A Gift for the Three Alpha's

Chapter 13: Possession

The guards left Lyra alone on the examination bed, but she could still hear everything. Through the open door, she heard Thad explaining to the brothers how fertile she was, how her body was perfect for breeding, how many children she could bear.

Combined with the stress of screaming, combined with the wolfsbane coursing through her veins, Lyra could not move. She could only lie there and sob silently, her entire body shaking with the force of her despair.

Darius leaned forward with obvious interest. "How many offspring could she produce in a year?"

Thad began to complain about her weakness, about how she needed proper nutrition and rest before she could be safely used for breeding, but Darius cut him off.

"That is not what I asked."

Kael laughed, his voice carrying through the room. "She will get thick either way. From being fed or from being f****d. Either way, we will have what we want."

Asher said nothing.

But when Lyra glanced at him, she could see the discomfort written across his face. He looked like he did not want to be there, like he was struggling with being in the same room while she was examined and discussed like an object. His jaw was clenched tight, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles had turned white.

When their eyes met, he quickly looked away.

Thad eventually took his leave, packing his box of instruments and bowing respectfully to each of the brothers individually. The physician congratulated them again on their recent conquests before departing, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

The guards released Lyra from the chains, but her body would not obey her commands. She could not stand. Could not move. Could only lie there as the three princes discussed her future like she was not even present.

"Elena has not done her job properly," Darius said coldly, his dark eyes cold as ice. "She is supposed to be training her, not injuring her."

"Speaking of Elena," Kael said, rising from his seat with slow, deliberate movements, "we were interrupted earlier. I believe I was about to get some answers."

He called Elena forward, and she came reluctantly, her entire body trembling. The woman knew what was coming. Lyra could see it in the way she walked, in the way she held herself.

Kael grabbed her by her neck and lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing. Elena's feet dangled, her hands clawing at his arm in a desperate attempt to free herself.

"Tell me the truth," he growled, his green eyes blazing with fury. "What happened to her leg?"

Elena gasped for air, her face turning red from the pressure of his grip. "I kicked her," she choked out, the words tumbling over each other. "But it was a mistake. I did not mean to hurt her. I was just trying to hurry her along and she was moving so slowly and—"

"I understand," Kael said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. He set her down gently, almost tenderly, like he was placing a piece of fragile glass on a shelf. His hand remained on her shoulder, almost protective.

Elena took a shaky breath, relief flooding her face. She thought it was over. She thought she had been forgiven.

She turned to walk away, already apologizing under her breath for her mistake, already muttering excuses.

Then Kael kicked her from behind.

Elena fell forward onto her face with a cry of pain that echoed through the examination room. She did not get up. She just lay there on the cold stone floor, blood beginning to seep from her broken nose, her body curled in on itself.

"Let this be a warning to all of you," Kael said calmly, as if he had not just brutally assaulted a woman. His voice was casual, almost conversational. "Lyra belongs to us. Every scratch on her body is an insult to us. Every bruise, every wound, every mark that is not made by our hands is a direct challenge to our authority. Do not touch her again. Do not hurt her. Do not even look at her wrong. If I find out that any of you have laid a hand on her, I will do far worse than this."

He looked down at Elena's motionless form with absolute indifference.

Guards carried Lyra back to her room, their hands rough as they helped her move. Her legs felt like water, her entire body weak from the wolfsbane and the trauma of the examination. They laid her on her bed and left without a word.

Lyra lay staring at the stone ceiling, unable to move, unable to think past the fog of pain and shame that surrounded her.

Two people had been hurt because of her. Elena and the guard in the restroom. Both suffering, both broken, because she was here, because she existed in their world.

And Kael had done it. Kael, who claimed to care about her, who had protected her from his own brother, who had killed for her, had kicked Elena like she was nothing but an obstacle in his way.

She realized then that Kael did not actually care about her. His wolf was beginning to feel the early connections to her—those possessive, territorial bonds that werewolves formed with their mates. He was experiencing moments of protectiveness, but it had nothing to do with her as a person. It was pure animal instinct. Pure toxic possession.

He saw her as his property. His territory. His possession to protect because she belonged to him, not because she mattered as a human being.

Lyra could not eat for the rest of the day. Every time she tried to swallow food, her stomach would reject it. She spent hours bent over the chamber pot, throwing up until there was nothing left inside her except for guilt and despair.

The weight of what her presence was causing pressed down on her like stones. She had come here to destroy these men, and instead, she was destroying everyone around her. Innocent people were suffering because of her mission. Because of her revenge.

She wondered if it was worth it. If anything she could accomplish would be worth the innocent lives being destroyed in the process.

At night, Izzy came to her room carrying a white dress and a small vial of sweet-smelling oil perfume. The girl's expression was soft with concern.

"You need a bath," Izzy said gently, not asking but stating it as fact. "You need to clean yourself and recover some of your strength. Let me help you."

Lyra was too exhausted to argue. She let Izzy help her to the bathing room, let the girl lower her into warm water that smelled of herbs and flowers. The heat was soothing against her aching muscles, and for the first time in hours, she felt like she could breathe.

Izzy worked the perfumed oil into her skin with careful, gentle movements, washing away the blood and sweat and shame. Her small hands were reverent as she cleaned every inch of Lyra's body, treating her like she was something precious instead of something broken.

"You are strong," Izzy whispered, her voice soft in the steaming room. "Stronger than you know. Stronger than all of them."

Lyra wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that there was strength left in her, that she could survive this ordeal and come out the other side intact.

The water grew cold around them, and Izzy helped her out of the tub. She wrapped Lyra in soft cloth and helped her dress in the white gown that Darius had sent. The fabric was beautiful and completely transparent, designed to display her body rather than cover it.

"You look beautiful," Izzy said, but there was sadness in her eyes.

"Why did you bring me here?" Lyra asked. "Why would you help me prepare for—" She could not finish the sentence.

Izzy's expression shifted. She looked nervous, uncertain, like she was about to deliver bad news.

"Darius sent me to summon you to his chambers," Izzy said quietly, the words hanging in the air between them. "After your bath, you are to go to him.”