To ruin an Omega

Chapter 299: For every monster 2

HAZEL

Wenzel’s smile widened. “I heard the things that happened to you.” He said it casually. Like he was discussing the weather again. “If you were self sufficient and didn’t need to rely on anyone, you would most likely not be in that predicament.”

My hands clenched at my sides. I forced them to relax. Forced my breathing to stay even.

He was right. The worst part was that he was absolutely right.

If I hadn’t needed Milo, I wouldn’t have had to kill him. If Milo’s death wasn’t an equation I’d been forced to still be connected to, I wouldn’t be an Omega right now. I wouldn’t be standing in this gallery pretending to admire art while my future father-in-law who was probably much worse than me casually justified atrocities.

“I don’t know if my pack participated, but did yours do it? You seem very fixated on healers.”

Wenzel nodded. “Well, yes.” There was no hesitation or shame. “I’m not proud of it, of course. But I understand them. I on the other hand do not mind being reliant. There is strength in numbers. I wouldn’t have put my penis in one of them though. I would have just made sure they never left us.”

The casual way he said it made my skin crawl. I didn’t like how he said it. There was something about the tone. So this was where Lysander got it from. Wenzel’s own was much worse though.

“Is that why you are interested in the healer my grandmother promised you?”

I watched his face and searched for any tell. Any crack in the facade that might give something away.

The Aldric situation still demanded something.

He smiled. Then he walked toward the sentinel.

His hand came up and he patted the sentinel on the shoulder.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The sentinel stood perfectly still. His expression neutral.

Wenzel still didn’t answer me though.

The Alpha simply moved behind him lazily and like he had all the time in the world.

Then his arm came up and wrapped around the sentinel’s throat.

The sentinel’s eyes went wide. His hands came up, grabbing at Wenzel’s arm.

“Don’t fight.” Wenzel’s voice was soft and almost gentle. “Give in. You have played your part in this world and you played it well.”

The sentinel struggled. His feet kicked against the marble floor. His fingers clawed at the arm cutting off his air.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t do anything except stand there and watch and wonder why he was doing this.

Wenzel tightened his grip.

The sound was wet and final as I heard a crack that echoed in the gallery like a gunshot.

Then the sentinel went limp.

Wenzel let him drop. The body hit the floor with a heavy thud and all that reminded present in the man was his dead eyes that stared at nothing.

I stared at the corpse. At the way his head sat at an unnatural angle. At the way his fingers were still partially curled, like they were still trying to pry away an arm that was no longer there.

Wenzel closed his eyes. His lips moved in silent prayer.

“May the goddess give him peace and forgive my grave sins.”

He opened his eyes and looked at me. His expression was calm. Serene even.

Like he hadn’t just murdered someone in front of me. Like the body at his feet was just another piece of art in the gallery.

My heart hammered against my ribs. My breathing had gone shallow. Every instinct screamed at me to run. To get out. To put as much distance between myself and this man as possible.

But I couldn’t move.

My feet felt welded to the floor. My body refused to respond to what my brain was screaming at it.

Wenzel stepped over the body and moved closer to me.

I forced myself not to flinch.

He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Different from Lysander’s. The notes were sharper.

“Do you know what separates those who lead from those who follow?” His voice was conversational. Pleasant even. “It’s not strength. Not intelligence. Not even ruthlessness, though that certainly helps.”

He waited. Like he actually expected me to answer.

I couldn’t. My throat had closed up. Words felt impossible.

“It’s the willingness to do what needs to be done.” He glanced back at the body. “That man served my family for ten years. He was loyal. Competent. Everything you could want in a sentinel.”

“Then why—”

“Because he heard something he shouldn’t have.” Wenzel turned back to me. “You asked questions. Good questions. Smart questions. But questions that someone of his station shouldn’t have heard.”

My stomach turned. “You killed him because of me.”

“I killed him because it was necessary.” He said it like he was explaining basic math to a child. “You shouldn’t feel guilty. You didn’t know. How could you? But in matters of fleshcraft, you do not go around leaving dots that can be connected.”

Fleshcraft? That sounded vaguely familiar.

“You said he was loyal. Then this wasn’t necessary. It is just senseless murder.”

“Really?” He smiled. “Tell me, Hazel. When you killed that sentinel, was that murder? Or was that necessary for you? Was it wrong? Or was it simply necessary?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer.

Because he was right. Again. And I hated him for it.

“We all do what we have to do to survive.” Wenzel’s hand came up. I tensed, but he just brushed something off my shoulder. A piece of lint, maybe or dust. “The sooner you accept that, the easier life becomes.”

He stepped back and adjusted his cuffs.

“Someone will clean this up. You should return to your room and rest. I am sure it has been a long day.”

He walked past me. His footsteps echoed in the gallery. Fading as he moved deeper into the estate.

I stood there. Alone except for the corpse at my feet and the painted eyes of long dead healers watching from the walls.

My hands were shaking. I shoved them into my pockets so I wouldn’t have to see them.

One foot in front of the other, I’d told myself earlier. That’s all I had to do.