Marrying a Warhound (Cassian) novel Chapter 194

**TITLE: Brute 194**
**Chapter 194**

**ATASHA’S POV**

A year ago, if anyone had dared to tell me that I would find myself standing before Celeste, my heart heavy with nothing but disdain, I would have laughed them off, dismissing the notion as utterly absurd.

The very thought of harboring resentment toward her used to feel like a betrayal so deep that it would churn my stomach. She was my beloved sister, the gentle soul who had always been the light in my life, the one I had sworn to protect at any cost. To even entertain the idea of feeling anything but love for her would have been unthinkable.

But that time has slipped away into the past.

Now, as I walked ahead of her through the dimly lit side entrance of the mansion, my strides were steady, my boots sinking into the worn patches of stained stone and half-scrubbed floors. The blood beneath my feet had already darkened, mingling with the water and sand left behind by the cleaning crew. Still, the metallic tang lingered in the air, a reminder of the horrors that had unfolded, but I hardly noticed it anymore.

After everything that transpired in the courtyard, after kneeling in the snow beside lifeless bodies that would never again draw breath, this felt like nothing more than a remnant of a past that had already been laid to rest.

I could hear Celeste’s footsteps falter behind me each time we crossed a darker patch of the floor. Her breath caught in her throat, a small hitch that was enough to draw my attention. I glanced back over my shoulder and caught the sight of her nose wrinkling in distaste, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth, as if she were fighting the urge to gag.

“Is something troubling you, Sister?” I inquired, slowing my pace just enough for her to catch up with me. I kept my voice light and warm, the same tone I had used years ago when I would check on her after a long day of training or console her after a reprimand from our parents.

Her lips parted, ready to respond, but before she could form her words, I smiled and turned my gaze back to the floor ahead. “Please, don’t mind a little mess like this,” I added, stepping over another faint smear as if it were merely a spilled drink. “We are in the process of tidying it all up.”

Celeste’s face contorted, her expression a mixture of outrage and nausea. I feigned ignorance to her discomfort, pretending not to notice the way her body stiffened.

Before long, we arrived at the inner corridor designated for guests, where the walls remained intact and the worst of the damage had been scrubbed away. I paused in front of one of the more pleasant rooms, one that still held a faint aroma of oil and herbs, a welcome change from the acrid scent of ash and blood. The door creaked softly as I pushed it open.

“You can stay here for now,” I informed her, gesturing toward the inviting interior. “The others are rather unpleasant at the moment. This room is at least comfortable.”

She stepped inside with quick, sharp strides, as if the corridor behind her might reach out and pull her back into the darkness. The moment she crossed the threshold, she spun around and slammed the door shut with more force than necessary, the latch clicking loudly in the suddenly confined space.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with apprehension, her cheeks pale enough to reveal every flicker of emotion playing across her features.

“What was that?” she demanded, her voice trembling in a way that betrayed her attempt at composure.

I furrowed my brow lightly, adopting an expression of genuine confusion. “What was what, Sister?” I replied, maintaining a mild tone.

She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “That,” she stuttered, her hand jerking toward the door as if she could point through it. “Outside. The snow. The—” She swallowed hard, her voice faltering. “That thing outside.”

I tilted my head slowly, allowing confusion to settle on my face. “I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean, Sister?”

Her eyes widened even further, disbelief battling with something akin to horror. For a fleeting moment, she just stared at me, searching my face for any sign that I might be jesting. I kept my expression neutral, steady, and bland.

Inside, I felt something within me loosen in a way that was both unfamiliar and oddly satisfying.

So this is what it had been like for them, I mused, watching Celeste struggle to regain her composure while I stood perfectly still.

There had been a reason why she and Genevieve reveled in certain games, and it wasn’t merely because they sought something from me. It was the thrill of watching my panic, the way my voice quivered, the way my confusion entertained them. Manipulating someone, acting innocent, twisting the situation until the other person felt unsteady—there was a twisted reward in that.

I understood that now.

Celeste stepped closer, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Stop that,” she snapped, her voice rising in pitch. “Stop pretending you can’t see anything. There was blood everywhere, Atasha. Blood on the ground, on the walls, beneath the snow. Do you even comprehend what that looks like? Are you blind, or are you just pretending this is normal?”

I blinked slowly.

She was trembling. Not enough for anyone outside to notice, but close enough for me to see the tremor in her shoulders and the way her fingers twitched nervously. The mighty Alpha’s daughter from the South, the girl who had once laughed at my sensitivity, now stood within my room in the North, quaking at the thought of walking across cleaned blood.

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