The Alpha’s Forbidden Valkyrie

Chapter 11

Freya’s POV

I curled up in the middle of the massive, black bed, drawing my knees to my chest. The dark silence of the room practically weighed down on my shoulders. I pressed my left wrist against my chest, feeling my own throbbing heartbeat beneath the torn skin. Blood seeped from it slowly but stubbornly, leaving a dark stain on the silken sheets.

My mind was in utter chaos.

“I’m sorry... I didn't want to cause you pain.” Jax's words echoed in my ears over and over again. An Alpha, a ruthless pack leader, had apologized to a prisoner. It completely contradicted everything I knew about the world. When the door closed behind him, I was certain he had only left to gather his strength, or to bring something back to punish me further for my weakness.

That was how things worked in the vampire clan. If you cried, if you showed pain, it was an invitation for another strike. My father never apologized. The guards never backed down. To me, touch had always meant pain, humiliation, or the cold bite of chains.

The muffled sound of footsteps filtered in from the hallway. My body instantly tensed, my survival instinct kicking in. I held my breath and pressed myself even harder against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut tight. I waited for the storm. I waited for the furious beast.

The door handle was pressed down quietly. Jax stepped into the room, but something had changed. He didn't carry that suppressed, destructive tension like before. His steps were measured, and his aura, though still incredibly powerful and dominant, was somehow... restrained.

I opened my eyes, and my gaze immediately darted to his hands. He hadn't brought a weapon. Nor chains.

He held a plastic basin from which warm steam rose, a white towel draped over his arm beside it, and in his other hand, a small medical kit. He set the items down on the nightstand, then turned toward me.

When his eyes locked onto mine in the darkness, I involuntarily flinched and scooted even further back toward the headboard. My back hit the cold wood. Trapped.

Jax stopped at the edge of the bed. I saw him register my movement. I saw his jaw clench, as if he had taken an invisible punch, but he said nothing. He slowly raised both hands, palms facing me, as if trying to tame a frantic, wounded animal.

"I just want to clean your wounds," he said, and his voice was so deep, soft, and raspy that a chill ran down my spine. Not from fear. From something else. "I won't hurt you, Freya."

My name on his lips... it still sounded so foreign, yet there was something suffocatingly intimate about it.

I didn't answer, just panted silently and hugged my bleeding wrist tighter against myself. With a deep, weary sigh, Jax sat down on the edge of the bed, but he was careful to leave space between us. He didn't loom over me. He didn't force anything upon me.

"Let me see your hand," he asked softly.

I shook my head.

"There's no need. It'll... it'll heal. Vampire blood..." I started to say, but my voice broke.

"Vampires might heal fast, but you haven't drank in days, and you're exhausted," he interrupted, but there was no trace of command in his voice. He was merely stating facts. "And the rust and dirt will infect your wounds. Please, Freya. Let me."

The word please hit me as if I had been slapped across the face. An Alpha pleading? With me?

Slowly, trembling, inch by inch, I released my chest and extended my hand toward him. Even taking a breath hurt from the tension. Jax lifted one of his massive, tattooed hands, and instead of grabbing my wrist—like he had in the cellar—he simply supported my fingers from underneath.

When his rough, searing palm touched my skin, that certain spark flared up again, but this time there was nothing violent about it. It was like a warm blanket on a freezing night. Deep inside me, some small, frozen-solid piece began to melt.

He dipped a clean cloth into the warm water and gently touched it to my wrist.

I hissed, and out of pure instinct, I yanked my hand back.

Jax stopped instantly. He didn't grip my hand to keep me from moving. He just waited. He waited until my breathing slowed down, until I realized I was free to pull away if I wanted to. But I didn't pull away.

"I know it stings," he whispered, his eyes never leaving my face for a second. "It'll feel better in a moment."

He started again. No one had ever touched me with such care. The movements with which he washed the dried blood and the cellar's grime from my skin were astonishingly, almost painfully gentle. The massive, rock-hard man who had ripped iron chains from the wall with his bare hands was now treating me as if I were made of the finest, most fragile glass.

A lump grew in my throat. My eyes filled with tears again, but this time not from physical pain.

I was afraid. I was terrified of this care. Because I knew pain. I was used to the torture, the chains, the mocking words. I could armor my soul against those; I had built walls against them. But this softness? This patient, warm touch? I had no weapons against this. If I let this in, if I got used to it... and then he suddenly took it away, it would destroy me completely.

"Why are you doing this?" the question tumbled out of me in a whisper, almost involuntarily.

Jax stopped wiping. He opened the small medical kit, squeezed some cooling, herbal-scented salve from a tube onto his finger.

"Because I promised that you are under my pack's protection," he answered slowly, gently spreading the ointment over the raw, torn skin. The cool cream immediately soothed the throbbing pain.

"But you hate me," I said, my voice stubborn, trying to cling to the reality I knew. "You said you wanted to tear me to pieces."

Jax lifted his gaze. A stormy, deep darkness swirled in his eyes that made my breath catch for a moment. He slowly set the cloth down, and while still holding my hand, he leaned closer.

"I hated what I thought you were," he said, his voice resonating in his chest. "I hated the monster I saw in you. But I was wrong. And an Alpha rarely admits when he's wrong... but it happened this time."

With his thumb, he very delicately stroked the back of my hand. The motion caused the bond to vibrate like thick golden light between us.

"You didn't deserve what you got. Neither from your clan, nor from me over the last three days," Jax whispered. "You are not a monster, Freya. You are a survivor. And I swear to you, on my life and on my wolf, that no one will ever touch you again in a way that causes you pain. Not even me."

His words pierced through the walls of my soul like a hot knife through butter. The tears I had held back for so long out of pride now began to stream down my face unstoppably. I couldn't halt them. Everything I had suppressed until now—the abandonment, my mother's death, my father's betrayal, the starvation, and the dark of the cellar—burst out of me all at once.

A choked, trembling sob tore from my throat.

I was ashamed of myself. I wanted to turn away, I wanted to hide my face with my free hand, but Jax wouldn't let me. Instead of despising me for my weakness, he simply moved closer and wrapped his massive, strong arms around me.

I stiffened. My face pressed against his broad, warm chest. I could feel his steady heartbeat, the comforting scent of pine and leather. Every instinct screamed at me to push the enemy away, but my Valkyrie soul, which had starved for a drop of love and care for so many years, simply gave up the fight.

Slowly, trembling, I melted into his embrace, and let the Alpha who had once wanted my death become my only sanctuary.