The Alpha's Siphon

CHAPTER TWO

Zia

My hands won’t stop trembling and I hate them for it.

I press them flat against my bag and stare out the window at a territory I’ve only ever heard about in lowered voices. A necklace sits against my collarbone, my mother’s face pressed to my skin, the only warm thing in this car. I don’t reach for it. Not in front of them.

The two wolves driving me don’t speak or look at me. I’m not a person to them right now. I’m a delivery package. Something fragile and expensive that mustn’t be damaged before it reaches its destination.

Fine. I’ve been cargo before.

I just wasn’t permanent before.

The gate opens without hesitation, like it was already expecting me, like the decision was made long before I had any say in it. Black iron, tall as consequence. The car rolls through and the gate closes behind us and I feel the sound of it in my chest that harboured thirty-seven wolves

I step out. I’m thankful my legs can hold my weight

The compound is not what I expected and somehow exactly what I expected. Massive. Dark stone and iron and tall windows glowing warm from inside, the architecture of a man who has never once needed to soften anything for anyone. No garden ornaments. No unnecessary decoration. Every line of it says function and dominance and I don’t care what you think of me.

A servant leads me inside without a word. The ceiling soars. A chandelier throws cold light across marble floors. The whole place smells like expensive wood and a distinctively masculine scent.

I stand in the middle of the entrance hall and wait, because there is nothing else to do.

Then I hear footsteps.

He descends the grand staircase the way tides come in —unhurried, like the world has simply always arranged itself around his arrival. He has a black robe on. His bare chest peeks out beneath. His broad shoulders fit perfectly beneath his robe. His cold gaze fixed on me, as if I were not a person, but an object he was assessing for its worth. At least Jonas assessed me like a person, even though that person, behind his lens, was a deranged one.

“I want to ask you something,” I said.

He didn’t respond. He did not even nod. My hands clenched at my sides. “Why did you do this?”

Still silent, I lifted my face, forcing myself to look at him in his steel-grey eyes. “You should have visited me like the others did. I would’ve done…”

His eyes moved over my face, then my body, without guilt. I felt naked under his tense gaze, as if every flaw I had was being noted one by one. Yet he still didn’t answer. Instead, Garrick turned slightly to his side, toward the man who had been standing a few steps behind him the whole time—his personal assistant.

“Renna, help this lady to her room and make sure to get the stench out of her skin.”

I was stunned.

“As soon as possible,” he added briefly.

The assistant nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Then Garrick turned and walked back toward the stairs, as if the conversation had never happened, as if my question meant nothing. I’m choosing to ignore the part where he said I stink because I sure did have a proper shower.

“Wa-wait!” I called out in panic.

I ran after him too fast, too fast and too careless, and my ankle twisted just as I marched the first step. My body lost its balance and I fell. Pain shot from my knees to my ribs, and the tiny ounce of dignity I had left fell with my body on the stairs.

Garrick halted on the stairs. I looked up and saw Garrick turn around. His gaze dropped on me. He stood there, looking at me like I were a child who had made a foolish mistake and had fallen into the mud. I held back the pain, trying to get up even though my ribs and ankle ached.

He stepped down one stair.

“Stop,” he said.

I stopped moving.

“You have no right to argue,” he said.

I shook my head slowly. “I just want to know why you’re doing this.”

“My decisions are never questionable.”

“My decisions are never questionable,” he replied flatly.

“But this concerns my life,” I said in a trembling voice, feeling the lump at the back of my throat surface.

He crouched down slightly, just enough for our faces to be at the same level.

“You’re here for one reason. To heal me. That’s your only use.” I fell silent. He added, “I want to have a premium service. That was why I bought you.”

He straightened up to his full length, smoothing his robe. “Now, you will have to shut the hell up. If you can’t, you’ll learn to do so.”

I swallowed the lump. “I won’t shut the hell up. How about that?”

The room stilled.

The corner of his lips moved slightly. It’s more an advance notice for his unspoken words.

He crouched back down.

“My tigers are yet to be fed this evening. You’ll make a good dinner.”

My blood froze. “They are not friendly, even to my men,” he added.

I trembled, not only because of the threat, but because he said it without an ounce of emotion, like it was a harmless statement.

Garrick straightened up again. “Get up.”

I tried to stand. My knees ached, my hands trembled, but I forced myself.

“This is your only warning,” he said before turning away again. “I will now repeat it.”

He walked back up, his steps still calm, leaving me below with my heart pounding uncontrollably. I did not chase after him again.

The assistant approached me, her expression more humane, though still professional. “Come with me, Miss Zia.”

I nodded weakly. She led me to a room upstairs. The room was large, far too large for me. A wide bed with clean white sheets, large windows overlooking a dark garden. Before leaving, she handed me a thin black folder and a pen. “This is the contract agreement. Alpha Garrick asked me to hand it to you.” Her voice was almost mechanical, like she had rehearsed her words a couple of times. “He expects it to be read thoroughly and signed as soon as possible.”

She walked away, and the door closed softly behind her. I sat on the edge of the bed, the folder on my lap, my hands trembling as I opened it. All the pages were filled with his rules—that I wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone except Renna, I was not allowed to be seen around the house without his approval, I was not allowed access to social media. The rules went on and on. All were written in his favor, and never mine.

I clutched the necklace sitting around my neck as if begging it for strength.

And on the final page of the contract, there was a brief sentence that made me stop breathing:

This contract is absolute and can’t be canceled once signed.

I sat with that for a moment.

Then I reached for the pen.