The She-wolf Who Hated her beauty

Burst

Elena

The cupboard door swings open. Yellow light floods my eyes. I blink hard, trying to see. My pupils shrink. The world swims into focus.

A man stands there. Tall. Broad. His hair is black as coal, slicked back from his forehead. His jaw is sharp, like it was carved from stone. A thin scar runs from his ear to his chin. His eyes are green — bright green, like fresh grass after rain, like emeralds in sunlight. An alpha. I can feel his power rolling off him in waves. It presses against my skin. Heavy. Suffocating.

This is him. This is Alpha Alexander.

"Well, well," he says, smirking. His lips curl slowly. His teeth are white. Perfect. Predator's teeth. "A little mouse hiding in my kitchen."

His voice is deep. Smooth. Like honey poured over gravel. But underneath the smoothness, there is something cold. Something cruel.

I press myself deeper into the cupboard. My naked body curls into a tighter ball. My knees touch my chin. My arms wrap around my shins. My long, dirty hair falls over my face like a curtain. I pray he cannot see my features. I pray he only sees a filthy thief. A nameless rogue. Not the face that burned a village.

"Please," I whisper. My voice cracks. It comes out raspy, dry. I have not spoken in ten years. The word feels strange on my tongue. Foreign. Wrong. "Please let me go."

The alpha laughs. It is a cold sound. Empty. Like ice breaking on a frozen lake.

"Let you go?" He tilts his head. His green eyes narrow. "You broke into my house. You stole from me. You woke my servants. You made me chase you through the snow." He reaches inside the cupboard. His fingers close around my wrist. His grip is hot. Tight. "And now you beg?"

"Please," I say again. Tears fill my eyes. "I was hungry. I only wanted bread."

"Bread." He laughs again. Louder this time. "You risked your life for bread?"

"I am starving," I whisper. "I have not eaten in three days."

For a moment, something flickers in his eyes. Something almost human. Then it is gone. Replaced by hunger of a different kind.

"Come out," he says.

He pulls. I dig my heels into the wood of the cupboard. My nails scrape the floor, leaving shallow grooves. But he is too strong. Too big. He drags me out of the cupboard like a sack of flour. My body hits the stone floor. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. Pain shoots through my hip, my elbow, my spine.

I look up at him. His green eyes roam over my body. My bare breasts. My wide hips. My long legs. The curve of my waist. His smirk grows wider. His tongue wets his lower lip.

"You are beautiful," he says. "Even dirty. Even thin. Even covered in mud and blood." He crouches down beside me. His face is inches from mine. "Beautiful."

My stomach turns. Bile rises in my throat. I know that look. I have seen it before — in Caspian's yellow eyes the night my village burned. That same hunger. That same greed. That same belief that my body belongs to any man who wants it.

"Stay away from me," I growl. But my voice is small. Weak. It sounds like a pup's whimper.

Alexander grabs my arm. His fingers dig into my flesh. He lifts me to my feet. My wounded leg buckles. I cry out. The bite wound on my calf has reopened. Blood drips down my ankle and pools on the stone floor.

"Alexander," a voice calls from the hallway. One of his men. "The prisoner?"

Alexander looks over his shoulder. His grip on my arm does not loosen. "In the kitchen. She is naked. And beautiful." He laughs again. "Very beautiful."

The man in the hallway chuckles. "Lucky you."

I see red. Fear turns to rage. My blood boils. My wolf stirs inside me, scratching at the walls of my soul. I swing my free arm. My fist connects with his jaw. The impact jars my wrist. His head snaps to the side. His grip loosens. He releases me.

I run.

My legs are weak. My calf burns with every step. Blood leaves a trail behind me. But I run. I crash through the kitchen door. It slams against the wall. I find myself in a long hallway. Lamps on the walls cast yellow pools of light. Doors on both sides, closed and silent. At the far end, a staircase leading up to darkness.

Behind me, Alexander's voice roars: "AFTER HER! Do not let her leave this house alive!"

His boots pound the floor. He is coming.

I twist and turn. Left. Right. Through a dining room with a long wooden table. Past a staircase with a velvet rope. I push open another door. A pantry. Shelves of canned food line the walls. Jars of pickles. Bags of flour. The smell of dry goods and dust. And in the corner — another cupboard. Low. Dark. Tucked beneath a counter.

Please. Please let this one be hidden.

I scramble inside. This cupboard is smaller than the last. My shoulders scrape the sides. My head bumps the top. I coil myself as small as I can, pulling my knees to my chest. My long, dirty hair sweeps along the floor as I move. It gathers dust and cobwebs. I pull it inside with one hard tug. Then I gently shut the door.

Darkness. Silence. The smell of old potatoes and mouse droppings.

I press the palm of my hand against my mouth. So hard. As if I want to suffocate myself. My fingers dig into my cheeks. I do not want to be found breathing too heavy. My heart pounds. My chest heaves. I force myself to breathe slowly. Quietly.

In... out... in... out...

Footsteps pound the hallway outside the pantry. Voices shout.

"Where did she go?"

"Check the dining room!"

"The kitchen is clear!"

"She cannot have vanished!"

More footsteps. Men spreading out. Doors opening and closing.

"Find her! Alexander wants her alive!"

The footsteps pass my door. They fade. I hear them climbing the stairs. Moving to the upper floors.

I close my eyes. Thank the moon. Thank the moon.

But then I hear something else. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Coming back down the stairs. Coming toward the pantry.

One pair of feet. Heavy. Measured.

They stop right outside my cupboard.

A shadow passes beneath the door. I see his boots. Black leather. Blood on the toes.

My blood.

A low growl rumbles through the wood. Deep. Throaty. Familiar.

"I can smell you," Alexander whispers. His voice is soft. Almost gentle. That makes it worse. "I can smell your fear. Your blood. Your..." He pauses. Inhales. "Your heat."

My body goes cold.

"I know you are in there," he continues. His fingers tap the cupboard door. Tap. Tap. Tap. "You have two choices. You open this door yourself, and I go easy on you. Or I rip it off its hinges, and I do not go easy."

I do not move. I do not breathe.

"Three seconds," he says. "One."

Think. Think.

"Two."

I cannot fight him. I am too weak.

"Three."

The cupboard door rattles. His fingers curl around the edge. He is going to open it again.

The wood groans. The lock splinters. I squeeze my eyes shut. Then — something changes. The air shifts. Alexander freezes. A distant howl echoes through the night. His head snaps up. "Ray," he snarls. He releases the door. His boots stomp away. I am alone. But I do not feel safe. Something worse is coming.