Ivy’s POV
The fourth day is worse.
Worse because I was still alive. Worse because every time Alpha Raul marked me, the pain got sharper. Deeper.
And every time, my wolf—valiantly, defiantly—rejected him.
The room stank of sweat, old blood, and Alpha Raul’s scent—thick and clinging like rot. My body was raw, my neck a patchwork of torn flesh where Raul had tried to mark me over and over. But my wolf—the last spark of resistance I had left—rejected him every time. And each rejection felt like death.
The mark was slow to heal, and before it could fully fade, Alpha Raul would sink his teeth into the same spot—reopening the wound and claiming it all over again.
Each time he sank his fangs into me, it was as if my soul was being torn in half, only to be stitched together by burning wire.
