Chapter 22 Chapter 22
Anya’s POV
I scrambled to my feet, my muscles screaming in protest, the cold marble floor doing nothing to soothe my dignity.
He was still smirking. "Need help?"
"Don't touch me!" I spat, trying to back away. But my legs were still asleep, and as I tried to stand, I lost my balance.
He reached for me instinctively, his arm shooting out to steady me. The second his fingers brushed my arm, I flinched—a violent, convulsive rejection of his touch.
It was a fatal mistake.
My recoil, combined with his forward momentum, sent us both tumbling. We crashed sideways, a tangle of limbs and a yelp of surprise, and landed hard in the enormous, sunken tub.
A tidal wave of shockingly cold water—piped in directly from a mountain spring, apparently—sloshed over the marble rim.
I came up sputtering, my hair plastered to my face, the torn remnants of the dress clinging uselessly to my body. I was soaked, freezing, and now, even more humiliated. I glared at him.
We were floating in the massive tub, and his sheer size made the bath—which was big enough to be a small pool—feel tiny and claustrophobic.
He, on the other hand, looked completely unfazed, almost amused, as the water swirled around us. He began to lean in, his gaze dropping to my mouth. That hunting, possessive look was back in his eyes.
"We never did get to—"
He stopped.
It was my stomach, letting out a long, desperate, mortifying growl.
I froze, my face burning.
He stared at me for a beat, the hunger in his eyes darting, before it was replaced by that infuriating, mocking smirk. He leaned back.
"I guess you're hungry."
I was too humiliated to answer. I just glared, my arms crossed over my chest.
He chuckled, a low, deep sound, and then rose from the tub in one powerful motion, water cascading off his sculpted body.
He stepped onto the bath mat and extended a hand—not to help me this time, but as an order.
"Better get dressed," he commanded, his tone shifting back to the Alpha. "Find something in the wardrobe."
He tossed a dry towel at my head.
"We're going to eat breakfast... with the pack."
I just stared, my mouth falling open. What? This was the first time I'd heard of such a thing. As far as I knew, he never ate with his pack. He was the beast of the chamber, the solitary king, always alone.
...And now he was going to parade me in front of all of them after I'd spent another night in his room.
He left, leaving me in the steam-filled bathroom, my mind reeling. I found the clothes the tailor had prepared. It was a simple, long-sleeved dress, but the fabric was more like ivory and cut in a way that clung to every single curve of my body. There was no hiding in it.
I walked out of the chamber, my nerves raw. He was already there, waiting in the hall, looking as if he'd never been in a brawl in his life. He took my arm as we started to walk, his grip possessive, his thumb brushing the inside of my elbow.
"In fact, you are like my woman now," he said, his voice a low, intimate rumble that vibrated through me. "The fact that we haven't... completed the act... it's only making me hungrier to taste you, Anya."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm sure you have no idea how much my wolf craves you... how much he screams at me to just... take you."
My fear gave way to a sharp, bitter defiance. I looked up at him, my voice dripping with a false sweetness.
"Well, I'm sure you know that I don't have a wolf," I whispered back, "whispering... crazy things in my ear all day. So, you'll have to excuse me if I'm not... craving... you back."
He stopped, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. He looked genuinely amused.
"Hmm. I thought you were terrified of me," he mused. "But now it seems you've found your claws, little human."
"Well," I said, my voice shaking only slightly, "you're the one who wants something from me. I'm just the sacrifice, remember?"
The moment we entered the Great Hall, a roar of conversation and clattering cutlery died. It was as if I had personally sucked the sound from the room.
Over a hundred werewolves—pack members, warriors, and their families—shot to their feet, their heads bowed in deep respect for their Alpha.
And then, as one, every single pair of eyes lifted... and landed directly on me.
The silence was a suffocating, heavy blanket. I was acutely aware of the ivory dress clinging to my body, of the way I had been dragged from his room this morning.
Alpha Kai seemed to unbothered. He didn't even raise his voice; he just gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Continue eating," he commanded.
Slowly, like a machine grinding back to life, the pack sat.
The noise returned, but it was different—stifled, cautious. It was a room full of whispers, all directed at the Alpha's table.
Servants scrambled forward, their hands shaking as they placed platters of roasted meats, fresh bread, and fruit in front of him.
He sat at the head of the massive, elevated table.
I stood there, frozen, until he gestured to the empty seat directly across from him. A seat of honor. The seat meant for a Luna.
I swallowed hard, my whole body burning with the heat of a hundred hostile stares, and forced my legs to move.
I sat down, my spine rigid.
My stomach was a tight, painful knot. I would rather be back in his chamber, facing the monster alone, than here.
At least there, the danger was him, and I was learning the rules. Here, the danger was everyone, and I was the main exhibit in a freak show.
"They... they're all staring," I whispered, my gaze fixed on the empty plate in front of me.
Kai tore a piece of bread, his movements relaxed. "Of course they are," he replied, his voice at a normal, casual volume, forcing me to look up. "They've never seen me bring a guest to breakfast."
"I'm not a guest," I muttered, pushing a piece of fruit around with my fork. "I'm a... a cure. A prisoner. A servant."
His eyes, which had been a warm, normal gold in the morning light, flashed with that cold, possessive fire.
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low purr that only I could hear, even in the crowded room.
"You're not here as a servant, Anya. You're here to be seen."
"Seen as what?" I challenged, my voice a desperate whisper. "As your whore?"
The word, my own vulgarity, hung in the air between us. His smirk was instant, cruel, and sharp.
"You're here," he whispered back, "so they all know... that you are mine."
He pushed a small silver cup toward me, filled with milk. "Now, eat. You're no use to me if you starve yourself."