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CHAPTER 40

—Alpha Hawthorne’s POV—

I stood before a man, the whip firmly held in my hand, as I gazed at him with a furrowed brow. His back bore the marks of the lashes, and a mixture of sweat and blood trickled down his skin. His eyes were filled with resentment as he glared at me.

He was one of the wolves I had managed to capture, the unfortunate soul who had passed out within my house, only to wake up to the sound of my whip. Despite enduring weeks of torture, he remained mute, never uttering a word, and accepting his grim fate. The thrill of tormenting him sent shivers of excitement coursing through my veins.

He was fully aware he wouldn’t be saved by his companions. After all, it was simply impossible to kill me unless well executed. This was their only regret and the reason they had to retreat. Despite everything and being abandoned, he chose not to speak.

He was the stubborn one, and I knew I would take pleasure in breaking him and making him talk. I had removed my shirt and handed i
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