Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 213

Kael's POV

The room was finally quiet. For the first time all evening, the sound of soft breaths replaced the echo of desperate cries. I stood at the edge of the bed where Elias, Lyra, Aria, and Kael Junior now lay curled against one another, their cheeks still streaked with dried tears, their small chests rising and falling in fragile rhythm.

Atlas stood beside me, his arms folded, his expression tight but softened as his gaze lingered on the children. He had rocked Aria to sleep not long ago, humming in a voice so low and gentle I almost didn’t recognize it. The exhaustion on his face mirrored my own, but neither of us moved. Not yet. We both stood guard like silent sentinels, unwilling to turn our backs until we were certain the children had slipped deeply into rest.

When at last Elias released his hold on Lyra’s wrist, his tiny fingers relaxing into the blanket, I let out a long breath and turned toward the door. “They’re out,” I whispered.

Atlas nodded, glancing one last time at their small, fragile forms before following me. We stepped into the corridor together, the heavy door closing softly behind us. The quiet of the hallway pressed against me, suffocating almost, a reminder of the storm brewing just beyond these walls.

We hadn’t taken more than a few steps when a sharp voice cut through the silence. “Kael!”

I turned to see Ash striding toward us, his eyes burning with an intensity that set my nerves on edge. There was no hesitation in his pace, no softness in his tone—only urgency.

“What is it?” Atlas asked, his brows furrowing as Ash came closer.

“Enzo,” Ash said, his voice clipped. “He’s ordered the room to be prepared. Bryan’s questioning begins tonight.”

For a moment, the words hung between us. My stomach clenched, not in hesitation, but in anticipation. I had been waiting for this. Bryan’s silence had cost us time we didn’t have, and now Enzo was finally allowing us to do what needed to be done.

Atlas let out a sharp exhale. “About time.”

I felt the same. Without another word, I turned, my steps carrying me toward the lower levels of the fortress—the prison cells where Bryan was kept. Atlas and Ash fell into stride beside me, our boots echoing against the stone as we descended into the darkness.

The air grew colder the deeper we went, heavy with dampness and the metallic stench of blood and rust. The torches along the walls flickered weakly, casting shadows that seemed to follow us. My jaw tightened. This place was fitting for what was to come.

When we reached Bryan’s cell, the guard stationed there straightened immediately, bowing his head. “My lords.”

“Open it,” I ordered. My voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath it.

The guard fumbled with the keys, the metal clinking until the heavy door swung open with a groan. Inside, Bryan sat slumped against the wall, his one hand shackled above his head, his body bruised and broken. His clothes were torn, his skin mottled with cuts and old blood. His eyes, though heavy-lidded, still sparked with defiance when he looked up and saw us.

Atlas stepped forward first, his presence looming. “On your feet.”

Bryan gave a weak laugh, though it ended in a cough. “Come to finish me off?”

“No,” I said coldly, moving into the cell. “We’re going to make you useful first.”

Before he could retort, Atlas grabbed him by the chain, yanking him forward with a strength that made Bryan stumble and crash onto the floor. His groan echoed in the small space, but neither of us flinched. Together, Atlas and I hauled him up, his body sagging between us, and dragged him from the cell.

He didn’t fight. Maybe he couldn’t. His steps faltered, his breath ragged, but still, I felt the defiance radiating off him. He thought he could hold out. He thought his silence would protect Irene.

By the time we reached the chamber, the preparations were already underway. The stone walls of the torture room gleamed with moisture, the iron rings and chains bolted firmly into place. The smell of smoke, blood, and oil clung to the air. Tools lay spread across the tables—knives, hooks, brands, whips, and things designed not just to kill, but to carve pain into a man’s very bones.

We dragged Bryan to the center of the room and threw him against the chair, a massive iron seat with shackles built into the arms and legs. His body slumped, but his eyes lifted, glaring at us with what strength he had left.

Atlas forced him upright while I locked his wrist into the iron shackle, the click echoing like a final judgment. One by one, the chains were secured until Bryan could no longer move, his body bound to the chair, his chest exposed.

I stood back, my eyes scanning him. Bruised, broken, bleeding—but not enough. Not yet.

Atlas picked up the first blade from the table, testing its edge with his thumb. His lips curved into something close to a snarl. “Let’s see how long you can keep that mouth shut.”

I moved to Bryan’s side, my voice low, steady, deliberate. “Tell us where she is. Tell us where Irene took Lisa, and this ends sooner. Hold your tongue, and you’ll beg for death before the night is over.”

Bryan chuckled, though his voice cracked. “I already told you… I don’t know. Kill me if you want, it won’t change a thing.”

I looked at Atlas, then back at Bryan. “Then you bleed.”

Atlas was the first to strike. The blade sliced clean across Bryan’s chest, opening his skin in a deep crimson line. Bryan hissed, his teeth clenched, but no words left his lips.

I picked up a heated brand from the coals, the iron glowing red. Without hesitation, I pressed it against the fresh wound. The sizzle filled the room, followed by the stench of burning flesh. Bryan’s scream ripped through the air, raw and guttural.

Still, when the sound died into panting breaths, he rasped, “I… don’t know…”

I tightened my grip on the brand, my voice sharp as steel. “Then you’ll learn to remember.”

Atlas didn’t wait. He drove another blade into Bryan’s thigh, twisting it as blood pooled around the wound. Bryan’s cry echoed off the stone walls, his body jerking against the chains.

We didn’t stop. Every tool on the table became an extension of our fury. Hooks tearing flesh, whips cracking across his skin, knives carving into muscle. His body became a canvas of blood and bruises, his screams blending with the metallic clatter of weapons.

At one point, I shoved a dagger straight through his hand, pinning it to the armrest. He writhed, his teeth gnashing, but still his words were the same. “I don’t… know… I don’t know!”

Hours passed like this. We worked in shifts—Atlas striking, me carving, then both of us together, every blow, every cut, every burn meant to break him. His voice grew hoarse, his body trembling violently, sweat and blood dripping onto the floor.

But no matter how far we pushed, no matter how deep the blades sank, his answer never changed.

“I don’t know.”

It was infuriating. My knuckles bled from striking him, my muscles ached from holding him down, but nothing—nothing—forced him to speak the words we needed.

Atlas slammed his fist into the wall, his chest heaving with fury. “He’s either lying, or Irene never told him a damn thing.”

I stood over Bryan, my breath heavy, my dagger dripping. I looked into his bloodshot eyes, searching for even a flicker of deceit. All I saw was pain, stubbornness, and perhaps the bitter truth—that Irene had left him behind, useless even to her.

I gritted my teeth, forcing down the rage boiling inside me. “Then he’ll keep bleeding until we’re sure.”

And so we continued, the night stretching into a blur of blood and torment, Bryan’s screams becoming the soundtrack of our vengeance.