She'd better be," Cypress said coldly. "Because if anything happened to her, the blood will be on your hands."

Finn stiffened but didn't respond.

The journey to the village was tense and silent. Cypress rode ahead, his jaw clenched and his eyes scanning the horizon as if Octavia might suddenly appear. Finn followed closely, his usual confidence tempered by unease.

When they reached the outskirts of the village, Cypress dismounted his horse and strode forward without hesitation. The settlement was quiet, its streets lined with modest homes and scattered market stalls.

"Start asking," Cypress ordered Finn, his voice curt.

Finn nodded and approached a group of villagers while Cypress interrogated a merchant. The responses were vague and unhelpful-until one old woman hesitantly stepped forward.

"You're looking for Octavia?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Cypress turned to her, his gaze piercing. "You know her?"

"I did," the woman said, wiping her hands. "But she's gone now."

"Gone?" Cypress's voice was a low growl.

"She was... taken," the woman whispered, her eyes darting nervously.

"By who?" Cypress demanded, stepping closer.

"Bandits," she admitted. "They killed her. They said she is a witch. "

The words hit Cypress like a physical blow. For a moment, he was frozen, his mind refusing to process what he'd just heard.

"You're lying," he said, his voice shaking with fury.

"I wish I was," the woman said, tears in her eyes. "They took her."

"Where are they?" Cypress's tone was icy, each word dripping with menace.

The woman hesitated, but Finn stepped forward, his own expression grim. "Answer him."

"They hide in the caves north of here," the woman said quickly.

Cypress didn't wait for more information. He turned and began walking back to his horse.

"Cypress," Finn called after him.

"Don't try to stop me," Cypress snapped, mounting his horse in one swift motion.

"I wasn't going to," Finn said, mounting his own horse. "I'm coming with you."

The caves were dark and ominous, their jagged entrances like gaping maws. Cypress dismounted, his every movement radiating controlled rage.

"They're in there," Finn said, his voice low.

Cypress didn't respond. He was already moving toward the entrance, his heightened senses on full alert.

Inside, the air was damp and foul, the flicker of torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls. Voices echoed from deeper within, the coarse laughter and jeering of men who thought they were safe.

Cypress didn't hesitate. He strode forward, his steps silent and careful. The first bandit didn't even see him coming. Cypress grabbed him by the throat, slamming him against the wall with enough force to crack bone.

"Where's Octavia?" he growled, his voice deadly.

The man sputtered, his eyes wide with fear. "She's... she's dead!"

The admission sent a fresh wave of fury through Cypress. He tightened his grip, snapping the man's neck with a sickening crunch.

The noise alerted the others, who came running with weapons drawn. Finn stepped in, his own blade flashing as he took down the nearest attacker.

But Cypress was a force of nature. His wolf surged to the surface, his claws elongating and his eyes glowing with unbridled rage. He tore through the bandits like they were nothing, their screams echoing through the cavern.

One by one, they fell-some trying to fight, others attempting to flee. None escaped Cypress's wrath.

When the last man lay dead, Cypress stood amidst the carnage, his chest shaking and his hands stained with blood.

Finn approached cautiously, his own weapon still in hand. "Cypress..."

"She's gone," Cypress said, his voice hollow.

Finn didn't respond. There was nothing he could say that would make it better.

Cypress looked around the cave, his sharp eyes catching sight of something glinting in the dim light. He moved toward it, his heart sinking as he picked up a small pendant. It was hers.

"She was here," he said quietly, his grip tightening on the pendant.

Finn placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll make them pay, Cypress. All of them."

"They already have," Cypress said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion.

Cypress rode back to the packhouse in silence.

The curse felt heavier now, like a chain wrapped around his soul, tightening with every breath. He couldn't shake the witch's words or the vivid image of Octavia's fate.

Back at the packhouse, he dismounted and handed the reins to a stable hand without a word. Finn followed close behind but kept his distance, sensing that any attempt to speak would be unwelcome.

Cypress entered his quarters, slamming the door behind him. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in as the memories of the past days replayed in his mind. He threw the pendant onto the desk, staring at it as if it might hold the answers he desperately sought.

"How long?" he muttered, his voice low and filled with frustration.

His hands trembled as he raked them through his hair. "How long am I supposed to carry this... this curse?"

The witch's words echoed again: Her love-and her blood-are the keys to breaking your curse.

But her love was gone.

He sank into the nearest chair, leaning forward with his head in his hands. The room was silent except for the sound of his ragged breathing.

He'd always prided himself on his strength, his ability to overcome anything thrown his way. But this curse-this unbearable, unrelenting, and annoying-it was something he couldn't fight with claws or fangs.

For the first time in years, Cypress felt powerless.

The thought only fueled his anger. He slammed a fist onto the desk, the impact making the pendant jump. "I'll fix this," he snarled, his voice filled with determination.

But deep down, a gnawing doubt remained. What if there was no fixing it? What if this curse was his punishment-one he'd have to carry forever?

As night fell over the packhouse, Cypress remained in his quarters, lost in the storm of his own thoughts.