Brute 182

Chapter 182 

 

Seeing Atasha about to be attacked by her men, a certain sense of victory filled the Matron’s heart. 

 

She had given the order. Now the six heavy soldiers advanced, weapons raised, ready to pin the consort down. Yara watched, eager to see the pale, fragile woman finally break. This was the moment of truth. She expected screams,surrender, maybe a pathetic attempt at healing herself or Grace. 

But the screams never came. 

Before the first soldier could close the distance, Atasha moved. It wasn’t a retreat or a calculated dodge like the one she had used moments earlier. It was a raw, explosive shift. Her body snapped upright, shedding the image of fragility in an instant. 

Yara blinked, her smirk freezing on her face. That was too fast! 

“What…” 

The consort shoved the wounded Grace away from her body and launched herself forward instead of back. She didn’t use the dagger. She didn’t even seem to draw breath. 

The first soldier, a thick, experienced brute named Balthus who wore the wolf’s hide sigil, was expecting a struggle. Instead, Atasha met his advance with her bare hands. One hand clamped around his wrist, twisting his large arm inward with impossible force. A sharp crack echoed in the study, loud and wet. The soldier roared, dropping his weapon and staggering sideways, clutching the ruin of his forearm. 

“You” the Matron felt like something was lodged in her throat as she took a step back. “What are you waiting for! Capture her!” 

The second soldier lunged with a short sword aimed at her ribs. Atasha didn’t block. She ducked under the swipe,moving so low and fast she seemed to blur. Her shoulder connected with the soldier’s stomach, a tight, focused impact that winded him instantly. As he doubled over, she brought her hands up. 

Yara watched in horrified disbelief as Atasha’s fingers locked onto the man’s throat. She didn’t press or choke him. She pulled. There was a sickening, tearing sound, like wet cloth being ripped apart, and the soldier’s gurgling cry ended abruptly. He fell to his knees, eyes bulging, hands scrambling uselessly at the massive, gaping tear in his neck. Dark blood poured over her arm and onto the floor. 

It was savagery. Pure, instinctual violence that had nothing to do with training. 

Yara’s breath hitched. What is going on? What was she seeing? 

The remaining four soldiers, all full-blooded werewolves trained for close-quarters combat, paused for a collective second. They were strong enough to crush human bone, but they were not prepared for an opponent who fought without fear, without strategy, and without weapons. 

The brief hesitation cost them. 

Atasha didn’t give them time to recover. Her movements were inhumanly smooth, powered by a manic 

 

strength that belied her slight frame. She didn’t bother with the injured soldiers, her form was only on the 

new threats. 

She slammed into the third man. He tried to grab her, to use his superior weight, but the dippert past his gripe like water She twisted, her elbow driving upward under his chin with bone-shattering force. His helner New off and his head snapped back, the impact rendering him instantly limp. As his body pitched. Atash caught his falling weapon, a heavy, serrated knife. 

The knife wasn’t used to stab. It was used to butcher. 

She drove the blade into the man’s chest, then immediately wrenched it sideways, tearing through flesh and ribs with brutal efficiency. Blood sprayed outward in a thick cloud, painting the wall behind Castian’s desk a dark, glistening crimson. The soldier collapsed, leaving the knife stuck half-deep in the grotesque wound. 

Yara instinctively stepped back, knocking into one of the flanking guards. The stench of fresh, hot gore hir her, sharp and metallic. This was not a fair fight. This was an execution. 

“You- attack her all at once!” the Matron said as two soldiers flanked before her. She turned towards that man who was holding the stone and was not surprised to see him just as surprised as her. 

Two more wolves rushed her from opposite sides, intending to pin her arms. Atasha didn’t hesitate. She left the knife where it was, meeting the attack by plunging both hands into the gaping wound of the fallen soldier. She pulled. 

She didn’t just pull out the knife. She tore out a ragged piece of something internal, a portion of lung or liver, and whipped it, slick with blood, at the face of the nearest attacker. The man roared in disgust and shock, momentarily blinded and disoriented by the unexpected, sickening assault. 

The distraction was all she needed. 

She grabbed the wrist of the fourth wolf as he reached her, bending the limb backward until the bone snapped, the sound cracking like a dry branch. With the man screaming and collapsing, she spun, meeting the fifth wolf. This one was strong, a veteran. He managed to tackle her, shoving her against the corner of Cassian’s heavy wooden desk. 

The impact should have knocked the wind out of her. Instead, it seemed to fuel her. 

“What is-” 

A guttural sound, ripped from Atasha’s throat. Her small hands found the man’s skull.She didn’t need to transform. The raw strength was already there. With a terrifying surge of energy, she slammed his head down repeatedly onto the wooden edge of the desk. 

The heavy, sickening impacts continued until the man’s struggles ceased and the wood splintered, stained black and red by the crushing force. 

The remaining soldier, the sixth, the last of the elite guard, didn’t attack. He stumbled backward, his face a mask of primal terror, the scent of his own fear thick in the air. He was a werewolf, built for violence, yet he looked at the consort like she was the apex predator. 

Atasha turned toward him. Her clothes were shredded in several places, but the skin beneath was pristine. Her face was drenched in the blood of her victims, her hair plastered to her forehead, but her eyes, Yara could not 

10:05 Wed, Nov 19 

Chapter 182 

look away from her eyes. They were wide, unfocused, and utterly volt of the pade fragility die had deve earlier. They were dark,consuming, and terrifyingly alive, 

It… reminded her of someone… someone that she had seen art like this in the past. Carstend 

Then she watched as Atasha took one slow, step toward the last soldier, her bare feet siles on the blo soaked rug. 

The werewolf dropped his sword and whined, a sound that broke the last of Yard’s comp 

Atasha didn’t kill him quickly, She stalked him, cornering him against the wall of books When the trally reached him,she didn’t use a weapon. She lifted him by the neck with one hand, her thumb pressing hard against his windpipe until his boots were dangling off the ground, 

The wolf gasped, clawing at her arm, but Atasha’s grip was iron. Her face was just inches from his. Then, slowly,terrifyingly, she twisted, 

The crunch of the snapped vertebrae was audible over the distant clash of swords from the courtyard. The soldier went instantly limp, his legs dropping, his head hanging at an impossible angle. 

Atasha released him. The body slid to the floor, leaving a long, crimson smear against the wall 

Silence descended on the study, broken only by Atasha’s ragged, deep breaths. Six of Yara’s strongest men were all dead. Butchered by a woman who had been leaning on an attendant moments ago. 

Yara stared, her throat tight. 

Then slowly… Atasha turned her head towards Yara.