The Alpha and the witch

Chapter Seven:Hunger

Cora kept her eyes open, trying to memorize the route, but everything blurred together. Stone walls. Wooden doors. Light fixtures that hurt to look at after three days of nothing.

Her body felt wrong. Hollow. Like someone had scooped out her insides and left only the shell. Her head lolled against Marcus's shoulder, too heavy to hold up.

"Where are you taking me?"

Her voice sounded foreign. Scratchy and thin.

"The Alpha wants to see you."

Something cold slithered through her chest. "Now?"

"Now."

She should fight. Demand to be taken back to her room, to be given water and food and time to feel human again. But her limbs wouldn't cooperate, and Marcus moved with the steady pace of someone who wouldn't be stopped by anything she could do.

They turned a corner. Another. Then stopped in front of a door, heavy oak with iron handles.

Marcus shifted her weight, freed one hand, and knocked.

"Enter."

That voice. Low and calm and utterly indifferent.

Marcus pushed open the door and carried her inside.

The room was bright. Too bright. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, bouncing off a long table set with white linens and silver cutlery. The smell hit her next, roasted meat, fresh bread, something sweet underneath, and her stomach cramped so hard she nearly gasped.

Damien sat at the head of the table.

He looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him. Dark suit. Perfect posture. Not a hair out of place. He was reading something on his phone, a glass of water at his elbow, like this was any other Tuesday.

He didn't look up when they entered.

"Put her in the chair."

Marcus crossed the room and set her down in the seat to Damien's right. Her legs buckled immediately, but the arms of the chair caught her, kept her upright. Marcus stepped back, positioning himself near the door.

Cora gripped the edge of the table. Tried to steady her breathing.

Damien still hadn't looked at her.

"Leave us."

Marcus hesitated. Just for a second. Then he turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence.

Damien set down his phone. Picked up his glass. Took a slow sip of water.

Then, finally, he looked at her.

His eyes moved over her slowly.

The tangled hair. The dirt on her skin. The torn clothes she'd been wearing since the forest. The way her hands shook where they gripped the table.

His expression didn't change.

"You look terrible."

Cora didn't respond. Couldn't. Her mouth was too dry, her throat too raw. And what was she supposed to say? Thank you? Go to hell? Both felt like too much effort.

Damien leaned back in his chair. Crossed one leg over the other casually ,Like he had all the time in the world and she was barely worth the minutes.

"Three days without food or water. "Most humans would be begging by now."

"Sorry to disappoint."

The words scraped out of her throat like broken glass. But they came out. That was something.

He gestured toward the table. The spread in front of her was obscene. Roasted chicken glistening with herbs. Potatoes swimming in butter. A basket of bread, still steaming. A pitcher of water, condensation dripping down the sides.

Her stomach screamed.

"Eat."

She didn't move.

Damien raised an eyebrow. "You'd rather starve out of spite?"

Her jaw tightened.

The water sat three feet away. Close enough to see the ice cubes floating in the pitcher. Close enough to watch a single drop slide down the glass and pool on the white linen.

Her hand moved before she could stop it.

She reached for the pitcher. Her fingers closed around the handle. She tried to lift it and her arm shook so badly water sloshed over the rim, splashing onto the tablecloth.

She couldn't pour it. Could barely hold it.

Damien watched.

The pitcher slipped.

Cora caught it before it hit the table, but barely. Water sloshed over her hand, dripped onto her lap. Her arms trembled with the effort of holding something that should have weighed nothing.

Damien didn't move.

She tried again. Tilted the pitcher toward the glass in front of her. The water came out in an uneven stream, missing the rim, splashing across the tablecloth. She adjusted, overcorrected, and nearly dropped the whole thing.

Her vision blurred. From exhaustion. From humiliation. From the tears she refused to let fall.

Still, he watched.

She got half a glass. Maybe less. Set the pitcher down with a thunk that rattled the silverware. Reached for the glass with both hands, brought it to her lips, and drank.

Too fast. She choked. Water ran down her chin, her neck, soaking into the collar of her ruined shirt. She coughed, gasping, and the glass slipped from her fingers.

It shattered against the edge of the table.

Cora stared at the broken pieces. At the water spreading across the white linen. At her own useless hands, shaking in her lap.

Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.

A chair scraped against the floor.

She flinched. Looked up.

Damien was standing. Moving around the table. Toward her.

She pressed back in her seat, but there was nowhere to go. He stopped beside her, close enough that she could smell him, something clean and sharp, could feel the heat radiating off his body.

He picked up the pitcher.

Poured water into a fresh glass. Slowly. Steadily. Not a single drop spilled.

Then he held it to her lips.

"Drink."

She wanted to refuse. Wanted to knock it out of his hand, tell him to go to hell, prove that three days in the dark hadn't broken her.

But she was so thirsty.

He tilted the glass, controlling the flow, not letting her gulp too fast. When she'd finished half, he pulled it back.

"Slowly. Or you'll be sick."

She hated him. Hated the calm in his voice, the steadiness of his hand, the way he stood over her like she was a child who couldn't feed herself.

He set the glass down. Reached for the bread basket. Tore off a piece and held it in front of her mouth.

"Eat."

"I can—"

"You can't." Flat and final "Open your mouth."

Her jaw clenched. Her eyes burned.

She opened her mouth.

The bread was warm. Soft. It dissolved on her tongue, and her stomach cramped so hard she nearly doubled over. But she chewed. Swallowed. And when he held out another piece, she took that too.

Bite by bite, he fed her.

Bread first. Then small pieces of chicken, torn into strips she didn't have to chew. Potatoes mashed with a fork, brought to her lips on the tines.

He didn't speak. Didn't taunt her. Just fed her with the same detached efficiency he did everything else.

Like she was a task to be completed.

When her stomach started to protest, when the food threatened to come back up, he stopped. Set down the fork. Wiped his hands on a cloth napkin.

"Enough for now. More later."

He returned to his seat at the head of the table. Picked up his phone. Resumed whatever he'd been doing before she arrived.

Cora sat in the wreckage of her pride, bread crumbs on her lips, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.

She didn't wipe them away.

Let him see. Let him know what he'd done.

He didn't look up.

Cora wiped her face with the back of her hand. The tears had stopped, but the tracks remained, drying on her cheeks. She didn't care anymore. Didn't have the energy for shame.

Damien scrolled through his phone. Completely unbothered. Like she wasn't even there.

The anger came slowly. A spark in her chest, building beneath the exhaustion.

"Why am I here?"

He didn't look up. "You know why."

"Because I saw something. That's what you said." She gripped the arms of the chair, forcing strength into her voice. "But that was a week ago. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. If you were going to let me go, you wouldn't have—" She stopped"You wouldn't have done what you did."

"And yet here you are. Alive. Fed." He set down the phone. Finally looked at her. "Most people would call that mercy?."

"Most people haven't been locked in a concrete box for three days!!,You gave me a punishment. I took it. Now I want answers."

"You think you're in a position to demand things?"

"I think I'm in a position where I have nothing left to lose."

He studied her. That same assessing gaze from the first night, like he was peeling back layers, looking for something underneath.

"You're here because you're a problem I haven't solved yet." He leaned back in his chair. "You saw things that could expose my operation. You know about my kind now. Letting you go means risking everything I've built. Killing you means—"

He stopped.

Cora waited.

"Killing you would be simpler," he said finally. "Cleaner. But something about you doesn't add up.

"You can't just—"

The door opened.

Cora turned.

The woman who walked in was stunning. Tall, pale, with dark hair cascading over her shoulders like ink. She wore a red dress that clung to every curve, moving with a fluid grace that didn't seem entirely human. Her eyes swept the room, landing on Cora for a fraction of a second before moving to Damien.

"There you are." Her voice was smooth and Musical. "Marcus said you were having lunch, but he didn't mention you had company."

She crossed to Damien's chair. Stopped beside him. Her hand rested on his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit Possessively

"Seraphina." Damien's voice was neutral. "I wasn't expecting you until tonight."

"I finished early. Thought I'd surprise you." Her red lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Those eyes slid back to Cora, taking in the torn clothes, the dirty skin, the tear tracks on her cheeks. "And who is this?"

"No one important."

The words landed like a slap.

Seraphina's smile widened. “She looks like something the wolves dragged in." A soft laugh. "Literally, from the smell of her."

Cora's hands curled into fists under the table.

Damien didn’t respond.

"Mmm." Seraphina's fingers trailed from his shoulder to his jaw. Tilted his face toward hers. "Well, don't let me interrupt. I just wanted to remind you about dinner with the Council tonight. And to give you something to look forward to."

She leaned down and kissed him.

Not a quick peck. She kissed him like she was claiming territory, her mouth moving against his, slow and deliberate. One hand slid into his hair. The other gripped his tie, pulling him closer.

Damien didn't push her away.

Something twisted in Cora's chest. Sharp and hot and completely irrational. She had no right to feel anything. This man had kidnapped her, starved her, locked her in darkness. She should be glad someone else had his attention.

But watching Seraphina's hands on him, watching him accept it, watching those red lips smear against his mouth—

She looked away.

When she looked back, Seraphina was straightening up, smoothing down her dress. Her lipstick was barely smudged. She smiled down at Damien, then glanced at Cora.

"I'll see you tonight." She ran a finger along his jaw. "Don't be late."

She walked out without another word.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Cora stared at the table. At the ruined food. At her own trembling hands.

"Marcus will take you back to your room."

Damien's voice was flat. He picked up his phone. Dismissal clear in every line of his body.

"You'll be fed again, Don't do anything stupid."

Cora pushed herself to her feet. Her legs shook but held.

She didn't look at him. Didn't trust what her face might show. That twist in her chest was still there, sharp and wrong, and she needed to get out of this room before it showed.

She walked to the door. Opened it.

Marcus was waiting in the hallway.

She followed him without a word.