Page 7 of Brutal Alpha's Sold Mate
I lunge, or I try to. My body doesn’t cooperate. The potion saps what’s left of my strength, and he sidesteps easily, catching me by the arm like I’m nothing more than a wild pup.
“Let go,” I growl, twisting against his grip.
“You’re in no position to give orders,” he replies, his grip tightening just enough to keep me from slipping free. “In fact, I was assured it was you who would obey my every command. But go ahead. Struggle. Get it out of your system.”
I see red. My wolf, sluggish and muted thanks to whatever concoction Malcolm and Wiley used on me, snarls weakly in the back of my mind. If I were at full strength, this man wouldn’t stand a chance. But right now, I can’t even shift without his permission, let alone fight back properly. The thought makes my stomach turn.
“Asshole,” I spit, wrenching at his hold again. “What’s your plan, huh? Drag me back to your pack and parade me around like some prize you won?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Then, to my utter disbelief, he smirks. “I wouldn’t put it past you to make an escape attempt the moment I let go, so yeah. Dragging it is.”
Before I can react, he sweeps me off my feet like I weigh nothing. The world tilts, and I find myself slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
“Put me down!” I snarl, pounding my fists against his back. It’s like hitting a stone, solid and inflexible. “You bastard! You can’t just—”
“I can,” he interrupts. “And I will. Keep yelling, though. You’re really making me rethink my decision.”
“Oh, I’ll make you regret it,” I snap. “I’ll rip your throat out the second I get the chance.”
“You’re welcome to try.”
The confidence in his tone makes my blood boil. He’s not taking me seriously, not treating me like the threat I am. That’s his first mistake. The second will be underestimating me.
I stop fighting for a moment, letting my body go limp. His pace doesn’t falter, but I can feel him glance at me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m up to. Good. Let him wonder. Let him think I’ve given up.
Then I strike, twisting sharply and throwing all my weight into it. My knee connects with his ribs, and for a split second, I think I’ve got him. He stumbles, his grip loosening, and I scramble free, landing awkwardly on my feet.
But before I can take a step, he’s on me.
The force of his tackle knocks the wind out of me, and we hit the ground hard. His weight pins me down, one hand gripping my wrist and the other pressing against my shoulder to keep me still. I thrash beneath him, snarling and cursing, but it’s no use. He’s stronger, heavier, and completely in control.
“Enough,” he declares. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”
“Get off me,” I growl, baring my teeth.
“Not until you stop acting like a feral pup.”
I buck against him, ignoring the ache in my muscles and the burning frustration building in my chest. “You don’t own me.”
His grip tightens, and his face lowers until we’re almost nose-to-nose. “I don’t want to own you. But right now, you’re my responsibility, whether either of us likes it or not. So you can keep fighting me, or you can save your strength and let me help you. Or, if you’d rather, I canorderyou to comply. Your choice.”
The words catch me off guard. Help me? That’s rich, coming from the man who bought me like I was a piece of meat. I narrow my eyes, glaring up at him with every ounce of defiance I have left.
“I don’t need your help,” I state.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
He doesn’t move off me right away. Instead, he stays there, holding me down, his weight a constant reminder of how powerless I am right now. My wolf whimpers in the back of my mind, but even she feels distant, muted. It’s the potion. It has to be. Malcolm and Wiley didn’t just weaken me; they stole part of me. My wolf, my strength, my fire. And now, I’m stuck here withthis… this arrogant brute who thinks he can drag me wherever he pleases.
I wrench at my arm again, but his grip doesn’t budge. His hand is rough, calloused from years of combat, and his expression is all business. For a moment, his dark eyes meet mine, and I swear there’s something there, something flickering just beneath the surface. Pity? No, not quite. It’s closer to… frustration. Like he’s not just irritated with me but with himself, too.
“Get off me,” I demand again, my voice breaking. The frustration is mounting, boiling over, and I hate how close I am to breaking down entirely. “You think you’re any better than Malcolm and Wiley? You’re just another asshole who thinks he can own someone.”
His expression hardens instantly, and his jaw ticks as he leans closer. “You don’t know me.”
“And I don’t want to.”
“Good,” he bites back. “Because we’re not here to make friends.”
