MY ENEMY, MY WEAKNESS

Accusations and secrets

ELARA


I felt myself falling long before I was engulfed in a warm embrace, my consciousness slowly returning. I gulped in a large gust of air and instinctively went to wrap myself in a ball, but the larger arms drew me closer, which scared me more because of my state of undress.


"Stay calm, hellcat," the voice came again, and this time, I heard it clearly—it was not in my imagination as I had assumed. My eyes snapped open, and truly, it was him: FitzGerald the monster, in flesh and blood, still fully clothed in the suit from earlier.

Our eyes clashed and held for a while as I attempted to read him, tension brewing like electricity in that small space of time. Shockingly, my fear abruptly ceased. I imagined it was because I was not alone, but judging from how I had reacted in similar situations in the past, even with family, I knew that was not the case.


So why did I suddenly feel safe in the arms of my enemy? Why was he being nice to me? The same man who was the cause of my present plight. 
My first instinct was to stand up, but as though realizing what I was about to do, his hands tightened on me.


"Don't," he commanded, still observing me intently. That was enough reason not to struggle and remain in my position. However, out of the blue, for no just cause, I shuddered from the cold. It seemed my body's temperature had fallen from being unclothed for a while, and normally, I was not very friendly with cold.


"Why can't you be reasonable for once?" He asked, dropping his hands. When I thought he was going to drop me on the cold floor, he was only leaning back to remove his jacket, which he gently placed over my shoulders. Under normal circumstances, I would rather freeze to death than accept his favours, but again, that would be stupid.


I had to live to fight and reclaim what was mine.


"I told you not to embarrass me, and yet..." He stopped, took a deep breath, and in a flash, picked me off the ground like I weighed nothing.


"I can—"


"Shhh..." He cut off my protest, and when we neared the iron door, it threw open, and two guards stood at attention as we made our way out. I nearly died of shame. Without thinking about it, I reached out and yanked his suit lower to shield my bottom from prying eyes.


"Do you know what everyone would think if you continued to disobey me?" He went on like he wasn't seeing my reaction. What made him think I gave a f**k about his feelings right now when mine were literally in the mud? To worsen the case, people lined the halls as we approached my bedroom, their inquisitive eyes pinned on us with a hint of mortification.


Of course, I understood why—I was a prisoner, and yet here I was in the arms of their Alpha like his precious bride.


The guards at my door hurriedly opened it as we neared them, and once we were in, FitzGerald turned and slammed the door closed in their faces. He went to the bed and dumped me ungentlemanly.


Arrogant prick!


"Game over!" He hissed, jabbing his finger at my face. Gone was the gentleness I spied earlier, replaced by the behaviour of the man I knew—the enemy I was comfortable with. His lips went into a thin, straight line, and the intensity of his eyes became dark. I could feel the heat of his rage.

"Henceforth, you are going to do exactly as I tell you, Ginger, or I swear to the goddess, I will throw you in the deepest part of the dungeons, lock you away, and lose the keys. Don't forget, I now have the support of all your friends and family, which means one thing: You have no one." He smiled at the end of that and continued to stare, possibly bewildered that I wasn't fighting or returning his uncouth behaviour.


Seeing as I wasn't giving him any comebacks and being unable to discern my present attitude, he huffed and bounced off the bed. I was happy he was finally leaving, but this man walked toward the window and threw them open. After that, he made his way to the wardrobe and, while I was still wondering about its existence until now, he sifted through the clothes there and eventually produced a black matching jumper, which he hurled onto the bed.


"Dress up in that before you get sick," he more or less ordered, shut the closet, and this time made his way to the door. He paused at the entrance and swerved around to say, "Just so you know, this doesn't change anything." Then he was off like the wind.


I inhaled sharply and fell back on the bed. I finally let go of all my pent-up rage and cried into my pillows. I laid there and relieved everything that took place from the funeral down to meeting my Uncle and what he said to me, and finally, to my experience in the dark room. Again, I felt like that scared little girl from years ago, reaching out for help from my mother, who hated me so desperately she was willing to let me die.


"Mistress?" I shuddered and looked up to see Amara standing directly in front of me on the right-hand side of the bed. Her expression bordered on pity and empathy that I nearly forgot she had betrayed me.


"What do you want?" I snapped, sniffed, and twisted to the other side of the bed to avoid her.


"I don't understand..." Her voice was sceptical. "I am here to see how you are doing." She hesitated. "I—I heard about what happened at the funeral."


"You mean after you sold me out," I chimed flatly. "I hope you are happy now."


"What do you mean?" She asked, her tone dense.


I sat up abruptly, took the quilt on the bed to wipe my tears, and confronted her. "I thought you were different. I was beginning to trust you!" I cracked on the last word. "You took advantage of my vulnerability to get information out of me to deliver to your Alpha."


Her expression was distorted like she was confused. She splayed her hands out. "I still don't understand, mistress."


"Don't call me that!" I shouted. "Don't call me that," I repeated in a lighter tone, jabbing my finger downward. "I am your prisoner and have been stripped of my title, so do not patronize me with that. What I am right now is a common nobody. An Omega is even better than me."


"No," She jumped onto the bed, ignoring my protests, and took my hands. I began weeping once more, my emotions uncontrollable. "I know I deserve your anger because my Alpha did something bad to you, but you have to trust me. I will never sell you out."


"Then why did you tell him of my plan to escape today?" I yanked my hands from hers. "Why?" My eyes searched hers, seeking answers.


"I swear on the grave of my dead father, mistress," she slipped off the bed, went to the black mini-bag that she often brought with her, and produced a dagger which in the blink of an eye, she used to slice her wrist.


"What are you doing!" I darted out of bed and attempted to take the dagger, but she didn't let me. We started struggling for it whilst she broke into tears herself. My heart softened, and I felt bad for outrightly accusing her without questioning her first.


"I did not betray you," she sobbed. "Do you believe me now?" Blood was gushing from her wrist and dropping to the rug and I panicked. I stopped reaching for the knife and reached for the nearest thing I could lay my hands on—the jumper—and used it to wrap her wrist.


"You didn't have to do that, Amara!" I said in a panicked tone, having managed to contain the blood. The smell of her blood now permeated the room, causing my nostrils to flare. I led her to the couch to sit down and gave her a glass of water on the end table beside the couch to drink. "I'm sorry for accusing you. I thought it was you."


"There is a reason my Alpha is worshipped and revered in this Kingdom and beyond," she spoke in a small voice after a stretched silence, "...that is because he has unnatural abilities far beyond that of a normal werewolf...far beyond even a Chestnut like you." I was kneeling in front of her, my attention at this point very rapt.


She inhaled deeply and licked her lips, her right hand placed on top of mine on her wrist. "What I'm saying is that he might have managed to get into your head and read your thoughts."


"That's not possible," I grunted lowly, shaking my head. "Only Chestnuts can do that." And that was the truth.


She shrugged. "Did you hear what I said earlier?"


My sight was intent on her, her words seemingly unbelievable to me. In the history of werewolves, only Chestnut-furred werewolves possessed certain unusual abilities, which was why we have been at the top of the leadership chain. It was therefore not possible that someone outside our clan could read the mind of not just any Chestnut clan member but a direct bloodline—an AlphaQueen.


I stood up instantly. Amara was up with me. "You must never tell anyone about this!" She appeared in front of me, her gaze seeming terrified. "No one knows. I only came across that information by chance, and if they knew, they would kill me. Promise me!"


"Why did you tell me?" I asked instead.


"Because—because I need you to know I am on your side. Because I trust you."


I opened my mouth to answer, but the door banged open, and two guards entered. Their appearances were unusual. They seemed defensive.


"Seize her!" The taller one with ginger hair, his features like Pennywise, ordered the shorter one I recognized as my former guard, his wolf eyes piercing through.


"What!" I clamoured, very mortified. What did Amara do?


My guard marched forward, and the minute I opened my mouth to ask what she did wrong, he slapped me across the face, and as I fell to the ground, he captured a scared-looking Amara.


"Mistress!" She cried helplessly as he pulled her along, flailing her hands toward me to save her.


But I couldn't. "Amara..." I sobbed feebly on the ground, reaching out my hand to her as her image slowly faded from my vision.
…