Brute 157

Chapter 157 

ATASHA’S POV 

“Your Highness!” I was certain that those words were coming from Grace. Yet, I didn’t turn. 

Blood was everywhere. On the ground. On my hands and even on my face. It clung to my skin like it belonged there. I stared at it, breathing hard, waiting for the disgust to come, but it didn’t. 

I should have been horrified. I should have dropped the blade, should have run, should have retched until nothing was left in my stomach. But instead, I felt… still. My pulse was steady, my lungs burned in a way that almost felt alive, and every breath tasted like metal and dirt. 

Then one realization hit me. I… liked it. 

But how could someone like this? The smell and the weight of it. The sound it made when the blade cut too deep. It should have sickened me, but something inside me whispered that this, this chaos, this blood, wasn’t foreign. It was familiar. 

Maybe it was him. Cassian. The monster whose bond now ran through my veins like a second pulse. His darkness was seeping into me, twisting around what little light I had left. Every time I fought it, it came back stronger, hungrier, until I couldn’t tell where his instincts ended and mine began. 

A weak Omega, my father once said, could never lift a sword, let alone survive holding one. “The ones without wolves are useless and weak. Stay in the kitchens, Atasha. Cook for them. Clean for them. It will keep you alive.” 

He was wrong. 

I wasn’t weak. I was covered in proof that he was wrong. The smell of blood didn’t scare me anymore, it called to me. I could feel it under my nails, warm and sticky, reminding me that weakness was a choice. 

Maybe this was what Cassian lived with every day. Maybe this was what being a monster felt like, feeling power crawl under your skin until it replaced everything else. 

For the first time, I understood why he didn’t flinch at death. 

Because once you taste what it feels like to kill and survive, everything else feels smaller. 

And I didn’t want it to stop. 

“Your Highness!” Grace’s voice interrupted my stupor. This time, I turned towards her. 

Grace was standing a few feet away, clutching her arm. Her sleeve was soaked through, the fabric torn where the blade had caught her. She was pale but still steady on her feet. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, breathless, eyes scanning me instead of herself. 

For a second, I didn’t know how to answer. I looked down at my body. My sleeve was slashed open, there was a cut on my shoulder, another on my thigh, but the wounds sealed before I even noticed them. The blood dried. The skin knit back together like it had never been there. I flexed my fingers, still feeling the echo of the 

blade’s bite, but nothing hurt. 

“I’m fine.” I said finally. My voice sounded different. 

Grace didn’t notice. She pressed her hand harder against her bleeding arm, and before she could speak again, I stepped toward her and pressed my palm to her chest. The glow came fast, like muscle memory. The wound 

closed under her torn sleeve. 

She looked down, startled. “Thank you,” she muttered, then frowned toward the fallen bodies. “These people aren’t that strong. Their stance, their aim… they felt like they were hired on the spot. Barely trained.” 

I nodded. I didn’t say anything. My eyes had already moved past her, toward the front of the carriage. The driver was still on the ground, trying to sit up, his breathing ragged. 

I walked to him. His eyes widened when he saw me coming. “My lady-” he started, but the word cut off when I crouched and set my hand over the wound in his shoulder. The same glow spread under my palm, and the bleeding stopped. He blinked, dazed. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

I stood again, wiping my hand on my sleeve. The blood didn’t bother me anymore. 

Then I turned to one of the men sprawled near the ditch. He was breathing, barely. His hand twitched when I stopped beside him. 

Grace’s voice came from behind me, uncertain. “Your Highness… what are you doing?” 

“This one’s alive,” I said. My tone didn’t carry anger or mercy. 

I crouched beside him and pressed my hand to his chest. His pulse stuttered once under my palm. The wound in his side began to close. His breathing steadied, and a moment later, his eyes snapped open. 

He stared at me like I was salvation. He tried to speak, maybe to beg. 

Before he could form 

.d, I drew the knife from my belt and drove it straight through his thigh. He screamed, clutching at the wound as blood poured out between his fingers. 

Grace froze. “Your Highness-” 

I didn’t look at her. “I want him awake,” I said flatly. “I need him to talk.” 

The man’s screams echoed across the road, and I watched him thrash against the pain. 

He writhed and spat at me, rage cutting through the pain. “I’ll kill you,” he choked. “I’ll gut you-” 

I looked at the blood slicking my fingers. It was cooling, tacky against my skin. The sound of his voice rolled off me. The more he fought, the steadier I felt. My mouth shaped into a smile before I knew it was there. 

“Try,” I said, and pulled the knife free in one hard twist. He howled. I shifted my grip, angled for the other thigh, and brought the blade down. 

A hand hit my wrist mid–swing. 

The shock of it jolted through my arm. I frowned and snapped my head up 

Cassian stood over me. fingers clamped around my wrist, stopping the blade an inch above the man’s leg. His breath was rough. His eyes were wrong, shot through with red, the color crawling into the gold like a warning. He didn’t spare the wounded man a glance. He was looking at me. Only me. 

“Enough.” he said, voice low and edged. 

The man on the ground whimpered, dragging himself backward through the dirt, leaving a dark smear where his leg bled out. His breath came in short, panicked bursts, the kind that made his chest stutter. 

Grace stood a few steps away near the wheel, frozen in place. One hand hovered near her sword, but she didn’t draw it. Her eyes moved between me and Cassian, hesitant and uncertain whether to interfere or stay back. She could feel it too, the tension thick enough to choke on, the kind that came right before something far worse than bloodshed. 

Yet, I ignored the man and continued staring at Cassian. His grip didn’t ease. Heat pressed where his skin met mine, the bond flaring like a brand between our ribs. I felt his anger. I felt the hunger under it, answering something that had just woken up inside me.