CHAPTER 87
(Giselle's POV)
The faint scratch of a mouse in the walls was the only sound that kept me company. I focused on the patterns of water stains on the concrete, tracing the shapes of countries I’d never see. The door groaned open, but I didn’t grant him the satisfaction of my attention. I kept my eyes fixed on a stain that looked suspiciously like a distorted map of Italy.
The chair, that one lonely piece of furniture, scraped across the floor as Alpha Blake positioned it and sat. His tall, commanding presence seemed to suck all the air from the room, his expensive cologne a vile perfume in the damp air.
“Not even a glance, little rabbit? I’m wounded.”
I snorted, the sound dry and humorless. I finally let my gaze drift over to him, letting every ounce of my contempt show. “Call the doctor. I’m sure your ego can be stitched back together.”
He chuckled, a low, infuriatingly smooth sound. He wasn’t ruffled. He never was. He motioned to someone behind him, and one of his faceless guards stepped forward, holding out a sleek pen.
I looked from the pen to Blake’s smug face, my confusion cutting through the haze of my defiance. “What is this?”
“Consider it a dowry,” he said, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement. “Or perhaps a prenuptial agreement. These are our marriage contract papers. Sign them.”
A disbelieving laugh burst from me. It was too absurd. “Marriage? Are you completely deranged? What part of ‘I would rather chew off my own arm’ did you not understand?”
His smug smile didn’t falter. It widened. He leaned forward, the wood of the chair creaking, closing the distance between us until his face was mere inches from mine. The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming, a predator’s gaze that promised possession and pain. If I leaned forward, our lips would touch.
I held my breath, refusing to give him the inch.
“Sign the damn papers, Giselle darling.” His voice was a silken threat, his eyes locked on mine, refusing to let me look away.
The endearment was a slap. It made my skin crawl. “Go to hell. I’m not signing anything for you.”
“Such fire,” he purred, not moving back an inch. His breath fanned my face. “It will make taming you so much more rewarding. But this isn’t a request. It’s the next step.”
“The next step to what? Your complete mental breakdown?”
“To my rightful place.” His voice lost its playful edge, turning cold and hard. “A public union with a Zaro. It legitimizes everything. It severs their claim on you and places you firmly under my protection. My property.”
“I am not your property!” I spat, trying to yank my hands against the restraints, the ropes biting into my raw wrists. The pain was a sharp reminder of my helplessness.
“Everything in this room is my property,” he corrected softly, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a heart-stopping second before returning to my eyes. “Including you. The papers are just a formality. A piece of theater for the outside world. You can sign them willingly, with the pen… or I can press your thumb to the ink pad and have you sign them by force. The outcome is the same. The experience… well, that’s up to you.”
The casual way he discussed violating my will, of manhandling me, sent a fresh wave of terror through me. It was always there, under the surface of my anger, this icy fear of his touch.
“Why?” I whispered, the fight momentarily draining out of me, replaced by a desperate need to understand the depth of his madness. “Why go through this charade? You have me. You have him. You’ve won. Why marriage?”
He finally leaned back, a fraction, giving me room to breathe. He studied me like a fascinating insect he was about to pin to a board. “Because I don’t just want to win. I want to own my victory. Completely. I want to sit at the head of Zaro’s own table, with his daughter on my arm. I want every pack elder, every rival Alpha, to see it and know that his line ends with me. That everything he built is mine.” His eyes darkened, that predatory hunger blazing anew. “Including his women.”
The implication—that my mother was also just another trophy in his collection—made me feel sick.
“He’ll never allow it,” I said, grasping at straws. “Zaro will burn the city down before he lets you have this.”
Blake’s smile was terrifyingly confident. “Zaro is a pragmatic man. He’ll see the sense in it. A merger. An alliance. He’ll swallow his pride to avoid a bloody, public war that would weaken his precious pack. And as for your mother… she’ll do what she’s told to ensure her daughter’s… comfort.”
He made it sound so inevitable. So logical. The walls of the room seemed to press in closer.
“And what about me?” My voice was barely audible. “What’s my incentive to play along with this nightmare?”
He leaned in close again, his voice dropping to a intimate, venomous whisper. “Your incentive is lying sedated in a cage next door.”
My blood ran cold. Zarkhan.
“The wolfsbane cocktail is quite specialized,” Blake continued, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. “It suppresses, it weakens… but if the dosage isn’t carefully regulated, it can become… corrosive. It can eat away at his nervous system. Leave him a hollowed-out shell. A vegetable. Or worse, it can simply stop his heart.”
Tears pricked at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. This was his game. He wanted me broken. He wanted me begging.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He raised a single, condescending eyebrow. “Are you willing to bet his life on that? On your pride?” He picked up the pen, rolling it slowly between his fingers. “Sign the papers. Become my wife in the eyes of the world… and I’ll ensure the antidote is administered. He’ll remain weak, manageable, but he’ll be alive. You can have the satisfaction of knowing you saved him.”
The choice was monstrous. Agree to a life of gilded horror to keep Zarkhan alive in a half-state, or condemn him to a slow, agonizing death.
“You’re a monster,” I breathed, the words filled with a hatred so pure it felt like it could scorch the air between us.
“I’m a businessman,” he corrected, placing the pen on the papers one of his men had laid on the floor beside my chair. “And this is the deal. Your signature for his heartbeat. It really is that simple.” He stood up, looking down at me with that infuriating, triumphant composure. “I’ll give you some time to think it over. But don’t think too long. The clock is… ticking.”
He turned and walked out, the door closing with a final, echoing thud. The pen glinted on the stark white paper, a tiny, innocuous instrument of my damnation.
I was alone again, the silence screaming louder than before. I stared at the blank line waiting for my name.
Sign the damn papers, Giselle darling.
His voice echoed in my head. I looked at my bound hands. I thought of Zarkhan, alone in the dark, his body slowly turning against him.
A sob caught in my throat. I swallowed it down, clenching my jaw until it ached.
No.
I would not sign. I would not give him this. I would find another way. There was always another way.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and whispered my defiance to the empty, cold room.
“I’ll see you in hell first.”