The Witch and Her Four Dangerous Alphas

Chapter 68

Chapter 68: Chapter 68: Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack

Selene suddenly stepped back, her shadow peeling away from his as if she’d just lost interest. But the mutter that left her lips was low and dangerous.

"It seems you don’t open your mouth with beating..."

Before Kellan could smirk again, she raised her hand and bit into the pad of her own finger, deep enough for blood to well bright and scarlet. In the same motion, she seized his chin, forcing his head up until his neck strained painfully.

Her smile was sweet in a way that made Kellan’s skin crawl.

"Now... when you open your eyes again, be ready to tell the truth," she whispered. "Or I’ll show you a thousand more methods like this."

Kellan jerked against the chains, but she was already moving, her blood trailing in a deliberate pattern across his sweat-slick skin. A strange symbol began to form on his forehead, the lines sharp and exact, each one drawn with unshaking precision.

The moment the last stroke connected, the mark brightened faintly, glowing like a dying ember... and then sank into his skin, vanishing as though it had never been there.

Kellan’s composure broke. He thrashed violently, eyes wild.

"What the fuck are you doing, bitch?! I told you—I don’t know anything! We don’t have any witches! Let me go!" His voice cracked into something that almost sounded like fear.

Selene didn’t even look at him. "We’ll see whether you truly know nothing... or whether your lies just ran out of time."

She turned, already walking toward the doorway. "Come, Sara. Leave him here with his misery."

that his chains were just

a small

level needed to draw that symbol. It was an advanced level of witchcraft that only

her was

a heartbeat later

torn from the throat of a man who had thought himself untouchable. It was followed by pleading,

didn’t need an explanation. She knew exactly what Selene had

sight and sound but turned the mind inward—forcing the victim to feel every ounce

they’d dragged from

every bite,

someone had prayed for it to

reality. The roles reversed, and the torturer became

the most high-grade hallucination known among witches—not just because of its brutality, but because it was almost impossible to manipulate a mind so deeply without shattering it completely. And the darker a person’s sins, the

would suffer more

things he’d done to young witches weren’t just cruel. They were... depraved. And

knew exactly where

misted despite herself, unbidden

they had rescued months ago. She was barefoot and starved from who knows how long. Her wrists were nothing but raw rings of scar tissue from iron manacles. The way she had flinched at the sound of a man’s voice. How she had died within

was just another den of monsters. Monsters who hunted

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