Chapter Nineteen – The Wall
Eira sat on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The pale gown they’d dressed her in felt more like a shroud than a dress, the embroidered lace scratching against her skin. Her stomach was in knots. Her heart, a snare drum.
She kept thinking about the look in Alder’s eyes. The way he’d grabbed her. The way his charm had melted into cruelty like it had always been there—just hiding beneath the surface.
A knock didn’t come before the door opened.
He walked in.
Alder.
Still dressed in the clothes he wore to the rose hall. His hair mussed. His eyes wild.
The stench of sex clung to him like smoke.
Eira stood slowly. "What are you doing here?"
He didn’t answer. Just shut the door behind him and crossed the room in two long strides. She backed up instinctively, bumping into the wall.
He stopped inches from her, crowding her space. Breathing hard.
His mask was gone. The polished, perfect suitor replaced by the raw, snarling thing she’d always known was buried underneath.
“You’re going to be mine, Eira,” he said, voice low and ragged. “I don’t care how many times you deny it. I don’t care if you hate me. You will be mine.”
“Get away from me,” she hissed.
He slammed a hand against the wall beside her head. She flinched.
“I just came from Clara,” he said, voice curling with something sick and proud. “But it didn’t satisfy me. Not really. Because she’s not you.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re mine.”
His other hand grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "All that fight in you? It’ll burn out. You’ll break. And when you do, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces."
She struggled, pushing at his chest, but he held her in place, breathing her in like a scent he couldn’t live without.
He moved his hand under her gown slowly caressing her thighs are they moved upward to her center.
Then—he smiled as his finger tips caressed her delicate bundle of nerves.
"This is mine" he growled as he his fingers moved her panties to the side.
Eira's breath hitched as his finger slowly entered her and rammed into her roughly.
He pulled out his finger and licked it.
And stepped back.
"Get some rest, little wolf," he said, his voice soft and sinister. "The next time I come in here, you won’t be wearing anything."
He turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.
Eira sank to the floor, trembling.
But her eyes were dry.
Because tears were a luxury she could no longer afford.
Her heart pounded in her chest, too loud, too fast. The echo of Alder’s breath against her skin, the sharpness of his grip—she could still feel it. She hated him. Hated everything he was. But her body didn’t know what to do with that hate.
She looked down at herself, mortified. Her panties were soaked.
It made no sense. She had never experienced anything like that before—never been manhandled, never been cornered with such intensity. She didn’t want it. She didn’t ask for it. But something primal inside her had stirred.
And that terrified her more than anything.
What is wrong with me? she thought, hugging her knees to her chest.
She wasn’t aroused. She was violated.
But her body had responded like it wanted more.
The shame burned deeper than his threats ever could.
And the worst part was—she didn’t know if it was her… or the wolf he’d tried to cage.
The sound of soft footsteps echoed in the corridor. Then a presence—sharp, feminine, angry.
Clara.
She appeared in the doorway without knocking, arms crossed, her lips twisted in a sneer.
"Funny," she said, eyes scanning the room before settling on Eira. "I thought I smelled him on you."
Eira scrambled to her feet, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Get out."
Clara stepped inside instead, her gaze dropping pointedly to Eira’s trembling frame. Her nose flared. She tilted her head, a slow, venomous smile spreading. "You’re aroused."
Eira’s face flushed with humiliation.
"He came here after me," Clara continued. "And you—gods, you let him touch you? Is that what this is now? You play victim and still spread your legs like a heat-struck pup the second he presses in?"
“Leave,” Eira snapped, her voice low with shame and fury.
But Clara didn’t budge. “You think you’re better than me? You’re not. You’re just new. And he’ll ruin you like he ruins everything else—if I don’t do it first.”
The threat lingered in the air like smoke.
But Clara didn’t leave immediately. Her eyes lingered on Eira a moment longer, the tension between them twisting into something else—hot, bitter, charged.
Clara stepped closer, close enough that Eira could smell her perfume beneath the scent of Alder. Her eyes drifted down Eira’s body again, slower this time. “You liked it,” she whispered, voice low and laced with something dark. “Didn’t you?”
Eira’s breath caught.
Clara leaned in, her lips brushing Eira’s ear. “You think you’re ashamed. But your body wants what it wants. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s me.”
For a split second, Clara’s fingers grazed the edge of Eira’s wrist—a ghost of a touch that felt far too intimate.
Then she pulled back, smiling like a cat who had just toyed with its prey.
"We’re not so different, you and I," Clara said, voice like silk. "But only one of us is going to survive him."
Then Clara turned on her heel and left, the door slamming behind her.
Eira stood in the silence, breath shallow.
She’d been caged, cornered, and now—targeted.
Whatever came next, she knew she couldn’t count on anyone.
She’d have to save herself.