Chapter 8 EIGHT
ALEX
The dawn finds me pacing my study, unable to sleep. Her scent lingers here, though she hasn't entered this room. Sweet vanilla and wild jasmine, now tinged with fear after last night's demonstration. Good. She should fear me. They all should.
But my wolf bristles at the thought of her fear.
"The new tribute's papers, my Lord." Marcus, my beta, sets a file on my desk. "Something about them seems... off."
I grunt, still tracking her movement through the house by scent. She's in the bathing chambers now, preparing for her first full day of service. The thought of her naked, wet... I grip the edge of my desk, wood splintering under my fingers.
"Brother?" Marcus's voice carries concern. "You seem..."
"Leave." The word comes out more growl than speech.
He hesitates. "The pack is talking. About how you claimed her for personal service. About how you watched her during the punishment. If she's truly wolfless—"
I whirl on him, letting my power flood the room. "I said leave."
Once alone, I force myself to breathe. To think past the possessive haze clouding my mind. This isn't normal. Even for a mate bond, these urges are too strong, too primitive.
I need to understand why.
The security feeds show her now, dressed in the silk robes I ordered for my personal slaves. The fabric clings to curves she tries to hide, and my wolf howls. Mine. The word pounds through my blood with every heartbeat.
But she's lying. Every instinct confirms it. No wolfless slave moves like she does – fluid, graceful, always aware of exits and threats. No wolfless slave maintains that level of control over their scent, their emotions.
No wolfless slave makes my wolf want to claim and possess and mark...
A knock interrupts my thoughts. "Enter."
Victoria slinks in, wearing a dress that leaves little to imagination. Once, I might have appreciated her obvious attributes. Now she just irritates me.
"Alex," she purrs, perching on my desk. "The pack is concerned. Taking a wolfless slave for personal service? It's beneath you."
"Your concern is noted." I don't look up from Alora's file. "And unwanted."
"She's hiding something." Victoria leans closer. "Let me interrogate her. I'll make her talk—"
My hand closes around her throat before I realize I've moved. "You will not touch her." The words rumble from deep in my chest. "You will not speak to her. You will not look at her without my permission."
Fear spikes through Victoria's scent. Good.
"She's just a slave," she chokes out. "A defective—"
I tighten my grip. "She is mine."
The possession in my voice surprises even me. I release Victoria, who stumbles back, hand at her throat.
"Get out."
She flees, leaving me to my increasingly dark thoughts.
On the security feed, Alora helps another slave with laundry. Simple, domestic tasks that shouldn't captivate me. But every movement draws my eye. The way she instinctively positions herself facing doors and windows. How she flinches at sudden movements but catches herself before others notice.
A born survivor, this one. Hiding secrets behind those amber eyes.
My wolf wants to pin her down, force those secrets into the open. Taste her submission, drink her surrender. Mark her until every wolf knows she belongs to us.
But there's something else. Something beyond mere possession. When she helped the younger slave with her burden, genuine compassion softened her features. When she thought no one watched, her mask slipped, revealing...
Loneliness.
My wolf whines. Our mate shouldn't be lonely. Shouldn't have to hide behind masks and lies.
"My Lord?" Sarah interrupts my brooding. "She's ready for training."
I wave her away, but pause the security feed on Alora's face. There – that flash of something in her eyes. Power carefully contained. Strength wrapped in submission.
Perhaps that's why my wolf responds so violently. She's not just any slave playing at weakness. She's something more. Something that calls to the darkness in me, even as she runs from her own.
I could force her secrets into the open. Break her walls one by one until she has no choice but to reveal herself.
But no. This requires a gentler strategy.
I'll give her enough rope to hang herself with. Let her think she's fooling me, even as I draw her deeper into my web. And when she finally trusts me enough to lower her guard...
On screen, she looks directly at the camera, as if sensing my thoughts. For a moment, her eyes flash with something that makes my wolf surge forward.
Soon, little mate. Soon you'll learn that running only makes the hunt sweeter.
And I've always enjoyed hunting my prey.