CHAPTER 11
1197 Words
L E I L A N I
It was Fenrir.
He was standing there, a silent, imposing figure, watching me with an unreadable expression. He had a canteen in his hand, and he held it out to me.
"Drink," he commanded, his voice a low rumble.
I stared at him, my mind a chaotic mess of anger and fear and a strange, unwanted flicker of gratitude. I wanted to slap the canteen out of his hand, to scream at him to leave me alone. But I was so thirsty, so weak.
I took the canteen, my fingers brushing against his. I drank, the cool water a welcome relief against my raw throat.
"Lyra sent you?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
"No," he said, his gaze fixed on me. "I felt your distress. I also heard you were giving her a hard time."
I stared at him, my mind reeling. He felt my distress? What did that even mean? Was it some kind of weird werewolf mate thing?
"You're tracking me?" I shot back, my anger flaring.
"I'm aware of you," he corrected me, his tone patient, almost bored. "Always. It's a side effect of the bond. The more you fight it, the stronger it gets."
"A bond?" I scoffed, a harsh, bitter laugh escaping my lips. "There is no bond. There's just you and your obsession with possessing things."
His jaw tightened, a flicker of anger in his amber eyes. "Believe what you want. It doesn't change the reality of the situation."
"What reality? The reality that I'm your prisoner? Your broodmare? Your little pet human?" I seethed, my hands clenching into fists.
"You're the mother of my child," he said, his voice dangerously low. "And you will be respected as such. But you will also be obedient. And you will not put yourself or the pup in danger."
"I'm not in danger," I shot back, my chin held high in defiance.
"Aren't you?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone. "You're lost in the middle of my territory, miles from the house. You're pregnant, you're exhausted, and you've just been sick. If I weren't here, you'd be a sitting duck for any number of things. Bears. Wildcats. Rogues."
Rogues. The word hung in the air between us, heavy and menacing. I'd heard the whispers in Barron's compound, stories of wolves without packs, without honor, without control. Monsters driven by a primal hunger for violence and chaos.
"Are there rogues here?" I asked, a flicker of unease twisting in my gut.
"This is my territory," he said, his tone flat. "Nothing happens here that I don't know about. But that doesn't mean they don't try. They're always testing the borders, looking for weakness."
I stared at him, a cold dread washing over me. I was a weakness. A human, pregnant with the Alpha's heir, wandering alone in the woods. I was a target, a prize that would bring any rogue immense glory.
"You're safe with me," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "You're not safe without me."
"I'd rather take my chances," I said, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.
"No, you wouldn't," he said, his tone so confident it was infuriating. "You're smart, Leilani. You're a survivor. And you know when you're beaten."
I wasn't beaten. I wasn't. But as I stood there, staring into his unreadable amber eyes, I knew he was right. I was out of my depth, a pawn in a game I was only just beginning to understand.
"Let's go," he said, holding out a hand. "It's getting late. And you need to rest and eat."
I looked at his outstretched hand, then back at the endless wall of green. I could run. I could try to lose him in the trees. But I knew it was useless. He was a predator, and I was his prey. He would find me. And he would not be happy.
With a sigh of resignation, I took his hand. His grip was firm, but not rough. It was a possessive touch, a silent reminder of who was in charge.
We walked in silence, the only sound the crunch of leaves under our feet. He led me, not back to the main path, but on a different route, a hidden trail that only he seemed to know. The forest was a blur of green and brown, a beautiful, terrifying prison.
As we walked, I became aware of a strange sensation in my chest, a faint, almost imperceptible hum of energy that seemed to connect me to him. It was a subtle pull, a constant awareness of his presence, his warmth, his strength. It was the bond he'd spoken of, a tangible thread between us that I couldn't see but could feel. I hated it. I hated that a part of me, a deep, primal part, found it... comforting. It was a betrayal of the highest order, a flicker of weakness I had to extinguish.
We emerged from the trees, the house appearing in sight.
He led me inside, his hand still on my arm, a silent, unbreakable tether. Lyra was in the living room, arranging a vase of wildflowers on the coffee table. She looked up as we entered, her expression a mixture of relief and disapproval.
"I told you to stay on the path," she said, her gaze fixed on me.
"I was getting some fresh air," I said, my tone defiant.
"You were getting yourself lost," Fenrir corrected me, his voice flat. "And putting my pup in danger."
He let go of my arm and strode towards the bar in the corner of the room, leaving me standing there, feeling like a scolded child. He poured himself a glass of what looked like whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light.
"She needs to eat," he said, taking a sip of his drink. "And she needs to understand the rules."
"There are rules?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Goody. I was starting to get bored."
He turned to face me, a cold, hard look in his amber eyes. "Rule number one: You do not leave the house without an escort. Either me or Lyra. No exceptions."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand, silencing me.
"Rule number two: You do not go into the woods alone. The territory is vast, and it's not as safe as it looks. There are things in these woods that would see you, and the pup you carry, as a meal."
A shiver ran down my spine, despite the warmth of the house. His words were a reminder of the world I had been thrust into, a world of primal violence and ancient rivalries.
"Rule number three," he continued, his tone unwavering. "You will take care of yourself. You will eat. You will rest. You will not do anything to jeopardize the health of my child. Understood?"
I stared at him, my mind a chaotic mess of anger and fear. He wasn't asking. He was commanding. And I had no choice but to obey.
"Understood," I ground out, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.
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