Alpha Orion

EIGHT

Orion was flipping through some important paperwork when a rasp of knocks sounded at the door. He looked up from the thick file his attention had been buried in to glance at the door

"Come in," he grunted in response, and not a moment later, the handle turned, and the door was pushed open.

A guard walked in gripping Rey's arm and pulling her roughly into the Alpha's office, followed by the other guard.

Orion reclines against his chair, his steely gaze riveted on the human who had her eyes downcast, her damp curls framing her face.

"Alpha," the guards said in unison, inclining their heads in reverence and not daring to meet his eyes.

"Leave," he ordered in a deadly calm tone that left no room for questions.

They bowed, shuffling backwards before slipping out and shutting the door behind them, leaving Rey standing alone in the belly of the beast.

Slowly, his eyes swept down her form, noting that she seemed cleaner than the last time he had seen her in the cell, covered in filth and grime.

The brown dress he had seen on countless slaves looked nothing like it should on her. It hung loosely over her delicate shoulder, flowing down just over her mocha knees.

Seeing her in that dress gave him a sick sense of satisfaction, knowing that it was just the first step of reminding her that her kind were nothing.

"That dress suits you, little human; in fact, I think it was made for you," he jibes, a condescendingly low smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Her eyes that were glued to the floor in front of her slowly snap to his, hard and blazing with defiance.

Her eyes still hold that fire he had seen in those dark eyes the first time he beheld them. No one would dare meet his gaze, but here the filthy little human wasn't about to back down.

He chuckled, the sound dark and menacing.

He loved a good challenge anyway.

"Why am I here?" she asked, her annoyance bleeding into her tone. She was in pain from her broken wrist and the gash on her thigh; she wasn't about to deal with the maniac too.

He rose from his seated position behind his obsidian desk that gleamed against the sunlight filtering in through the open windows.

He rounded the desk, his imposing figure dwarfing her even though she was standing at the centre of the room, a few feet from him.

He stopped in front of his desk, rolling the sleeves of his black dress shirt to his forearm, revealing corded arms marked with the swirl of dark tattoos, a perfect contrast against his tan skin tone.

"You seem so eager to serve me, slave," he spat, and she frowned, hating the way the words rolled off his tongue.

"No matter; it is what you were made to do, so I wouldn't dare hold you back," he said dismissively, and her fist clenched so tight as she held back from driving her fist into his perfect face.

She knew not to act on her feelings, though, because she knew it wasn't worth it in the long run.

His expression darkened, "Crawl to me slave," he growled and she freezes, every fiber of her being fighting to scream or lunge at the beast.

She pictured Beau, his innocent laughter, the light in his eyes and the warmth of his touch, and slowly she felt the fight evaporate from her bones.

He was watching her closely with an unreadable expression; he was curious what her reaction would be.

She entertained his sick mind greatly, and more than anything, he wanted her to fight him, attack him, defy him so he would have a reason to torture her, hurt her, not that he needed one.

Slowly, she lowered herself down to her knees, biting down on her lips so hard and swallowing her pride. He watched, barely blinking, as she placed one hand on the vinyl floor, but she hesitated when she realised she'd have to crawl on her broken wrist.

"Now," he growled, and she flinched, clenching her teeth as she unfurled her arm that she had tucked to her chest, slowly placing it down on the floor.

She didn't dare put her weight on it as she slowly began to crawl, but moving the broken limb caused her excruciating pain.

Her eyes filled up with tears, but she didn't let them fall; she'd never give the Alpha the satisfaction of seeing her break.

She was barely inches from him when she twisted her wrist to the wrong angle trying to move. She gasped, biting back a cry.

With quivering breath she resumed crawling to him, only stopping when she was merely inches from him. She felt humiliated, crawling like a dog in front of him, but instead of dwelling on that, she focused on the steady ache from her swollen wrist.

The pain grounded her.

Watching her crawl to him was supposed to be satisfying; the whole reason he ordered her to do so was to humiliate her and remind her of her place beneath the food chain—beneath him, but the sight of her on her knees before him roused some strange feelings he couldn't begin to decipher.

Was it pity? He wasn't sure, but it wasn't satisfaction.

With her so close, he could hear her thundering heartbeat, her pulse racing beneath her skin and her quivering breath, but beneath those was the raw stench of hate warped in helplessness and determination.

He realized these were her emotions he had sensed, they weren't his. It wasn't uncommon for Lycans to sense the intense emotions of their mates, but he had only marked her; they were nowhere near completing the mate bond, so how was it possible that he could sense her emotion even though it was only a smidgen?

Slowly he leaned slightly, his fingers curling around her curls slowly before he yanked her head back to meet her defiant gaze.

There was something in his gaze—not hunger, not cruelty. Something worse. Something she couldn't name.

She gasped in pain as she felt like he'd set her scalp on fire. Her hands shook as she gripped his wrist with her one good hand, trying to pry it off her hair.

"This is where you belong, on your knees beneath me," he growled through clenched teeth, his eyes flashing between steel and amber.

The words struck a chord as her whole life flashed before her eyes, watching her mother bleed to death before her eyes, living like fugitives with Beau her whole life, all to end up at the feet of the beast that turned her whole world upside down.

She could no longer hold back the retort at the tip of her tongue, the consequences be damned.

"You can hurt me all you want, but it still doesn't take away the fact that you're just a stupid f*****g mutt and a monster," she snapped, and a small smile tugged up his lips as he scoffed.

"There she is," he grinned, his eyes glinting psychotically.

He'd intentionally provoked the feisty little human; it was going to be fun to watch her break.

He let go of her hair, and she fell on her butt, her breath coming out in harsh pants as he grabbed the telephone receiver on his desk before turning to her with a raised brow.

"Now what do you say we have that wrist looked at?" he drawls, turning back to dial a number before placing the receiver on his ear and facing her.

"Miller, my office, now," he muttered into the phone, slamming the receiver back down and ending the call abruptly.

"It looks nasty but I'm sure it'll heal up nicely, once I have Miller tend to it" he mused, his gaze fixated on her swollen wrist and she swallowed, pursing her lips.

He left her kneeling right there and rounded his desk, but when he reached his swivel chair, he pinned her with a derisive look that slowly turned into a slow grin as he c****d his head.

He eyed her other arm, then her shoulder, tapping his jaw lightly like he was deep in thought before meeting her eyes again.

"Which one should I break next?"