Chapter 37-The Demon King's Trap Damien's POV: The sunset's afterglow splashed across the castle's stone walls like blood. When I shoved open that heavy oak door, the air lacked that familiar lavender whiff-Selene's scent. The living room sat empty, no curled-up form on the couch, no sketches tossed on the kitchen island. My gut twisted; I snatched my phone, dialing her. Straight to voicemail. Dead silence. Bad sign. Instinct clawed my chest like wolf talons. She'd headed out early, said it was overtime. Still not wrapped up? I rang Brian-he picked up fast, voice tight with nerves: "Alpha, you rang?" Told him Selene hadn't made it home-had he kept her late? Brian damn near jumped out of his skin, stammering: "Alpha, how could I? I wait on her hand and foot, watch every word like a servant. She didn't even show today, of course-I wouldn't dream of prying..." Shit. The dread hit harder. Selene wasn't the flaky type. No random shutoffs, no shopping sprees-she knew I'd worry, would've texted. Unless... someone clipped her. Mulling it over, piecing Lars into the puzzle, my phone buzzed. Screen lit: Matthew, my Beta. His voice steady as ever, but edged with haste: "Alpha, Ice Moon Pack's Lars reached out. Says he's found his daughter, willing to push the alliance marriage. Wants to hash details in person tomorrow morning." It clicked. I barked a cold laugh, echo slicing the hollow hall like a blade on ice. Alliance? That old fox Lars-he'd snared Selene. The lowlife, blackmailing my woman? Touch one hair on her head, and I'd make him wish he'd never drawn breath. "Set it. Tonight. East hall of the castle." I hung up, grabbed my coat, and floored it back to Blood Shade Pack's stronghold. Straight to the basement. At the mirror, I strapped on the mask-that grotesque thing, wrinkles like ravines, eyes sunk in sockets like dry wells, topped with a wig and hunched shoulders. A walking corpse straight out of legend. The "demon" Alpha, killing machine, sacrificial butcher. Let 'em fear. Let 'em quake. Lars arrived quick, steps echoing the corridor like a rat nosing a snare. He shoved the door; I lounged on the throne, mask-shadowed eyes burning green, pinning his pale fox mug. One look, his knees buckled-thud, down he went, voice quivering like a candle in wind: "Grea... great Alpha, Blood Shade's glory... I... I'm here." I didn't budge, voice grinding from behind the mask, low as hell's murmur: "Alliance? Didn't your bride bolt? What's the play now? Speak." He gulped, sweat beading his brow, eyes darting wild, dodging mine. "Y-yes, my lord. My daughter.... eldest, Vanessa... she's crippled. Prison did her leg in. Can't... can't disrespect a great Alpha like you. So, my youngest, Selene... she'll wed you. I'll deliver her-pure-blood Luna, flawless." Flawless? Ha. I clocked his game. That little bitch Vanessa was his golden girl; Selene? Just the stand-in, jinx with the mark, the reject. He aimed to pawn her for peace, cash, his sorry hide. Crippled? Excuse to shove Selene to the flames, sacrifice for my "curse," then snag the payout and glory. 1508 100.0