Brute 230

Chapter 230 

William’s POV 

 

“No,” William muttered again as he paced the length of his room, his boots striking the floor hard enough to irritate him. “How is that even possible?” 

He dragged a hand down his face and forced himself to breathe, but it did not slow the agitation crawling under his skin. The moment Atasha said the words slow–acting poison, something inside him had snapped into a different kind of awareness. 

It was not the careless fear of being caught in a lie. It was the cold shock of realizing a plan built for decades had suddenly been touched by the one person who was never supposed to be allowed near it. 

That man had promised him this would not happen. 

William stopped near the window, staring at nothing, then turned and paced again, faster this time. He could still hear the man’s voice from years ago, confident and certain, like he was explaining a fact of nature. 

If anyone tries to cleanse it with healing, it will lash out. It will turn on them. It will end them. 

William had believed him because everything else the man promised had been delivered exactly as described. 

It had started nearly twenty years ago, back when William still thought loyalty meant something and patience was a virtue instead of a weapon. Back when Collin was not yet fully settled into power, back when the Luna still smiled in public, back when Nightfall’s future still looked like something William could earn. 

He had met the man on the edge of a trade route that was not listed on any pack map. William remembered it clearly because the air that night smelled wrong, like herbs burned to hide other scents. The man did not arrive with guards and did not carry a crest. He walked out of the dark like he had always belonged there, wearing plain clothes that somehow still looked expensive because of how clean he kept them. 

He looked at William the way people looked at a hungry dog they were deciding whether to feed. 

“You are wasting your life behind another man’s name,” the man said, voice calm, as if he was giving advice. “You carry his burden, you clean his messes, you bleed for his image, and when the story is told, you are a footnote.” 

William had not responded. He did not need to. The man had already seen what William tried to hide. 

The man had promised him everything in a single conversation, and it was not money. It was not land. It was not titles. Those were easy. 

He promised William the one thing he had wanted since he was young enough to understand what rank 

meant. 

He promised him a future where Nightfall bowed to William. 

Where the pack would look at him and see the leader, not the shadow. 

17:30 Wed, Dec 24 

Chapter 230 

He promised him an ending where William did not die as someone’s loyal Beta. 

He promised him the seat. 

The Alpha’s seat and obviously… he promised him the thing that he wanted the most. Revenge. 

And then he offered the method with the same casual tone people used when offering a drink. 

A poison that would not scream its presence. 

A poison that would not kill quickly, because quick deaths created questions. 

 

A poison that would turn Collin into a weaker version of himself so slowly that everyone would blame war, blame stress, blame age, blame injuries that had already become part of the pack’s history. 

It had sounded too perfect, which was why William had demanded proof. 

The man had provided it. 

He did not give William one bottle. He gave him a system. He explained how often it needed to be administered. He explained why the amount had to be controlled. He explained how the body adapted if the dose was too heavy, and how even a powerful Alpha could be guided into decline if the poison was fed with patience. 

Every full moon, without fail. 

And every month after that, a package arrived through routes nobody traced back to him. William had followed them for twenty years. 

Twenty years of watching Collin grow tired faster than he should. 

Twenty years of waiting. 

He had not done all of that just for a woman like Atasha to walk into his territory and put her fingers on Collin’s pulse like she had a right to understand what his body held. 

William’s jaw tightened until it hurt. 

“A woman like Atasha,” he said under his breath, and the words tasted like hatred. “A girl who didn’t even know what she was until the North picked her up.” 

He stopped pacing and stared at his desk as if it had personally offended him. 

She needed to die. 

Killing her was the simplest solution. If she died, the story reset. If she died, the pack mourned, the North raged, and William could steer the chaos the same way he had steered everything else. He could blame the Demon Fangs and let the north and Demon Fang kill each other. 

But as quickly as the thought formed, it slammed into reality. 

 

“I can’t kill her,” William muttered, his voice low. “At least, I can’t.” 

Not with Grace at her side. 

Not with northern soldiers stationed in the heart of Nightfall like they owned the hallways. 

 

Not with Cassian’s shadow hanging over every decision, even when the man was not physically there. William had seen enough of the North to know how fast they responded when one of theirs was threatened. Killing Atasha outright would not be an assassination. It would be a declaration of war, and William was not ready to fight the North while Collin still breathed. 

He needed opportunity. 

He needed separation. 

He needed a moment where Grace was not within arm’s reach and the northerners were forced to look elsewhere. He needed Atasha isolated enough that harm could happen without witnesses, and clean enough that it could be blamed on something else. 

Because he still did not know the full limits of Atasha’s ability. 

He did not know how much she could sense. 

He did not know how quickly she could recover. 

He did not know whether she could counter what had been built into Collin’s body for decades. 

And worst of all, he did not know whether the man who supplied him had lied. 

William exhaled through his nose and forced his expression back into control. Panic was useless. Rage was loud. He needed to think the way he had been thinking for twenty years. 

. He left his room without calling a guard. He did not want anyone asking why he was moving. 

Celeste’s study was not far. 

When he reached her door, he knocked, then waited just long enough to be acknowledged before entering. 

Celeste was inside, holding a cup of tea as if she had been trying to calm herself with warmth and routine. The moment she saw him, she straightened quickly, her eyes sharpening with instinct. 

“Uncle?” she asked. “Did something happen?” 

He closed the door behind him and turned the lock with a soft click that made Celeste’s shoulders tense. 

That alone told him she understood this was not a casual visit. 

William faced her, and for a moment he simply watched her, letting the silence do what it always did. Celeste was not patient. She filled quiet spaces with emotion, with questions, with assumptions. It made her easy to 

steer. 

 

He let out a slow breath, then spoke in a tone that sounded steady enough to settle her nerves. 

 

“Sit down,” he said. “Do not start panicking. I am here because I need to tell you something you cannot repeat to anyone, not even your closest servants.” 

Celeste’s grip tightened around her cup, but she nodded quickly and moved toward the chair, sitting with more stiffness than elegance. Her eyes stayed locked on him, wide with expectation. 

William remained standing, because he needed to look like the only stable thing in the room. 

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves were listening. 

“Celeste,” he said. “Atasha knows more than she should.” 

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