The door slammed open with the kind of quiet force only one man in this cursed place carried.
Kael.
His presence filled the room before his voice did.
Mira froze, her fingers still halfway through tying the sash of my robe. She stepped back immediately, head lowered.
I turned slowly to face him.
Kael stood in the doorway, still dressed in dark layers from the council hall — silver buttons gleaming, coat unbuttoned just enough to reveal the scar across his collarbone. His jaw was sharp. Clean-shaven. Controlled.
His eyes landed on Mira.
Then on the sash around my waist.
Then back to Mira.
"Kneel," he said.
Mira obeyed instantly.
She dropped to the floor beside me, palms flat, head bowed.
My stomach twisted.
"Don't," I said quickly. "She didn't do anything wrong."
Kael raised an eyebrow. His gaze snapped to mine.
"You're speaking for her now?"
I stepped in front of Mira without thinking.
"She was just helping. That's all."
Kael walked toward us slowly.
No rush.
No raised voice.
Just that same, terrifying calm.
He stopped right in front of me.
"She touched what's mine."
His hand came up—two fingers under my chin, lifting it. My breath hitched as he tilted my head to the side, eyes roaming over my face like he was studying a blueprint.
"She cleaned you," he murmured.
"Yes—"
"She saw what I do to you."
His fingers brushed the collar at my neck, the silver flaring warm against my skin again.
"She touched my favorite bruise."
Mira stayed still behind me, but I could feel her tension, the heat of her fear soaking the floor like blood.
Kael's other hand slid around my waist, slowly untied the sash Mira had just fastened.
"Then let her see more."
I stiffened.
"Kael—"
He pushed the robe from my shoulders.
It hit the floor like a soft exhale.
I stood naked between him and Mira, the silver collar gleaming under torchlight, breath quickening with the sudden chill.
Kael leaned in and whispered at my ear.
"You wanted to protect her, didn't you?"
I nodded, jaw tight.
"Then show her how helpless you are."
His hand slid down my stomach.
Lower.
Fingers between my legs.
I gasped.
He didn't rush. He didn't grip. He just… stroked.
Softly.
Teasing.
Slow circles against the wet heat that should not have been there.
"You're already wet," he said, louder now — just loud enough for Mira to hear. "From one touch."
I squeezed my eyes shut.
"Say it."
I stayed silent.
He twisted his fingers just slightly, and my knees almost buckled.
"Say it."
"I'm wet," I whispered.
"For who?"
"You."
"Louder."
"For you," I breathed, shame flooding every corner of my body.
He stepped behind me, one hand still between my thighs, the other gripping my throat—not to choke, but to remind me it was his.
"You were just begging me not to hurt her," he murmured. "And now your pussy's clenching around my fingers like you're the one being rewarded."
I moaned, soft and broken.
He bent me forward, hands splaying over the table.
Mira didn't move.
"Keep your eyes open," he ordered her.
I heard her breath catch.
He kicked my legs apart.
Then entered me.
Slow.
Deliberate.
My lips parted, a cry half-trapped in my throat as he filled me. His hands gripped my hips, but there was no brutality now.
Only rhythm.
Only precision.
He fucked me like he had all the time in the world to destroy me.
"Look how easily she opens," he said to Mira. "She doesn't even need my command anymore."
I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.
Each thrust rocked through me, deeper, crueler, because it was gentle.
He leaned over my back, one hand sliding between my breasts, pinching one nipple softly.
"She begged me not to hurt you. But look at her now."
He cupped my breast as he thrust harder, deeper, slow enough to make me tremble.
"She's dripping onto the floor, Mira."
His voice was silk-wrapped poison.
"Tell me, Aria. Are you moaning for her? Or for me?"
I gasped, voice cracking.
"For you."
"Why?"
"Because you made me."
"That's right."
He groaned low, thrusting deeper.
"Because I own this body. This heat. This cunt."
I whimpered.
"You shouldn't enjoy this," he whispered into my neck. "But you do."
He pushed once more, deep and full.
And came inside me.
A soft growl against my ear. A final, possessive thrust.
Then silence.
The only sound was Mira's ragged breath.
Kael pulled out slowly, not bothering to clean me.
He turned to Mira.
"Now you know," he said. "What obedience looks like."
Then he walked out — leaving me bent over the table, bare, dripping, with the soft clatter of my shame echoing in the air.
The door closed behind him.
Soft.
Final.
I stayed where he left me — bent forward, arms trembling, slick dripping down my thigh, robe still on the floor, the silver collar burning against my skin like it had its own heartbeat.
The table pressed cold against my breasts.
The air was too quiet.
No one spoke.
Mira was still kneeling where Kael had left her. I couldn't see her face. I didn't want to.
I straightened slowly, my limbs shaking, shame clinging to my skin like sweat.
My breath came in soft, broken pulls.
I didn't cry.
There was nothing left to wring from me.
Nothing except silence.
And the sound I'd never heard before — so soft it could've been inside my own bones:
a growl.
Not Kael's.
Not Mira's.
Mine.
Low.
Animal.
Deep in my chest where my wolf lived — the same part of me that had been asleep since the day I was born.
She growled.
Not for pain.
Not for him.
For me.
I wrapped the robe around myself, hands shaking. It stuck to my skin in places Kael had marked — wet, red, raw.
I sat on the bench.
I looked at Mira.
She was still frozen.
Eyes wide.
Tears balanced on her lashes.
I reached for her hand.
She flinched—but only for a second.
Then took it.
Her fingers were ice cold.
I didn't speak.
There was no apology for what she saw. No comfort to offer. Just one truth between us now — something neither of us dared say aloud:
He didn't break me.
Not yet.
And when I do break…
It won't be for him.
It will be because of him.
And when that day comes—
The wolf inside me will not be gentle.