Chapter 11 - I'll Be Your Bitch

𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐥

Golden eyes bore into mine, wide and alert, flickering with the weight of everything that had happened barely twenty minutes ago. Yet on the surface, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the slight pout of her lips, and the way she seemed to straighten her spine even as I cradled her in my arms—none of it betrayed weakness.

I could already see all the ways this could go wrong. And whether or not I had read her correctly, I was still surprised by the forwardness.

"Seems we might have the same enemy."

I waited for her to backtrack, to say that wasn't what she meant and to soften, to deflate—but the conviction in her bright eyes was as clear as her willfulness.

Within half an hour of arriving in Nocturna, she had tackled an Alpha to the pavement. We were off to a catastrophic start. And now, mischief glinted in her gaze as she waited for my response.

She was still in shock; at least, that's what I wanted to believe. She needed sleep. A hearty meal, if she could manage it. Her pain was hers to process, and she needed time alone, not a conversation fueled by adrenaline and obviously unresolved grief.

She hadn't shed a single tear, even when she begged me to release her and when she faced her biological father for what seemed like the first time. Her eyes had remained dry.

Any human would have crashed by now. Their species was like that—even just awakened Hybrids.

But she was staring at me, her hand gripping the lapel of my suit like I was the last steady thing left in a world tipping sideways.

I glanced at her hand, then back to her eyes.

She was still waiting.

But I simply raised my gaze to the hallway ahead and resumed walking toward her prepared room. I didn't need to see her face to know she was incredulous.

"Sir—Alpha..." she called. "Alpha... Your Majesty," her voice grew desperate. "Dude, did you hear me?" She actually clicked her fingers in front of my face.

This woman...

Still, I continued on.

I let us into the room and gently placed her on the bed.

"Did you hear me, sir... Alpha?" she asked again, breathless, as I peeled off her socks.

I didn't engage.

Her eyes followed my every move, just as restless as the rest of her.

I stood. "You can take a shower while you wait for your food," I told her, turning toward the door.

My hand reached for the knob, and I paused. "You cannot leave, Miss Jameson," I said plainly.

Then—

"I am yours."

I froze.

She had managed to stun me again—twice in less than two hours. Her voice was the softest I'd heard it. And this time, it wasn't a statement of fact.

It was surrender, one almost too gentle to be from her—and I couldn't help but turn.

She was on her feet, shoulders squared like she was preparing for war.

"I am yours," she repeated, the voice still not quite sounding like hers. "I will be anything you want me to be."

She took a step forward, slow, steady.

"Your prisoner. Your slave. Your bitch." There wasn't even a flicker of hesitation.

"I am yours to use as you—"

"Miss Jameson," I warned, voice low.

"A man of your prestige and power doesn't throw away a billion dollars for nothing," she pressed. "You want something. And I won't resist."

She was less than a yard away.

"If it's my life you want—"

"Selene—" Her name came as a drawl.

"I'll tender my neck for your claw if it comes down to that." She stopped. "My life holds little meaning to me."

Our breaths mingled. The distance between us had vanished.

"But I want something in return."

The tension coiled between us like a spring wound to breaking.

I could see the faint freckles over her nose, the fan of her lashes, the bluish shadow under her eyes. She was burning from the inside out.

"What might that be, Selene?" I asked, voice cold and measured.

Her eyes glistened, her face hardening. "I want my father dead. I want your help," she said.

And though her voice was laced with venom, her eyes were rimmed with an agony so profound, I could taste it in the air between us.

Her stare remained intense. Though she was still, her heartbeats were erratic, the beating of a drum approaching a crescendo. I knew it would come crashing down on her.

Healthy hybrids were rare for a reason. Shifting barely ever agreed with their bodies, especially under heavy emotional strain.

She clutched her chest, eyes flaring wide, amber irises morphing red for a second before going out like a light. Her breath fractured, a gasp escaping her. Her body went slack in an instant before she crumpled forward, onto me.

I gripped her limp body, hands cupping the small of her back, letting her head fall slightly back before scooping her into my arms.

As I laid her back onto the bed for the second time, her chest steadily rising and falling—I could not help the intrigue blossoming within me.

I did not need a DNA test to know whose daughter she was.

It was in her face, every line and shadow a reflection of him. The dark curls that caught the light in bronze glints. The tan skin dusted faintly with freckles. A nose with the faintest bump, as if it had once been broken and healed without care. Full lips set in defiance, and sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, though in the wrong light, they looked almost gaunt, hollowed by something deeper than hunger.

I had seen that same combination before—on none other than the Alpha of Nightbane, Kustav Volkov.

I knew he had enemies, of which I was one, but to think he had extended his insidious reach into the Terra realm—human territory—making an enemy of his own child. One who despised him enough for his deeds to propose some type of impossible partnership; an exchange with the person who had bought her.

A knock at the door splintered the silence before it slowly swung open.

Veronique stepped in, but she was not alone, and I recognized the green and gray garb before the wearer stepped inside. I fought the urge to pinch the place between my brows.

"The Seer has arrived," she announced quietly, stepping aside to make way for the older woman. Her sightless eyes found me instantly.

"My Alpha," she greeted, bowing—then stopping. "Seems you are not pleased by my presence tonight. I apologize."

"Yura, there is no need for that," I assured her, while staring straight at my beta.

Yura seemed to relax, smiling faintly before she whipped her head to the bed, to Selene. "Of both Lycan and human," she whispered, making her way toward her. She stopped just shy of where Selene still lay sleeping.

"Hmmm..." she whispered, as she reached for her hand and grasped it. Flipping her wrist over, she grazed a fingertip over the outline of the Mark without missing a curve. Seers did not need eyes to see.

Silence reigned like a wicked king.

"She is at her first phase," her voice reverent, though it slithered through the quiet of the room with an air of unease. "She is a tightly wound mass of endless suffering, insurmountable guilt, and anger... a lot of anger."

Her milky, unseeing eyes shifted to me.

"This hybrid is perfect, Alpha."