Under His Command
566 Words
The metal cuffs bit into Selene’s wrists, even through the worn sleeves of her hoodie. The silver laced into them made her skin prickle with heat, dulling the wolf that stirred just out of reach—silent, barely there.
She hated those cuffs.
They were Garrick’s idea. “To keep you in line,” he’d said, fastening them around her wrists each night like she was a wild dog he’d barely tamed. But the truth was simpler: her wolf was dormant, locked away by fear, trauma, and too many years under this roof. The cuffs just made sure she stayed that way.
A crash echoed down the hallway. Selene flinched on instinct. Footsteps followed—heavy, deliberate. She knew them too well.
Alpha Garrick.
He always moved with the same predatory rhythm. Even when he wasn’t angry, there was a tension in him, like violence waiting just beneath the surface.
He found her in the laundry room, folding threadbare towels with quiet precision. She didn’t turn to look—she didn’t have to. The air shifted the moment he stepped into the room, thick with the scent of control and something fouler.
“Strip,” he said, the Alpha command sharp and cold.
Her heart sank. Her body moved on instinct, not by will—his power forced her to obey.
She lifted her shirt with trembling hands, biting back shame and nausea. Her hoodie fell to the floor, then her undershirt. Every layer peeled away felt like skin. Her jeans came next, until she stood there in only her underwear. She hesitated.
The command pushed again.
She finished undressing.
He made no effort to conceal his excitement.
Garrick moved in behind her, slow and deliberate, like he wanted her to feel every breath of distance closing between them. His body came flush with hers—bare skin to clothed strength.
She flinched when she felt him.
The hard press of his arousal pushed against her lower back, unmistakable.
“That’s better,” he murmured, his breath hot against her neck. “This is what you’re good for. On display. Silent. Untouched.”
He leaned in closer, lips brushing just behind her ear.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered. “And you’ll never feel what it’s like to be taken. Not by me. Not by anyone.”
Then, with sudden violence, he shoved her forward, and her body collided with the cold metal table.
The first blow came without warning—a strike to her ribs that knocked the air from her lungs.
Another landed across her back.
“You make me this way,” Garrick snarled, punctuating each word with a strike. “I should have killed you the day your pathetic parents died.”
Her knees hit the ground as the final blow came. Blood pooled in her mouth. Her vision swam.
She heard him breathe heavily. Heard the door close a second later.
Heard silence.
Selene slowly reached for her clothes, every movement aching. She dressed in broken pieces, then stumbled to her room.
There, in the dark, she snapped the silver cuffs around her wrists—like ritual.
And lay down.
Her wolf was quiet. Always quiet.
But sometimes, Selene thought she felt her—like a pulse deep in her chest, a whisper at the edges of her mind.
Not dead. Not broken.
Just waiting.
- Writer
