Chapter 19: Questioning Eira

Eira’s POV

Sitting on the toilet seat, I let out a quiet breath of relief. Roman was gone.

Still, my thoughts wouldn’t rest.

’Why is he caring towards me all of a sudden, when in the past all he used to do was bully me every chance he got, as if I was nothing but a tool to pass his boring time? He must want to fuck me. That’s all this is. He’s just making sure I recover quickly so they can all use me the way they want.’

I looked around the bathroom to see if I could find anything useful, but there was nothing. I needed something potent. Something that could kill me in an instant.

Silver.

Every werewolf feared it. I was sure they had silver blades or guns with silver bullets. Kael was the Alpha. He had to have something. Maybe in his room. Maybe locked in his office.

I had to find out where.

With a deep breath, I focused on the task at hand, finally emptying my bladder. It felt like I hadn’t relieved myself in days. I didn’t want to leave just yet. I wasn’t ready to see any of them again. The bathroom felt like a temporary sanctuary. I decided to stay locked inside a while longer.

Eventually, I forced myself to stand and walked toward the mirror.

It had been so long since I had seen myself clearly. A real mirror. A full reflection. The places I had been kept never had one. In those dark, windowless rooms, there was no need. My days had been reduced to the same brutal cycle—getting fucked, cleaning myself when I could, eating whatever scraps they gave me, and sleeping. Then repeating it all the next day.

The only time I was given a short break was when I gave birth. They let me rest for maybe a week. That was all. Even pregnancy hadn’t spared me. Some of them had sick minds. They enjoyed using a pregnant woman. I had begged them, pleaded with everything in me, just not to harm the baby in my belly. I promised I would do whatever they wanted. Anything. Just don’t hurt my child.

As I observed my current self in the mirror, I felt like I was looking at a stranger—someone I had never seen.

She looked like a ghost. Skin pale and paper-thin, cheeks sunken, dark shadows under lifeless eyes. Her bones pressed against skin that barely held them. A shell. A body that had been brutally abused and starved for ages.

There was a time I found myself pretty. It’s because of him, because he said I was beautiful.

After falling in love with him, I started paying attention to myself. To how I looked. To what I wore. He used to praise me, calling me the most beautiful woman in his world. Every time he said it, I believed him a little more. His words filled me with confidence, and I put all my effort into becoming someone he could be proud of.

But now, the way he looks at me felt like he’s staring at filth. I hate him. I truly do. But it still hurts.

I was no longer that young girl in love, no longer soft and beautiful, no longer innocent. I didn’t need to look under my clothes to know what my body looked like now. Scars ran across it, physical reminders of every time I was broken.

Only my face had been spared.

The traffickers had made sure of that. A scarred face brought less money. Ugly whores were cheaper, easier to throw away. But a beautiful one could still fetch a high price.

I turned on the faucet and splashed water on my face. It felt cold against my skin, a brief relief from the heaviness in my chest. There was no use hiding here forever. I would have to leave the safety of the bathroom eventually.

What else could I even do?

When I opened the door, Roman was still in the room, standing by a small coffee table. His back was to me, but he turned the moment he heard the door open. I looked away and began walking towards bed.

Before I could take another step, he came toward me and lifted me into his arms once again.

"What are you doing?" I asked sharply, startled by the suddenness of it.

"Carrying you to bed. Your feet must still hurt," he replied.

I followed his gaze to my feet. They were wrapped in fresh bandages. That night in the forest, I had run barefoot through rocks and thorns, tearing my skin apart, but I hadn’t even noticed the pain, until now, when he said it.

He placed me gently on the bed, not bothering to cuff my wrist this time. Then he turned and walked back to the table.

When he returned, he was holding a small wooden tray, carrying food and a glass of water. He set it down beside me and looked at me directly.

"Water and food. You need to eat."

"I don’t feel like eating," I told him, without even looking at it. I just wanted him gone. The more I looked at him, the more the memories of the way he bullied me in the past—those humiliations I suffered—crawled back into my mind.

"But you have to," he insisted. "You know why we brought you here. And for that, you need to recover."

So I was right. His kindness wasn’t real. Everything so he could fuck me along with his brothers.

But I really don’t feel like eating. What is he gonna do—stuff food in my mouth? Better that way. I might just choke and die. But...

"We met Kaizan yesterday. You must still remember him," Roman said, his voice calm but watchful. "He remembers you too. He asked us to share you with him and his mate brothers. But we rejected the offer."

I looked at him, confused. Why was he asking me if I remembered someone named Kaizan? And why was he telling me this?

Then his gaze shifted, a mocking glint in his eyes. "Are you disappointed to hear we turned him down? You must miss him, after all."

"Kaizan?" I repeated softly. "Who is that?"

His expression hardened as he stared at me for a long moment. Distrust clouded his eyes. "Still good at pretending, I see. Just like before."

What the hell was he talking about?