Marrying a Warhound (Cassian) novel Chapter 185

**TITLE: Brute 185**
**CONTENT: Chapter 185**

**MATRON YARA’S POV**

Think, Yara! The world around Matron Yara began to swirl and distort, her mind racing against the suffocating grip of Atasha’s fingers. Every ounce of willpower surged within her as she desperately sought a way to escape this nightmare.

“I hope you’re enjoying this little game,” Yara rasped, forcing the words through the constriction at her throat. “Because while you’re pretending to be a monster in his study… Cassian is going to die at the border.”

Atasha’s fingers tightened momentarily, a subtle yet telling twitch that sent a ripple of satisfaction through Yara. She was right; the truth was a weapon sharper than any blade.

With renewed determination, Yara pressed on. “And when he dies, you will follow him. Without him, you are nothing. Just a sheep in a wolf’s den, desperately pretending to belong.”

For the first time since the chaos erupted, Yara noticed a flicker of uncertainty in Atasha’s wild eyes. The ravenous hunger that had driven her seemed to dim, her focus wavering as if Yara’s words had penetrated deeper than any physical wound.

Yara gasped for air, the narrow passage of her crushed throat making each breath a struggle.

Good, she thought, a spark of defiance igniting within her. Remember what you truly are.

**ATASHA’S POV**

Cassian is going to die.

The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave, more devastating than any physical blow I had ever endured.

For a fleeting moment, the blood staining my hands faded into the background. All that resonated within me was that one harrowing sentence, echoing relentlessly in my mind: Cassian is going to die. Without him, you’re just a sheep in a wolf’s den.

My vision sharpened and blurred simultaneously, creating a surreal haze around me.

I became acutely aware of everything: the warmth of skin beneath my fingers, the frantic pulse thudding against my palm, the scraping of boots on the floor as if the world around me was trying to ground me. Matron Yara’s face swam into focus, her eyes rimmed with red, her mouth moving in a sound that barely escaped my grip.

I was choking her, lifting her by the throat, a grotesque twist of power and desperation.

My gaze dropped, and horror clawed at my insides.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. Fresh, thick, dark crimson smeared across my arms, drying under my nails, soaking into the fabric of my clothes. The rug beneath us was saturated, a gruesome testament to the violence that had unfolded. Bodies lay scattered like discarded dolls around the room.

Did I… do this?

The heat that had fueled my rage moments ago began to flicker, extinguished by the cold realization of what I had become. My fingers loosened involuntarily, and Yara’s boots scraped against the floor as her weight settled back down.

Cassian is going to die.

That thought pushed everything else away, a relentless tide of panic that drowned out logic. If something happened to him while I was here, tearing lives apart…

“Cassian,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and raw. “No.”

My hand slipped completely from Yara’s throat, and she crumpled to her knees, gasping for breath, her fingers clutching her neck as if she could erase the imprint of my touch.

Behind her, Grace lay half-curled on the rug, her sleeve soaked through, her skin pale as death. Lucas knelt where they had bound him, sweat trickling down his temple, his jaw clenched in agony.

The room spun as memories flooded my mind, a kaleidoscope of chaos and violence.

“What… did I just do?” I muttered, the words sounding distant, even to my own ears. My hands trembled, the blood still warm and heavy, a grim reminder that it clung to me, refusing to wash away.

“Without him, you’re nothing,” Yara rasped from the floor, her voice a shredded whisper but still sharp enough to cut. “You can’t even reach him. He is bleeding for you at the border, and you’re trapped here, too late to save anyone.”

I flinched at her words, each syllable striking like a blow.

For a moment, the heat surged within me again, pushing against the edges of my control, urging me to seize her throat once more and silence her forever.

Instead, I stepped back, my heel slipping on the blood-slick floor, nearly sending me crashing onto the bodies at my feet. I caught myself on the edge of Cassian’s desk, my fingers digging into the wood as if it could anchor me.

I couldn’t feel him.

I couldn’t feel anything from him.

If he died out there, I would never know.

A tightness gripped my chest, a sensation that had nothing to do with the beast that had awakened inside me. This was smaller, sharper, and somehow far worse.

“Cassian,” I whispered again, this time more to myself than to anyone else. “Don’t you dare die.”

The room around me blurred again—the blood, Yara’s broken breaths, Grace’s faint groan—everything fading at the edges.

All I knew was that the man who had taken my pain without asking, who had walked into the border knowing it was a trap, might already be lying in the dirt somewhere far from me.

And here I stood, blood on my hands, teetering on the precipice of losing him…

Earlier, the snow had been pristine and untouched. Now, it was drenched in blood, stained so dark in places that the white beneath it was obscured. Bodies lay scattered across the open space, some sprawled on their backs, others face-down in the slush, weapons still clutched in their hands. The metallic scent of blood hit me like a wall, forcing me to breathe through my mouth for a moment.

I didn’t stop because of the bodies.

I stopped because of the man standing at the center of it all.

Cassian.

His figure stood resolute amidst the carnage, a sword hanging loosely from one hand. His coat was torn in several places, and his hair was matted with streaks of red that didn’t belong to him. The snow around him was churned from heavy movement, and the bodies near him lay in a half-circle, as if they had fallen while trying to reach him.

The moment he sensed me, he lifted his head. His eyes locked onto mine across the courtyard.

And in that instant, everything else faded into the background.

He was alive.

He was standing.

And he was looking directly at me.

Cassian’s gaze held mine, and for a moment, everything within me surged toward him. My legs finally responded, and I took a step forward, eager to close the distance between us. The cold air burned down my throat, mixing with the scent of blood in a way that twisted my stomach, but none of it mattered because Cassian was alive.

I opened my mouth to call his name, but the sound barely formed before his expression shifted.

His jaw clenched, and his grip on the sword slackened. His shoulders dipped, as if something inside him had suddenly given way. He tried to straighten, but his knees buckled beneath him, and his head bowed forward sharply.

“Cassian?” I whispered, taking another step, panic rising within me.

He didn’t respond.

A wet cough erupted from his chest, deep and ragged, and he bent forward slightly. For a heartbeat, I thought it was just exhaustion catching up to him. Then he coughed again, harder, and a dark spray splattered against the snow at his feet.

Blood.

Thick, red, and far too much of it.

“Cassian!” My voice cracked, a desperate plea that echoed across the courtyard.