Red Confetti
Trigger Warning:This chapter contains extremely graphic violence, gore, dismemberment, blood, death, and the aftermath of sexual assault. It is dark, brutal, and intended for mature audiences only (21+). Reader discretion is very strongly advised.
I couldn’t move.
My body felt frozen, naked, exposed, sprawled across the ruined couch with shredded clothes clinging to me like wet rags.
The Alphas who had pinned me moments ago were shifting restlessly, fur erupting through skin, bones cracking, low growls vibrating the air.
But even they were backing away, hackles raised, eyes wide.
Because the wolf that had just shouldered through the shattered doors was bigger than anything I’d ever seen.
Bigger than Saint’s wolf.
Bigger than anything should be.
Black fur so dark it drank the light, shoulders wider than the doorway even while crouched, paws the size of dinner plates gouging deep furrows in the concrete. Golden eyes burned like twin suns. When it opened its jaws to snarl, the fangs were longer than my hand.
Rhys.
It had to be Rhys.
Behind him, Saint’s wolf padded in—still massive, red eyes glowing like embers—but dwarfed by the black beast in front.
Then Kane stepped through last, in human form, shirt torn open down the front, claws extended. A wide, unhinged grin split his face.
He looked ecstatic.
Like he’d been waiting all night for this.
Kane spoke first, sounding almost cheerful.
“Aww, look at that.” His words took on a mocking, sing-song lilt. “They got our little princess all naked and crying. How sweet.”
He took one slow, deliberate step forward.
The Alphas around me bared teeth, hackles rising, but the fear-scent rolling off them was thick enough to choke on, sharp and metallic.
Kane’s grin stretched wider.
“You know,” he continued conversationally, claws flexing with soft metallic clicks, “I was having a really good night. Then I smelled her fear. And blood. And cum that isn’t ours.”
He tilted his head, eyes glittering black.
“So I thought to myself… why not come collect what’s ours?”
One of the shifted Alphas lunged without warning—teeth bared, claws out, aiming straight for Kane’s throat.
Saint moved faster.
Jaws closed around the attacker’s neck mid-air.
A wet, sickening crunch.
Blood sprayed in a wide arc, hot droplets spattering my thighs.
Saint shook his head once, violently.
The body flopped to the floor, throat torn out, spine gleaming white through shredded muscle and fur.
Kane laughed, bright, delighted, completely unhinged.
“Good boy,” he cooed, reaching over to ruffle the blood-matted fur between Saint’s ears. “Who’s my good murder puppy?”
Saint huffed, tail giving a single lazy wag.
The room exploded.
Alphas shifted and charged in a snarling wave.
Rhys didn’t flinch.
He surged forward in a blur of midnight fur and molten gold eyes, slamming into the first wolf with freight-train force.
Claws ripped through fur and muscle like wet paper.
A scream cut off abruptly as Rhys’s jaws clamped around a throat and tore—cartilage popping, arteries bursting in bright red fountains.
Blood misted the air like confetti, some landing warm and sticky across my trembling skin.
Another Alpha leapt from the side. Rhys spun, massive paw swiping in a casual arc.
Claws caught the attacker from ribs to groin, opening him like a sack of grain.
Guts spilled in steaming, glistening ropes onto the concrete.
The wolf dropped, twitching, paws scrabbling uselessly at his own entrails as shock widened his eyes.
Rhys didn’t spare him a glance.
He was already moving to the next.
Kane laughed again—louder, manic, gleeful.
He didn’t shift. He didn’t need to.
He strolled through the carnage like it was a Sunday walk, claws flashing. One Alpha tried to flank him. Kane caught the arm mid-swipe, twisted until bone snapped like dry kindling, then drove his claws up under the chin—through the mouth, out the top of the skull.
The body collapsed like a marionette with severed strings, brain matter leaking gray-pink onto the floor.
My eyes widened in horror. Bile surged hot and sour at the back of my throat. I couldn’t scream—only a thin, broken whimper escaped. The metallic tang of blood coated my tongue; the wet slap of meat and the copper stink filled every breath.
Kane kicked the corpse aside like trash and kept walking.
Straight toward me.
I tried to crawl backward, naked, shaking, sweat and blood and tears mixing into a cold, slippery film on my skin.
His hand clamped around my ankle like iron.
I screamed.
He dragged me back to the edge of the blood-soaked couch with terrifying ease.
When I was close enough, he dropped to one knee, pressed his nose to the inside of my thigh, right where dried blood crusted my skin and inhaled deeply against a clean patch of flesh.
“Missed you, princess,” he murmured, voice wrecked with raw hunger. “You smell like fear and them. I hate it.”
His hand slid up, wrapping around my throat—not choking, just claiming, thumb resting over my racing pulse.
He lifted me effortlessly, pulling me flush against his chest. My naked body pressed to his blood-streaked shirt; his heart hammered against mine like a war drum.
I struggled weakly, sobs choking me.
He only held tighter.
“Aww, so cute,” he cooed, gazing down at me like I was something precious and fragile. “Look at you. All messy and scared. But we’re here now, princess. Don’t be scared.”
Behind him, the slaughter continued.
Saint tore through another wolf, claws eviscerating, jaws crushing bone with wet snaps.
Rhys ripped a throat out in a single savage twist, golden eyes glowing brighter with every kill, black fur gleaming wet and red.
The room was painted red, bodies strewn across the floor, some still twitching, some missing limbs, some torn nearly in half, entrails steaming in the cool air.
Kane turned, still cradling me bridal-style against his chest.
Saint padded over, fur matted and dark with gore, red eyes softening the instant they landed on me.
He shifted back mid-stride, naked, scarred, blood dripping from his chin and chest.
He whined low in his throat, pressing his face to my dangling legs, rubbing against my calves in frantic scent-marking circles.
Kane reached down with his free hand and scratched behind Saint’s ear.
“Good boy,” he said fondly. “Did you have fun?”
Saint snorted, tail thumping once against the bloody floor.
Then the three of them simply… walked out.
Kane carrying me like a bride.
Saint trotting beside us, blood dripping from his jaws in slow, rhythmic patters.
Rhys shifting back to human form last, naked, blood-streaked, golden eyes calm and cold again, falling into step on my other side.
No one dared follow.
The screams and wet tearing sounds continued behind us.
But for the Triumvirate?
The night was over.
They had what they came for.
Me.