Claimed by the scarred Alpha

ÉTIENNE

The memory came unbidden.

They shoved me into the room with hands that bruised. One of them laughed behind me. The sound grated against my ears like nails on stone.

"You’re going to enjoy this one, boy." His breath reeked of cheap whiskey. "She’s a Luna. One with no experience. You get to lead her so she won’t be as ruthless as the rest."

Then the door slammed shut behind me.

I kept my eyes on the floor. My hands shook despite every effort to still them. The trembling had become automatic over the months. A physical response my body performed, whether I wanted it to or not.

"You don’t look very experienced yourself."

Her voice carried a gentleness that made the steel I’d wrapped around my heart falter. I’d learned by then that the men and women who frequented this place were devoid of empathy. No amount of explaining that I didn’t want this would stop them. No story about how I’d ended up here would prevent them from taking what they’d paid for.

Some were rough from the start. Others pretended to care. They’d stroke my hair and speak softly, as if that would make me more willing to give them what they wanted. It never worked. Eventually, they showed their true colors and took it anyway.

But something about this woman made the armor I’d prepared crack slightly.

Maybe it was the cadence of her voice. Or maybe it was the flower tucked behind her ear. Forget-me-nots. The pale blue petals seemed to glow in the dim lamplight.

It reminded me of someone. It reminded me of somewhere.

"I’m a bought slave here." The words scraped past my throat. "I don’t want to do this."

She stood from where she’d been sitting on the bed. Her feet were bare against the wooden floor. Each step toward me felt deliberate. Measured in a way that suggested she was giving me time to process her approach.

"You poor boy."

She stopped just within arm’s reach, but still close enough that I could smell the perfume she wore. It was something floral that reminded me of gardens I’d never see again.

"I’m not one to frequent this sort of place." Her hands twisted together in front of her stomach. "But my husband has been cold recently. Cheating, I think. I don’t know what to do about it."

She looked up at me then. Her eyes searched mine for something I couldn’t identify.

"I’m a woman with needs, too. I just need release." A pause stretched between us. "Can you give me that?"

I froze. Every muscle in my body locked into place while my brain tried to process what she was asking. The question felt different somehow from the demands I’d grown accustomed to. It took on the shape of a choice, even though we both knew I didn’t really have one.

"Oh." Understanding flickered across her face. "You think me a monster."

She stepped back. The distance she created felt deliberate.

"You can go. I’m no rapist. I don’t even know what I am doing here. This is a... a moment of weakness."

But not doing what I’d been tasked to do would leave me starved. They’d lock me in the dark room again, where the walls pressed close, and the air tasted like rot. Or worse, they’d bring out the instruments they kept for teaching lessons to disobedient merchandise.

Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed it down with effort that made my eyes water.

"I don’t mind doing this."

The lie tasted like ash on my tongue. My voice came out steadier than I felt. Years of practice had taught me how to sound willing even when every cell in my body screamed protest.

"But..." I forced myself to meet her eyes. "Sometimes the boys and the girls here are liked enough that they’re bought."

Saying it out loud made me want to vomit. The words hung in the air between us. Ugly and desperate in ways that stripped away whatever dignity I’d been clinging to.

"If I’m good enough..." My throat closed around the rest. I had to push the words out manually. "Can you... Can you buy me?"

The plea came out broken. Pathetic in ways that would have humiliated me if I’d had any pride left to damage.

"You wouldn’t have to miss your husband’s touch. I can be good. I will be good. I will be very good. I will do anything you want. Everything."

She looked at me for a long moment. Something shifted in her expression. Pity maybe. Or perhaps just recognition of an opportunity.

"You’re so kind."

She then dropped to her knees in front of me. Her hands reached for the band of my pants with ease. For a sick second, her fingers hooked into fabric, and she looked up at me as if waiting for permission. If I spoke up, I would throw up... So... I just smiled, and she proceeded to pull it downward.

The flashback shattered then because what happened after was so ugly I did not want to remember.

I jerked back to the present with such force that my vision blurred. My stomach heaved. Acid burned the back of my throat. I pressed my hand against the stone wall beside me and fought the urge to retch.

That woman had left without buying me. Of course, she had. They all did. She did take everything she needed.

I remembered so many moments like that one. Scattered across months that blurred together into one continuous nightmare. The whorehouse had taught me to hope for semi-good people. To believe that maybe someone kind would walk through those doors and see me as mortal instead of merchandise.

But there had been none. Ever.

There were souls there I’d believed in with my whole heart. Convinced myself that if I could just be good enough, compliant enough, skilled enough, they would take me away to a different cage. A kinder cage.

But there were no kind cages.

So even if Margaux did have a change of heart now, it felt too late for that. No matter how much part of me wanted to hold her hand and believe her promises about seeking truth and justice.

She made an effort. My wolf’s voice cut through my thoughts. She wants to be better.

"Shut up."

Has this not always been a fantasy of ours? The question came gently but insistent. For her to admit her sins and do better? Now she wants to make an attempt. Why would you not want her to do so?

"Because she doesn’t want what I want." I kept walking down the corridor toward the cells. My footsteps echoed against stone walls. "She could never want it."

We want justice.

I laughed. The sound came out harsh and bitter. It bounced off the narrow walls and came back distorted.

"That is not true. We both know it’s revenge we want." I rounded a corner where the torches burned lower. "Her uncle will not be spared. Neither will her mother."

My wolf fell silent. He did not argue for that truth.

The lower cells came into view ahead. Three sentinels stood guard at the entrance. They straightened when they saw me approach.

"I’ll interrogate the trespasser alone."

One of them handed me a flashlight without question. The weight settled familiarly in my palm. I clicked it on and let the beam cut through the darkness as I descended the final staircase.

The air grew colder with each step down. Dampness clung to the stone walls. Water dripped somewhere in the distance with rhythmic persistence.

I’d ensured Chris was separated from the others. Let him sit alone in the dark, wondering what had happened to Margaux. Tension built nicely when left to ferment in isolation.

His cell came into view at the end of the corridor. I aimed the flashlight directly at where he sat against the far wall.

Chris threw up his hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. His face twisted into a glare when he recognized me.

"You." He squinted against the beam.

"Yes... me."

"Nice mask." He mocked.

I chuckled. The sound carried well in the enclosed space.

"This isn’t the mask I wear for interactions like this, just so you know." I adjusted my grip on the flashlight. "The stag means peace. You should consider yourself lucky today."

"You wore red at the wedding." His jaw clenched. "What does that mean?"