Chapter 8 Battle With The Unknown

From a distance, Damon watched the local carriage ride away with a maid and his slave in it. Something about the Viscount exchanging words with her unsettled him. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Alpha Damon," a man in an expensive gray fur coat called, bowing deeply. It was Duke Wilson, a man of average height who had aged more than his appearance suggested. Damon had chosen to keep him at arm's length because of his sharp wit.

"I've received complaints from the Eastern region. My trip there, however, was successful. I convinced the Alpha of the Crescent Moon Pack to reach an agreement with us. All that remains is for you to sign it, milord," Duke Wilson said, bowing slightly as he handed Damon the parchment.

"You've done well, as always," Damon replied, placing the parchment in his coat pocket.

"My daughter, Nirvana, is of marriageable age, and she wishes to spend a day with you. She is of excellent manners and exquisite beauty. I hope you will consider her, milord," Duke Wilson said, subtly advocating for his daughter after gaining the Alpha's favor.

"It would be a shame not to honor her wishes. Send her over so we may get acquainted," the Alpha replied. A broad smile quickly spread across the Duke's face.

"Yes, milord. I will tell her this wonderful news," Duke Wilson said happily as Damon turned to leave.

Alfred quickly took his place beside him. As they walked, none of the villagers dared to meet Damon's gaze; no one wanted to face the Alpha's ruthlessness.

They reached a polished, grand carriage pulled by four horses. The coachman swiftly jumped down, bowed to the Alpha, opened the door, and placed a stool for him to step on. Damon entered the carriage, and Alfred followed. The door shut, and the coachman climbed back into his seat, driving the carriage toward the castle.

"When is the Winter Ball, Alfred?" Damon asked, resting his head lazily against the window frame.

"Exactly one month and fifteen days from now, your highness," Alfred replied dutifully.

As they rode, Damon's sharp eyes caught faint tire tracks on the road. His mind wandered briefly to a little girl with gray eyes. A dark, sinister smirk curled on his lips, causing Alfred to shift uncomfortably. He knew that smirk, and nothing good ever came of it.

The carriage suddenly halted, making Alfred's head collide with the wooden interior. Damon's senses heightened as he felt an ominous presence.

"It seems we have visitors," Damon sighed, stepping out of the carriage with a nonchalant expression.

Alfred followed quickly, drawing his gun, but there was no one in sight. His eyes widened slightly when he saw the coachman's lifeless body on the ground. Blood poured from the jagged wound on his neck, as though the flesh had been torn apart violently.

"Rogue werewolves," Alfred muttered just as one leaped from the woods.

The creature's head resembled a feral wolf, while the rest of its body was humanoid. It lunged at Damon, but Damon easily grabbed it by the neck and slammed it to the ground.

The creature rose again to attack, and three more appeared to join the fray. Alfred fired relentlessly, but the bullets seemed ineffective. Two of the rogues charged at him. Tossing aside his gun, Alfred fought them with his sword.

Damon gripped one of the rogues by the neck, effortlessly ripping its head from its body. Another lunged at him, but Damon hurled the severed head at it, enraging the creature further.

It charged at him, intent on tearing him apart, but Damon twisted its arm, ripping it off. The creature howled in pain before Damon tore off its other arm, leaving it to collapse, lifeless.

"Who sent you?" Damon demanded. Receiving no answer, he gouged out the creature's eyes, killing it instantly.

Another rogue attacked, stabbing Damon with a dagger. The creature stabbed him repeatedly in the same spot, forcing Damon to his knees.

The attacker, the only female among them, gripped his neck tightly and plunged the dagger into his chest. She smiled victoriously, believing she had subdued him.

Damon coughed up blood, his face contorted in pain. "Why?..." he managed to ask.

The female rogue crouched to his level, her eyes gleaming with fascination. It was a shame he had to die-what a waste of good looks.

"Caesar's wishes," she whispered hoarsely. Drawing a golden dagger from her coat, she stabbed Damon in the heart. She waited for him to combust, but as minutes passed, nothing happened. Her face contorted with worry.

A slow, sinister smirk spread across Damon's lips. He chuckled, pulling the dagger from his chest and tossing it aside. Rising to his full height, black fumes emanated from his wound, which healed instantly.

"Sorry, darling. I already died and was reborn as the devil," Damon said, his voice dripping with menace.

With one swift move, he seized her neck in a bone-crushing grip. "I'll be sure to send Caesar your way soon. Enjoy hell until then". Damon grinned and in the next moment, he tore her head from her body with his bare hands.