D


    Finished


    Third Person’s POV


    Mr. Duskcliff bared his teeth, fury radiating from every pore. “You arrogant little bitch,” he snarled, voice low and venomous. “Don’t think walking out of prison means you’ve escaped justice. You dared to harm my daughter–now you’ll pay.”


    With that, he raised his hand to strike Riley across the face.


    Carmen turned her head sharply, horror shing through her eyes. “If you touch her, I swear I’ll rip that hand off!”


    But she was toote.


    Except… the blow nevernded.


    Mr. Duskcliff’s hand froze mid–air–caught, held immobile by a muchrger hand.


    It wasn’t by his own will that he stopped.


    Riley and Carmen both turned their eyes toward the figure behind him.


    There stood Lucien Duskgrave, dressed in nothing but a loose ck sleep shirt that hung open at the cor, exposing a lean, scarred corbone and part of his bare chest. His ink–ck hair was tousled, and yet he looked like the very embodiment of a highborn Alpha–powerful, untouchable.


    His aura hit the room like a storm rolling in over blood–soaked ins.


    There was nothing soft about him. Only razor–sharp dominance, the silent snarl of a predator who didn’t need to bare his teeth to make you bow.


    His deep, silver eyes locked on Mr. Duskcliff, glinting like ice under moonlight.


    Mr. Duskcliff grunted, trying to wrench his hand free. The veins in his neck bulged, his face turned a furious red–but he couldn’t move an inch.


    Then–snap.


    Lucien dislocated the arm with terrifying ease.


    A sharp scream tore from Mr. Duskcliff’s throat as he crumpled to the ground, the limb hanging uselessly at his side.


    Above him, the chandelier cast stark shadows across Lucien’s chiseled features. He looked down at Mr. Duskcliff as if he were nothing but carrion.


    In that moment, the man felt the cold grip of true fear wing up his spine.


    He opened his mouth, trying to stammer something–anything. “L–Lord Duskgrave…”


    But Lucien didn’t even look at him.


    His attention had already shifted–to Riley.


    In just a few strides, he was at her side.


    Without asking, he took her hand.


    The skin was pale, but marred now by angry, red scalding. The porridge had left a painful burn, and small blisters had started


    to rise


    Lucien’s jaw clenched.


    He sat her down on the leather couch, his movements quick but careful.


    Just then, Matriarch Duskgrave, Mrs. Beck, and Mia stepped into the living room.


    3:55 PM <b>P </b>P


    The moment the Matriarch saw the burn on Riley’s arm, her eyes darkened. “What happened to her?!”


    Finished


    Mrs. Beck’s breath hitched. Since the moment Riley had called her “Mama,” she’d treated the girl like her own–gentle, loving, overly protective. A cough, a sneeze–she was always the first to worry.


    Now, seeing Riley injured so badly, she nearly lost herposure.


    Without a word, she rushed to get the medical kit.


    Mia spotted Carmen and blinked. “Carmen? What are you doing here?”


    Her eyes then fell to the wreckage on the floor–the shards of shattered porcin, the spilled porridge, the woman trembling behind the couch, and the blood.


    “What happened?”


    Carmen didn’t hesitate. She told them everything–how Mr. and Mrs. Duskcliff had barged in, how Mrs. Duskcliff had attacked Riley, and how she had defended her.


    By the end, Mia’s eyes burned with disgust as she turned her re on the intruders.


    The Matriarch’s cane mmed into the floor with a thunderous “thud,” echoing through the dead–silent room.


    “You daree into my pack’s home andy a hand on my grandson’s mate?” Her voice was cold enough to freeze rivers. “You think the Duskgrave name means nothing?!”


    Lucien was already tending to Riley’s wound.


    He cradled her wrist gently in hisrge hand, his every movementced with concern and reverence. He applied the salve and bandaged it with tender precision.


    “Does it hurt?” he asked, voice soft but taut.


    Riley looked up at him, her expression calm, unreadable. She shook her head.


    But he could feel her pain anyway. His jaw ticked. A storm brewed behind his eyes.


    The room remained still<b>–</b><b>so </b>still that one could hear the faint ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall.


    All eyes were on Riley–Matriarch Duskgrave, Mrs. Beck, Mia, and Carmen. All of them stood like sentinels, encircling her in silent protection.


    As for Mr. and Mrs. Duskcliff, they stood off to the side, ignored, humiliated. The icy pressure of the pack’s judgment hung over them like a de.


    Ten full minutes passed before Lucien finished tending to Riley.


    He closed the medical kit, slowly stood, and lifted his gaze.


    Now, he looked at them.


    Now, the storm arrived.


    His voice dropped low. Dangerous. Controlled. “You better give me a reason I shouldn’t tear you both limb from limb.”


    The fury wasn’t loud–it didn’t need to be. It was felt. In the air. In the bones.


    Mr. Duskcliff’s lips twisted. “Lucien–we didn’te to stir up trouble,” he growled through clenched teeth. “We came for our son. For Ronan But when <b>we </b>saw her,” he gestured toward Riley with venom, “the one who put our daughter in aa


    we lost our tempers.”


    He spat the next words.


    She deserves everything she got”


    3:55 PM P P ·


    A beat passed. Then two.


    And then, Lucien smiled.


    It was the kind of smile wolves give before they tear out a throat.