Angel's POV
The doors opened, and I was pushed inside.
The room was large and enormous. A four-poster bed dominated one wall, draped in burgundy silk. A fire crackled in an ornate fireplace. And standing by the window, holding a glass of what looked like wine, was Master Hawkins.
His cold werewolf eyes swept over me like I was a horse he was considering purchasing - which apparently, he did.
"Well," he said slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "The slave trader wasn't lying. You are quite... substantial."
The maids giggled behind me before backing out of the room, and the doors closed with a heavy thud.
I stood there, frozen, as Hawkins circled me slowly. He was drinking me in, examining every curve, every flaw. His gaze felt like insects crawling over my skin.
"Do you know why I bought you?" he asked conversationally, taking another sip of wine.
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
"Because you're different. I've had beautiful women - hundreds of them. Slim, delicate creatures who broke too easily." He stopped in front of me, reaching out to grab my chin and tilt my face toward the light. "But you... you have substance. Curves. Softness. And those eyes..." He traced a finger down my cheek, and I flinched. "Innocent eyes. I paid extra for innocent eyes."
Tears began to well up, but I blinked them back furiously.
"Go lie on the bed," he commanded, releasing my face and turning back to his wine.
I didn't move.
He turned slowly, his expression darkening. "Did you not hear me?"
"I…" My voice came out as a broken whisper. "I'm not ready. Please, I'm not…"
The slap came so fast I didn't see it. One moment I was standing, the next I was on the floor, my cheek exploding with pain, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.
"You don't dictate when you're ready," Hawkins said coldly, standing over me. "I dictate that. I paid for you. I own you. Your body, your mind, your pathetic little soul - they all belong to me now. Do you understand?"
I nodded frantically, tasting tears mixed with blood.
"Now get on that bed before I drag you there myself."
I scrambled to my feet, my legs barely holding me as I stumbled toward the massive bed. My whole body was shaking so violently I could barely climb onto the mattress. The silk sheets felt cruel against my skin.
Hawkins set down his wine glass and began unbuttoning his shirt slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving me.
"Lie back," he ordered.
I did, staring at the canopy above me, trying to separate my mind from my body, trying to pretend I was somewhere - anywhere -else.
He climbed onto the bed, and I felt the mattress dip under his weight. His hand touched my ankle, sliding up my calf.
"Please," I whispered one more time, knowing it was useless. "Please don't…"
His hand clamped over my mouth. "The begging is charming, but ultimately pointless. I'm going to take what I paid for."
His other hand grabbed the hem of my dress, beginning to push it up…
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Hawkins froze, his hand still on my thigh. "What?" he roared toward the door.
"Father?" A male voice called from the other side. "I need to speak with you. It's urgent."
"I'm busy, Harland!"
"Father, please. It's about the pack's contracts with the neighboring village. They've responded to our conditions."
Hawkins' grip on my dress tightened, and for a moment I thought he would ignore his son entirely. Then he swore viciously and rolled off the bed.
"This better be important," he snarled, storming toward the door.
He opened it a crack, and I could hear heated whispers - Hawkins demanding to know what was so urgent, Harland insisting they needed to discuss it now, that if they didn't, the deals would fall through.
The argument went on for what felt like forever. I lay there on the bed, my dress twisted around me, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst.
Finally, Hawkins turned back to me, his face twisted with rage. "Guards!"
Two men appeared in the doorway instantly.
"Take her back to the dungeon," he snapped. "I'll deal with her tomorrow night."
They hauled me off the bed, not caring that my dress was still askew, that tears were streaming down my face. As they dragged me past Harland, I caught him staring at me with an apologetic look.
But then I was being pulled down corridors again, down stairs, deeper and deeper into the belly of the mansion until we reached the dungeons.
They threw me into a cell and slammed the iron door shut.
I collapsed against the wall and finally, finally let myself sob.
I opened my eyes, back in the present, back in this same cell three days later.
That first night, Harland had saved me. The second night, he'd found another excuse - a fire in the west wing that needed his father's immediate attention.
But tonight...
I heard footsteps approaching. Heavy boots on stone. The jingle of keys.
Tonight, I knew there would be no rescue.
The cell door swung open, and there stood the head guard, the same one who'd thrown me in here three days ago.
"Master Hawkins is ready for you," he said with a cruel smile. "And this time, nothing's going to interrupt him."