Chapter 11

JACKLA

The bathroom steam followed me like a ghost as I stepped out, my skin bare and glistening. I never reached for a towel right away. I preferred the feeling of droplets sinking into my pores and the sharp bite of the morning air against my damp limbs.

It was the only time I felt like I truly belonged to myself. But deep inside, a familiar rot was spreading. A cold warning curled in my chest, tightening around my ribs until it was hard to draw a full breath.

It was that feeling again..,the echo of a nightmare I thought I had buried years ago. In those dreams, I wasn’t a girl. I was a storm of blinding light, a jagged streak of white-hot power that turned everyone who chased me into ash.

The visions had been gone for a long time, but last night, they came back to life, sharper and more violent than ever. I looked at my hands and watched the slight tremor in my fingers. What am I? The question clawed at the back of my throat, demanding an answer I didn’t have. Why did this same dream keep coming for me?

I moved to the window, letting the water from my hair drip down the curve of my spine. I closed my eyes and let the rustling leaves drown out the static in my head. The world outside was waking up, and for a moment, the fresh air made the weight in my chest feel lighter.

I was sold to a monster and trapped in a house that felt like a cage, but I refused to let thoughts of Morano or these dark dreams spoil the morning. I wouldn't let this marriage decide my fate. I wouldn't sit and watch my life go wrong.

If this was hell, I would make the best of it. I would stay long enough to get strong, and then I would leave it all behind.

I couldn’t shake the word he had spit at me on our wedding day. Breeder. The memory felt like a physical blow to my stomach. Fiorello hadn’t mentioned that part of the arrangement. My own father was a traitor, a man who would sell my womb as easily as he sold his loyalty.

The thought of one day having to spread my legs for Morano made my throat tighten with a sudden, sick heat. I told myself I would never. But who was I deceiving? Married couples had sex; it was the one vital, suffocating truth of this life.

I couldn't imagine him inside of me. I couldn't wrap my head around his rough, scarred hands touching the places that only Ryan was ever supposed to see. This wasn't a fairy tale, and there would be no gentle heat between us.

I was married to a cruel man, and cruel men didn't treat sex as something intimate or soft. They didn't give; they took. I had always dreamed of my first time being a slow, beautiful surrender, but I was still a virgin, and the fact that a monster would be the one to claim that from me was what I hated most of all.

I had made the first move on our wedding night out of pure desperation to own the moment, but now, the reality of it felt like a suffocating weight. I knew what this was when I signed my life away. I couldn't let Fiorello burn the convent in the human world to the ground.

It was the only place that had ever felt like home. Tears blurred my vision as I thought of my mother. I missed the way she smelled, the way she made me feel safe. If I could just hug her once more, I’d hold onto that warmth until I turned to stone.

Then, the heavy click of the door shattered my thoughts.

My eyes collided with a pair of cold, jade-green eyes that didn't just look at me…they stripped me. His gaze dropped from my face to my bare chest, tracing the line of my throat before dragging down to the curve of my hips and lower.

He didn't look away. Instead, he straightened his posture, slowly slipping his hands into his pockets with a calm, predatory grace. I scrambled for the towel on the bed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Where did you leave your manners?" I snapped, my voice thick with a low, sharp anger.

I didn't yell, but the heat in my face told him exactly how much I was fuming. I clutched the fabric to my body, yet the way he stared made the towel feel completely transparent.

He didn't move an inch…he just kept his eyes locked on mine, watching me with a hunger that told me the "breeder" he wanted was finally within his reach.

"Calm your nerves, little foxy," he said finally. His voice a low, sandpaper rasp that set my skin on fire. He leaned against the doorframe, a grin spreading across his face. He was too composed, too relaxed for a man who had just caught his wife standing naked in the morning light.

"This property is mine. Everything in it belongs to me, including you. You’re my wife…I don’t need permission to see what I own."

"I’m not your wife," I spat, my fingers white-knuckled as I gripped the towel. "Only on paper."

"Oh, love, you are," he countered, his jade eyes darkening with a predatory gleam. "The earlier you accept it, the better. And it’s not like I haven’t seen you bare before. You practically seduced me on our wedding night, remember?"

Shame burned through me, hotter than the steam from the shower. I jerked my head away, staring at the wall, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. "I... I didn't seduce you."

"Don’t worry," he stepped into the room, the scent of leather and cold steel moving with him. "We’ll have plenty of time to ourselves once we return to my pack."

"I don't want anything to do with you!" I snapped, the words trembling with a mix of fury and terror. "Marrying you was enough. We both know what this is, so leave me be!" My voice rose, but I caught myself, remembering the way his fingers usually tangled in my hair when I defied him.

I couldn't bear his touch right now.

"You don't have a say, Jayla," he said, closing the distance until I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. "You’ll bear my kids. As many as the pack wants."

I scoffed, turning toward the wardrobe to hide my shaking frame. "That only happens if we have sex, Morano. And that is never going to happen. You’ll get no pup from me. Never."

I felt his gaze burning a hole through my back. "We’ll see about that, Mrs. Jayla Salvatore." The way my new name rolled off his tongue sent a violent chill down my spine. It was a jagged reminder that I was no longer my own person.

"Engaging in a back and forth with women is my least favorite activity. It’s always pointless." He stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning me with a bored, lethal edge.

"Anyway, I only came to check if you were still alive. I didn't want you killing yourself over me just because you hate this marriage."

"I would never kill myself over any man," I fired back, my voice steady despite the hammer of my heart. "Especially not you." I wasn't the type to break. No matter how tight the cage felt, I would find a way to crawl out of the wreckage eventually.

"And sex? You’ll get nothing from me I promise you.." He didn't argue. Instead, he moved with a sudden, silent grace, stopping right behind me. I froze as his warm, solid body pressed against my bare back.

The heat from his skin seeped into mine, and I could feel the hard, heavy line of his cock pressing into the curve of my ass. He leaned in, his lips hovering inches from my ear, and his hands slid down to grip my waist, his thumbs digging into my hips.

"You speak as if you have a choice," he whispered, his breath a hot, rhythmic ghost against my neck. "Women beg for these hands, Jayla. They lose their minds for this tongue and what I can do to them with my lips. I’ve never had a woman scream for anyone else once I’ve been inside her."

A sharp shiver raced through my entire frame. I tried to keep my face a mask of stone, but my mind betrayed me. I could suddenly picture it…those fingers exploring me, his mouth marking my skin, and the sheer, overwhelming weight of him finally breaking my pride.

I hated that I could almost feel the phantom ache of him between my legs. It made me sick that my body could betray me like this, vibrating under the touch of a man I despised.

"You’re not exempted, Jayla," he growled, his grip tightening until it bruised. "Don't dare me to prove it."

He let out a low, dark chuckle when he felt my pulse jump under his touch. "Come down for breakfast in ten."

The weight of him vanished as he stepped away, leaving a cold void where his heat had just been. I watched his broad shoulders as he walked out, moving with a predatory grace that shouldn't have belonged to a man who was nearly dead yesterday.

He looked better…stronger, and completely restored. And it was all because of me. I was the one who had pulled him back from the edge of the silver rot. Yet, he couldn't even acknowledge it. Not a single look of gratitude, not a whispered thank you.

I shouldn't have helped him. I should have let the rot take him. He was ungrateful, arrogant, and cruel, and I hated his guts with every breath I took.