Broken Wolves

5

"Sit down, Amanda."

I flinched, my heart pounding in my chest. His voice... it feels like it’s tearing through me. Every word is laced with venom.

I want to fight. I want to scream.

But instead, I lowered myself into the chair, my body betraying me. My eyes shoot daggers at him, but he doesn't even flinch.

"You’re pathetic," he says, voice cold, almost amused. His eyes scan me, taking in every inch of me like I'm some sort of prize to be claimed.

I ball my fists, but it does nothing. Nothing ever does.

My skin feels like it's crawling, disgust wrapping around me tighter than his damn hands ever could. I remember the way one of his omega slaves dressed me—dressed me in something so slutty, so whorish, I could barely look at myself in the mirror without wanting to burn the entire reflection away.

I want to rip the fabric off me, tear it to shreds, but I know he’s watching. I know it was his command. He gets off on this—on seeing me reduced, humiliated, exposed.

It’s sick. It’s wrong.

But it's been weeks since I'm in his territory. I am lucky I am alive. I am unlucky because he wants me alive. I know this monsters for too long to know he wasn't keeping me here for revenge. No, Theodus is more than that. I know he is angry, livid at me but he's greedy for power too.

I just wish he doesn't know what--I am capable of. Because if he does--he won't just dressed me as his toy, he will drain me until I'm nothing left but his slave.

That is the man that he is. And that is the reason why I killed him.

Theodus moves closer. His hand moves to my neck, fingers curling around my throat like a vice, choking the breath right out of me. I gasp, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens, and I can’t.

"My very beautiful w***e," he teases, fingers almost grazing my n*****s. "Do you want some news about your Crescent Princes, love?"

The mention of them makes me still.

"Sit down, Amanda."

I flinch, my heart pounding in my chest. His voice... it feels like it’s tearing through me. Every word laced with venom.

I want to fight. I want to scream.

But instead, I lower myself into the chair, my body betraying me. My eyes shoot daggers at him, but he doesn't even flinch.

"You’re pathetic," he says, voice cold, almost amused. His eyes scan me, taking in every inch of me like I'm some sort of prize to be claimed.

I ball my fists, but it does nothing. Nothing ever does.

My skin feels like it's crawling, disgust wrapping around me tighter than his damn hands ever could. I remember the way one of his omega slaves dressed me—dressed me in something so slutty, so whorish, I could barely look at myself in the mirror without wanting to burn the entire reflection away.

I want to rip the fabric off me, tear it to shreds, but I know he’s watching. I know it was his command. He gets off on this—on seeing me reduced, humiliated, exposed.

It’s sick. It’s wrong.

Theodus moves closer. His hand moves to my neck, fingers curling around my throat like a vice, choking the breath right out of me. I gasp, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens, and I can’t.

"My very beautiful w***e," he teases, fingers almost grazing my n*****s. "Do you want some news about your Crescent Princes, love?"

The mention of them makes me still.

My breath hitches, panic rising in my chest, because I know exactly what he's doing. He's taunting me with them, the ones I thought I could trust. The ones I thought were still mine. But he’s twisted them into his playthings, into pawns in his game. I can already feel it, the sickness spreading in my veins.

"Don’t you dare f*****g touch them," I spit, my voice shaking with rage. My body trembles under his grip, but I won’t back down. Not now.

He smiles, a cruel, twisted thing that cuts through me like a shard of glass.

"I can do whatever I want, Amanda," he says, his grip tightening around my throat, his voice low and dangerous. "And if you want to protect them... well, you know what you have to do. Play nice, and maybe I’ll think about it."

I want to scream at him, want to tear his skin off, but I know it’s useless. He’s untouchable. He knows how to hurt me—how to hurt them.

"You're sick," I growl, but it's barely audible over the rage and disgust that churns in my gut.

He chuckles, dragging his thumb over my skin as if savoring my disgust.

"You think I don't know that, Amanda? I like it."

The words hit me like a slap to the face.

He releases me, just enough so I can gasp for air, but his presence is suffocating, his eyes never leaving me.

"Come on," he says, voice sickly sweet. "Let’s have breakfast."

Breakfast. With him.

I want to puke. My stomach twists violently as I stare at him. I can barely stomach the thought of sitting down at a table with this monster, but I know what he's doing. He's playing me, forcing me into submission in every way he can.

I stand, my knees shaking, my body betraying me. I refuse to look at him, but I can feel his gaze like a searing brand against my skin.

"Do you think I want to eat with you?" I snap, my voice dripping with disgust. "You disgust me, Theodus. You're a monster."

His smile deepens, sick and twisted, and I want to tear it off his face.

“Do you want to have your little boytoy killed, Amanda?” His voice turns icy, cold enough to freeze my blood. “I heard your pack wants their heads too.”

My stomach churns violently, a sick knot tying itself deeper inside me. I can barely breathe, my lungs full of disgust, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of breaking.

He leans in, his breath hot against my ear, fingers tightening once more around my neck, pushing me just shy of suffocating.

“You’ll do whatever I want,” he hisses, voice twisted with venom. “Or I’ll make sure the ones you care about suffer.”

I didn’t respond and that alone make him smirk.

“Sit,” he commands again, his voice harsh, unforgiving. “Now.”

I want to fight, I want to tear him apart, but instead, I force myself to sit, my fingers gripping the edge of the table to steady myself.

"Good girl," he mocks, watching me suffer. “You’re learning your place, Amanda.”

The words are like acid on my skin. But I chew. I swallow.

And I hate myself for it.