3

##Chapter 3

The cold carved through bone like blades, so sharp that even breathing came in fractures.

My fingertips had long lost all sensation, blood flowing slowly through my veins as if it might crystallize at any moment.

Damion stood beyond the silver steel bars, his gaze cold and indifferent, like looking at dying prey.

"Apologize, Kate. It's simple, isn't it?"

I lifted my eyes, pupils contracted to thin slits from the cold, yet my voice was terrifyingly steady: "You want me to apologize to an Omega who used pheromones to seduce you and caused clan members' deaths? Dream on."

He narrowed his eyes, reaching out to turn the formation's Cold Spirit Spring to maximum. Cold mist immediately condensed into frost at my feet, climbing up my leg bones toward my chest.

My lungs felt frozen, each breath torn to shreds.

The surrounding spirit messages exploded in the air:

[She's about to break!]

[See? In the end, she's just a woman. Even an Alpha has weaknesses.]

[Damion's really ruthless—ten hours and she'll definitely die in there.]

Damion seemed to be waiting for the moment I'd kneel.

I couldn't stand and collapsed to the ground. After the extreme cold, my body began feeling an indescribable burning sensation.

I'd heard that people who froze to death all stripped naked before dying, because their bodies fell into hypothermic delirium.

I desperately tried to stay conscious, but couldn't help starting to remove my clothes.

Damion stared coldly at me: "What are you doing? Even at this point, you're trying to seduce me?"

But as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized something was wrong. My face was already turning blue, my lips completely colorless, lying on the ground gasping like a dying fish.

The healer beside him finally couldn't stand it, speaking carefully:

"The Alpha is suffering from hypothermia..."

Damion immediately rushed over to hold me: "Kate, are you alright?"

Just then, the air outside the formation suddenly tightened—as if a higher-ranking bloodline was approaching with absolute dominance.

The next instant, the Extreme Cold Moon Prison's silver door was kicked open.

A tall, lean figure walked through the cold mist, his cloak billowing to reveal the silver moon mark on his neck—the symbol of pure-blood Alpha.

Marcelo. My father's loyal subordinate.

He carried a sharp cold fragrance—the scent belonging only to battlefields: killing, power, dominance, crushing everyone else's aura in the prison at that moment.

Even Damion's breathing became erratic, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"Who gave you permission to use the Ice Vein Formation on her?" Marcelo's voice was low, tinged with anger.

Damion was stunned for a moment, then sneered: "She's my wife. This is internal clan business, and you're an outsider—"

"Outsider?" Dangerous cold light floated in Marcelo's eyes. "Before she promoted you, you didn't even have the qualifications to step through Silver Moon's gates. What are you to dare inflict punishment on her?"

As his words fell, he raised his hand—the air instantly solidified. Damion seemed gripped by invisible claws at his throat, forced to kneel, breathing labored.

This was bloodline suppression by a pure-blood Alpha—something only natural-born rulers could achieve.

He no longer looked at Damion, walking straight to me, unlocking the silver chains. His cloak fell like warm night, wrapping around my frozen body.

"Princess," he said quietly, his voice like flames rolling from the depths of an abyss, "I'm late."