The Wolf Within Her

Chapter 7- Freed, But Not Free

After what felt like forever, the door finally opened. My heart jumped into my throat before I could even catch it.

Mario walked in first, flanked by the guards, his hands folded across his chest. He didn’t hurry. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak immediately. He simply stood there, calm, unyielding, his eyes locked on me. The weight of his gaze pressed down like a physical force, making it hard to even breathe.

“Are you willing to comply now?” His voice broke the silence, calm and steady, but there was an edge beneath it that made me freeze in place.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words stuck in my throat. My body ached too much to protest. My wrists throbbed, my ankles burned, and my throat still felt raw from the gag.

He didn’t rush. He just waited, letting the silence stretch until it pressed against me like another rope.

“If you continue to be stubborn,” he added, his eyes never leaving mine, “I will leave you like this. No food. No water. As long as it takes.”

My chest tightened. My stomach lurched. This wasn’t just a threat—I knew it. I had heard of how he dealt with anyone who challenged him, the stories whispered in other packs, the punishments that were never questioned. I knew he would do it. Without hesitation. Without a second thought.

I nodded.

It was a small gesture, but it meant everything. I would comply. I would not run. I would survive—at least for now.

Mario’s eyes didn’t blink. He gave a single nod, sharp and approving, then signaled to the guards.

“Untie her. And remove the gag.”

Relief washed over me the second the ropes loosened. I bent my wrists and rotated them slowly, feeling the stiffness give way to soreness. My ankles ached with the same dull, burning pain. The rope had left deep, angry red marks that reminded me of the night I had spent on the cold floor. The marks weren’t just physical—they were a symbol of my helplessness, a proof that I had no control here.

I raised my eyes to Mario. His gaze didn’t waver. He watched every movement I made, as if my life depended on him approving each step. I could feel the power he held over me like a physical weight, pressing into my chest, making it impossible to act carelessly.

“If you even attempt to run again,” he said, his voice lower now, almost a growl beneath the calm, “you will be locked in the prisoner cell. No sunlight. No food. No water. Understand?”

I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat. I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. I only held my wrists and pushed myself to my feet, legs shaking slightly from disuse. Pain shot through my arms and legs as I moved, but it was better than the numbness, better than being tied down.

Mario didn’t move. He simply stood there, arms still folded, his gaze measuring me as I tested my balance and breathed through the soreness. I could almost feel him weighing my intentions, judging whether I would try to defy him again.

Then he turned to the maids who had entered quietly, standing at the edges of the room.

“Get her proper clothes,” he ordered. “Remove that dress she has on. And bring her food.”

I let out a silent breath of relief. For the first time in what felt like days, I could finally stretch, move freely, and breathe without restriction. My body protested every motion, but the freedom felt like something I hadn’t realized I had been craving.

The maids moved quickly, but carefully, like they weren’t sure how to approach me. Their expressions were a mix of pity and caution. I could feel their eyes on me as I stretched my stiff limbs, still holding my sore wrists. One of them handed me a small basin of water, and I quickly brought it to my lips, drinking carefully, greedily, like I might never get another chance.

The cold floor was no longer my bed, no longer my prison. I could finally feel my muscles relax—just slightly—but the memory of being tied down lingered, an ache I knew wouldn’t leave quickly.

Mario didn’t linger in the room. He turned and left, the door closing behind him with a finality that made my stomach twist. I wanted to call after him, to beg, to demand… but my voice felt small, useless, and I held my tongue.

For now, I was free to move, but the weight of what had happened—the chains, the threat, the power he held over me—pressed down like an invisible rope.

I moved slowly toward the basin, drank more water, and let myself sit for a few moments, hands resting on my legs, feeling the marks from the ropes sting with every movement.

For the first time in days, I could breathe without restriction.

And yet… I knew that freedom was fragile.

Because outside that door, Mario waited.

And if I ever tried to defy him again… the consequences would be worse than I could imagine.