Marrying a Warhound (Cassian) novel Chapter 189

**TITLE: Brute 189**
**Chapter 189**

Cassian didn’t utter a word asking me to shift, and I had no intention of moving either.

In a strange twist of fate, I found myself perched on his lap, my knees tucked beneath me, and my arms clinging to his neck as if I were afraid that the moment I loosened my grip, something—or someone—would whisk him away from me once again. His hand rested firmly at my hip, a steady anchor that kept my racing heart in check.

The atmosphere in the room should have been tranquil, almost idyllic. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, its flickering flames casting a warm glow across the polished wooden floor and the thick, luxurious fur rugs that adorned it. Outside, snow fell in soft, delicate flakes, blanketing the world beyond the glass in a pristine white. To any passerby, this would appear to be a serene, safe haven, untouched by the chaos of the outside world.

Yet, standing before us was Lucas, his sleeves stained with blood, bearing a report that shattered the fragile peace hanging in the air.

“There were more dead than we anticipated,” Lucas said, his voice low but unwavering. “We expected resistance, but we didn’t foresee the witches working under Matron Yara.”

My fingers instinctively tightened around the fabric of Cassian’s coat, seeking comfort in his presence. He placed his hand over mine, a grounding gesture, even as his expression remained tense, his focus razor-sharp as he absorbed every word Lucas spoke.

“They wielded stones, but not ordinary suppressors,” Lucas continued, his tone grave. “These were corrupted. The moment one of them lifted the stone, every werewolf within range was immobilized. Their limbs ceased to respond. Breathing became shallow. Some collapsed right then and there.” He paused, swallowing hard, his jaw clenched. “Most of the casualties occurred in those critical moments when the soldiers were rendered helpless.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on my chest. They had been defenseless, frozen in fear, waiting for an inevitable death.

I couldn’t help but glance at Elder Agape, who stood near the fire, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze lost in the dancing flames. A thought nagged at me—did he possess knowledge about the witches that could change everything?

“They were not using ordinary fae stones,” the elder interjected, his voice steady but laced with a depth of understanding. “But you already know that…” He paused deliberately, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in. “What they carried were corrupted stones. These are stones that have been twisted to channel witchcraft far beyond their intended purpose.”

I shifted slightly, but I didn’t move far from Cassian. His arm instinctively tightened around my waist, responding to my movement even before he realized it.

Agape continued, “To corrupt a fae stone, a witch requires a sacrifice. A living one. The stronger the stone they desire, the greater the sacrifice demanded. Some witches offer animals. Others offer adults.” His eyes darkened as he turned his gaze toward the window, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. “But the most powerful corrupted stones come from a specific type of offering.”

My stomach twisted in dread. “What kind?” A part of me already dreaded the answer.

Agape’s tone remained unyielding. “Children. They are innocent and untouched. Their life force is pure, making them the most potent sacrifices for this kind of dark magic.”

A chill raced down my spine, and I could feel Cassian’s fingers curl against my waist, as if he too sensed the horror of Agape’s revelation.

“However,” Elder Agape continued, “they should not have been able to use the stones independently. There exists what we call an anchor. It is a means by which witches support those who wield the corrupted stones, preventing them from being corrupted themselves.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify