Page 32 of Runt of the Pack
“There, now. That wasn’t so difficult.” Roan’s smug pleasure is all but tangible. He continues placing morsels of the feast into my mouth—succulent pheasant flesh, slivers of creamy cheese, goose liver melted on the tongue. Like a master rewarding a dog for performing a trick well.
My stomach roils and heaves, but I force myself to continue swallowing everything he gives me. I will need whatever strength the meal provides for the true battle of wills ahead. Let Roan believe this small submission means I am broken.
When the last crumb has disappeared, Roan dismisses Boris with a flick of his fingers. My heart stutters as he rises and moves languidly around the desk. I stare straight ahead at the paneled wall, screams echoing silently in my mind as he comes to stand just behind me.
His hands trail lightly over my bare shoulders, eliciting an involuntary shudder as my skin crawls. Slowly, those hands move down my arms and come to rest possessively on my waist, gripping tightly. I can feel his hot breath stirring the hair by my neck as he leans in, inhaling my scent like an animal.
Suddenly, his fingers dig painfully into my side. “What’s this?” he hisses. I shudder as his fingertips trace the magical brand on my shoulder blade—the intricate letter V intertwined with an A, marking me as Vlad’s true mate, though invisible to human eyes.
Roan’s voice drips fury. “You dared be claimed by another?”
He spins me around roughly to face him, eyes burning with rage. “That pathetic excuse for an Alpha could not protect what was his. You belong to me now.”
His grip turns bruising once more. “You see, Anastasia? With proper discipline, even a wild creature can learn obedience.” His fingers dig into my neck cruelly. “I’ve given you food and finery. Your only purpose now is to serve my desires without question. Refuse again, and you’ll yearn for the comforts of your cellar.”
Something at my core ignites, momentarily overriding the fog of fear and desperation that has numbed me. With a feral snarl, I whirl in his grasp, raking my nails violently across his smug face and grasping for his cold eyes.
We grapple fiercely, upending the desk as he swears and tries to restrain my explosion of malice. I bite and claw like a cornered wildcat, beyond reason now. In my madness, I know only the desire to maim and disfigure.
The struggle is short-lived. Roan quickly overpowers me, using his superior size and weight to force me down against the lush carpet. I pant harshly, vision tinged with red as he rises above me, dabbing gingerly at the deep scratches marring his sharp cheekbones.
“Worthless bitch.” His voice is deadly soft. He draws back a heavy fist adorned with rings and strikes me with brutal force. My head jerks sharply to the side, coppery blood filling my mouth. Sickening lights dance behind my eyelids.
Roan stands smoothly, tugging his expensive suit back into place. Only the enraged gleam in his pale eyes betrays his controlled exterior.
In one quick move, he throws open the doors. “Take her back to the cellar,” he says. “No food or water for three days.” His lip curls in unveiled disgust. “Put the animal back in her proper cage.”
Rough hands drag me back through those imposing doors, the fight utterly drained from my limbs. Once sealed below ground again, I collapse limply into the foul straw, trembling uncontrollably as reaction sets in.
Blood still drips from my swollen lip as I lay there. Tears carve hot trails through the grime on my cheeks. But even when brutally beaten and starved, that stubborn flame deep inside my soul still flickers, refusing to be extinguished fully.
In the lonely darkness, I mentally prepare for the next inevitable summons above ground. When Boris comes for me again, I will be docile and compliant, luring Roan into believing I am well and truly tamed.
Let the arrogant fool think he has succeeded in crushing my spirit where all others failed. Like any predator, he can never anticipate his prey might turn and bite the hand that fed. I will play the role of a captive pet, awaiting my opportunity.
My thoughts turn to fantasies of slipping a hidden dagger between his ribs, stealing the very breath from his lungs as crimson blossoms across his crisp white shirt. Or letting a slow-acting poison seep into his evening wine until he chokes on his own blackened tongue...
I harbor no delusions about the probable outcomes. These vengeance-filled daydreams will likely only end in my own tortured death should I act them out. But at this point, without my beloved mate by my side, I hold my life as worthless.
Perhaps it is madness brought on by isolation and despair, but that stubborn flame of defiance fixates on imagining every possible way I might still end Roan’s despicable life, even at the cost of my own. If only I could know Vlad has found some measure of justice...
So, I retreat deep within the recesses of my mind, building up my hatred into a roaring bonfire. Roan’s arrogance will inevitably become his downfall. And on that day, be it near or far, I will be ready and waiting to strike the fatal blow.
For now, I can be patient. My time will come.
26
VLAD
A bitter wind howls through the snow-flecked forest, whipping my fur and clawing icy fingers through my thick coat. I pay it no mind, focused solely on the looming fortress visible through the barren trees ahead. Roan’s stronghold. My pulse thunders in anticipation of the coming battle. Tonight, my enemy will pay for everything he has done.
I raise a closed fist, halting my pack behind me. Pricked ears and bristling hackles reflect the disturbance I sense ahead—we are not alone out here. Dropping into a crouch, I scan the shadowed woods, every sense straining. We have crossed deep into Roan’s territory, where discovery means swift death.
With quick hand signals, I motion for my pack to fan out, encircling whatever lies ahead. Silent as smoke, they melt into the darkness. I creep forward alone, paws soundless in the fresh powder. The noises grow louder—crunching snow, snapping branches. The rhythm tugs at my memory. Strange, yet also familiar...
I sink into a hunting stance, ready to strike. My powerful muscles coil, then release, as I sail through the concealing underbrush. I land in a crouch behind the hulking figure, my knife instantly at its throat.
“It’s me, brother,” comes a rough whisper.
