Page 24 of Brutal Alpha's Forced Mate

He studies me for a moment before he probes, “Nightmare?”

I glance away, wiping at my eyes. “Something like that.”

“You get them often?”

I hesitate, then nod reluctantly. “More than I’d like. It’s… worse some nights.”

His brows furrow, and I can see the questions brewing, but to his credit, he doesn’t push. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready.”

I take a shaky breath and clutch the blanket around me like it’s a shield. “Sometimes they trigger… this.” I gesture vaguely to my still-trembling hands. “Anxiety attacks.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, I see something like guilt flicker across his face. “When did they start?”

“When Malcolm got me.” I press my lips together, debating how much to say. But the dam has already cracked, and the rest of it tumbles out before I can stop it. “When he first took me in, I was a mess. My magic would flare every time I got upset, and the attacks only made it worse. He couldn’t risk me hurting anyone, so he started locking me in a cell whenever he wasn’t using me.”

Gray’s face darkens, and I can feel the tension radiating off him. “A cell?”

“Don’t.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended, and I force myself to soften it. “Don’t do the whole righteous anger thing. It doesn’t help.”

He doesn’t reply, but the muscle in his jaw ticks as he waits for me to continue.

I swallow hard, keeping my gaze fixed on the blanket pooled in my lap. “The first time I had an attack, I blew out a window. Just… shattered it into a million pieces. Malcolm was furious. Said if I couldn’t control myself, I was going to cost him too much. So, he started putting me in that cell whenever he didn’t need me. Said it was safer that way—for everyone.” My laugh is bitter and hollow. “What he really meant was that if I lost control again, I’d be the only one who got hurt.”

Gray exhales sharply, and I glance at him. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and there’s a look in his eyes that I can’t quite place. Something between anger and sorrow.

“It worked, though,” I add with a shrug. “The cell. It kept me contained. Kept everyone else safe.”

“Safe,” Gray repeats with a tight voice. “You’re telling me he locked you away like some kind of animal and called it safety?”

I meet his gaze, daring him to argue. “That’s exactly what it was.”

He curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Jaslyn…”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cut in. “It’s over now. I survived.”

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have had to survive that. No one should.”

I blink, startled by the heat in his tone. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I should’ve been there. I should’ve known.”

“It wasn’t just the cell. Malcolm had ways of keeping me tied to him. Ownership marks, magical binds—things I couldn’t break, no matter how hard I tried. And there were others. People who wanted to take me for themselves. Malcolm kept a tight leash on me, not because he cared, but because I was useful to him. And if anyone else got their hands on me, he’d lose his investment.”

Gray’s face is unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t eased. “Who were these others?”

“Buyers, mostly. Or competitors. Witches are rare enough as it is, and one with magic like mine?” I shake my head. “I was a prize. Something to be bought, sold, or stolen.”

“And Malcolm just… let that happen?”

“Not exactly,” I reply. “He didn’t care about me, but he cared about his profit. He made sure no one else could take me. Not permanently, anyway. But it didn’t stop them from trying.”

The memories bubble to the surface—dark, chaotic flashes of struggle and desperation. I shove them down before they can take hold. “It wasn’t just the anxiety attacks that got me locked up,” I continue. “It was insurance. If he kept me contained, no one could get to me. Not without going through him.”

Gray’s fists tighten, and for a moment, I think he might explode. But when he speaks, his voice is eerily calm. “How did you survive that? All of it?”

I smile faintly, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. “You don’t survive something like that, Gray. Not really. You just… adapt.”

He looks like he wants to argue, to tell me I’m wrong, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward and tells me, “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, you know that?”

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