A Rogue For The Quadruplet Alpha's.

Davian.

The moment Vanessa staggered into my room that night, bruised and trembling, my heart lurched violently in my chest.

For a split second, I couldn’t breathe.

Every horrible possibility crashed into my mind at once. An ambush. An assassination attempt. Poison. Something unspeakable. Something irreversible. My body moved before my thoughts caught up, I was already crossing the room, already gripping her shoulders, my eyes scanning her frantically as panic clawed its way up my throat.

"Vanessa," I breathed, my voice rough, unsteady. "What happened to you?"

She looked so small standing there, her usual elegance dulled by pain, her skin marred with ugly bruises that made my vision blur with rage. My hands shook as I guided her to sit, my chest burning with the terrifying thought that I might have almost lost her.

Then she spoke.

She told me it was Maria.

The moment her words sank in, something inside me snapped.

Fury, unlike anything I had ever known roared to life in my veins, hot and violent. My vision darkened at the edges, my wolf surging forward with a vicious snarl. Maria. That rogue. That ungrateful, deceitful thing. My hands clenched into fists so tight my nails bit into my palms.

I wanted to kill her.

The urge was immediate and overwhelming. I wanted to storm out of the room, tear down her door, wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until there was nothing left. No breath. No defiance. No more trouble. I was already turning, already taking a step toward the door, my mind consumed by the need to make her pay.

But Vanessa stopped me.

"Davian," she said softly, her voice weak but pleading. Despite the pain she was in, despite the bruises staining her skin, she reached for me. "There is no need to go over there now. It’s late... and she wasn’t alone."

I froze.

"There was some other guy with her," she continued, her brows knitting as if trying to recall details through the haze of pain. "I couldn’t see his face clearly."

Those words sank deep.

Slowly, my rage sharpened into something colder. More dangerous.

I had always suspected Maria. Always felt that there was something off about her presence, something calculated beneath her submissive exterior. She watched too much. Listened too closely. Asked questions she shouldn’t. I had sensed it, felt it in my bones, but I hadn’t had proof.

Now I did.

A rogue. Alone. With another man. At that hour.

A spy.

The realization settled heavily in my chest, solidifying into certainty. My jaw tightened as I stared at Vanessa, my thoughts racing. This wasn’t just disobedience. This wasn’t just insolence. This was betrayal. And soon, very soon, I would expose her for exactly what she was.

Still, every instinct in me screamed to leave the room. To act. To punish.

But then I looked back at Vanessa.

She was pale, her breathing uneven, her body tense with pain she was clearly trying to hide for my sake. The anger inside me faltered, overridden by something stronger, something protective.

I couldn’t leave her like this.

With a restrained growl, I turned away from the door and went to her instead. Carefully, gently, I helped her lie back, my movements controlled despite the storm raging inside me. I fetched clean clothes, warm water, ointment, anything that could ease her pain.

My hands—hands that only moments ago had curled with the violent urge to kill, now moved with deliberate, almost reverent precision. Each motion was controlled, restrained by sheer force of will, as though I feared that a single careless touch might shatter what little calm remained. I dabbed gently at her skin, cleaning each bruise slowly, methodically, as if patience alone could undo what had been done to her. Soft murmurs slipped from my lips, reassurances I wasn’t even sure she heard, but needed all the same.

My eyes burned as I worked, the fury inside me kept tightly caged. Every mark on her skin felt personal. Insulting. Like a direct challenge I had failed to prevent. Purple blossomed beneath pale flesh, angry and unmistakable, each bruise a reminder of my own restraint. Of how close I had come to bloodshed. She winced now and then, a sharp inhale, a subtle tightening of her fingers, and every time she did, something inside me hardened, setting like steel.

Maria would pay.

The promise settled deep in my chest, heavy and absolute.

But not tonight.

Tonight belonged to Vanessa.

I stayed with her, refusing to leave even when exhaustion tugged at my limbs. I tended to her quietly, adjusting her position, smoothing back her hair, staying alert to every change in her breathing. Gradually, the tightness in her body eased. Her breaths evened out, no longer shallow or rushed. When her eyes finally fluttered closed and sleep claimed her, it looked peaceful, fragile, hard-won. I didn’t move. I remained there, seated at her side, a silent sentinel guarding what mattered most.

Only then did I allow my thoughts to drift back to Maria.

Soon, I promised myself, the word sharp and cold in my mind.

Very soon.

Morning crept in reluctantly, a dull, grey light seeping into the room without warmth or comfort. It did nothing to loosen the unease coiled tight in my chest. I watched Vanessa for signs of movement, for any indication that she was waking.

She didn’t.

At first, I told myself she was simply exhausted, her body finally surrendering to the weight of the night before. But when I placed my palm against her forehead, alarm struck fast and hard. Heat radiated beneath my skin, unnatural, alarming. Feverish. Too hot.

My jaw tightened as dread settled in.

Something wasn’t right.

I watched her chest rise and fall, shallow and uneven, her lashes resting against skin that had gone pale beneath the bruises. My mind raced, circling the same dark question over and over again, what had they used on her? What kind of attack leaves marks like that and steals warmth from the body while setting it on fire from the inside?

Only one name surfaced.

Maria.

Rage settled deep in my gut, heavy and poisonous. I swore then, silently and viciously, that the moment I laid eyes on her, she would pay. There would be no mercy left in me. None.

She always did this, played the victim. Always pale. Always trembling. Always weak-looking, as though the world itself had wronged her. But I saw through it now. Beneath that fragile exterior was something rotten. Something deceitful and cruel. A creature that smiled softly while sinking its claws into others.

Terribly evil.

Disgusting.

I stayed by Vanessa’s side for hours, barely moving, my eyes never leaving her face. Each minute that passed without her waking only sharpened my fury. I imagined Maria’s face. Her lies. Her trembling voice pretending innocence. The thought alone made my hands itch for the whip.

Then—finally—Vanessa stirred.

It was subtle at first. A faint shift. A shallow breath turning deeper. Her lashes fluttered, and slowly, painfully, her eyes opened.

Relief crashed over me so hard my knees nearly buckled.

"Vanessa," I breathed, immediately leaning closer. "You’re awake."

Her gaze was unfocused at first, then gradually cleared as she recognized me. She tried to move, winced, and I was instantly there, steadying her, murmuring reassurances until she relaxed back against the pillows.

That was it.

I didn’t wait another second.

I summoned Maria.

When she was dragged into the room, she looked exactly as I had imagined, pale, frail, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast like a martyr walking to her execution. Anyone else might have pitied her. Anyone else might have hesitated.

Not me.

She lifted her head just enough to meet my gaze, and when she spoke, when she actually dared to tell me, to my face, that Vanessa was lying, something inside me exploded.

The last thread of restraint snapped.

Liar.

Witch.

I didn’t argue with her. I didn’t question her further. Words were useless on creatures like her. She needed to be taught. To be reminded of her place.

The whip sang through the air.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Each strike landed with a sickening sound, the force shuddering up my arm as her body jerked under the impact. She cried out, soft at first, then hoarse, then barely audible, but it only fueled the fire raging inside me.

She kept lying.

Kept insisting on her innocence with that same hollow, trembling voice.

I struck her again.

And again.

Until her knees buckled.

Until her body couldn’t take any more.

Until she collapsed, unconscious, crumpling to the floor like something discarded.

For a brief moment, the room fell silent.

Then the anger surged back—stronger.

She fainted.

Of course she did.

Always an escape. Always a way out. Even now, she tried to avoid paying the full price by slipping into darkness. The sight of her still body didn’t calm me. It enraged me further. My chest heaved, my vision red, my wolf snarling inside me, unsatisfied.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.