Chapter 5

The door creaked.

I stiffened immediately, fingers tightening around the strip of cloth I had torn from an old shirt. The movement pulled at the torn skin on my back and I sucked in a sharp breath, pain flaring fresh and hot.

I hadn’t locked the door.

I couldn't even if I wanted to. An Omega didn’t get locks.

“Get out,” I said without turning. 

I didn't want to be bothered, I had had enough for one day.

The door closed behind him with a quiet thud.

I smelled him before I saw him. It was Hunter. My wolf stirred, restless and angry beneath my skin.

“I said get out,” I repeated firmer, annoyance creeping into my voice.

His footsteps crossed the room slowly, unhurried, not bothered by my comment, he moved like he wasn’t afraid of me attacking him in retaliation.

“You should be resting,” Hunter said.

I laughed bitterly. “You mean after you had me whipped?”

Silence stretched between us.

I turned around meeting his gaze. He looked exactly the same as he had hours ago…cold, controlled, unaffected. No sign that he felt guilty about my punishment. No sign that he’d listened to my screams and walked away.

I hated him for that.

I hated how nonchalant he was as I was conflicted about my feelings for him. I hated him but at the same time I wanted a reaction out of him.

My back burned where the whips had broken skin. Blood had dried unevenly, sticking to the fabric. I’d barely managed to clean myself before the pain became too much.

Hunter’s eyes flicked to my hands. To the scissors lying beside me on the bed.

His mouth twitched.

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep moving like that,” he said.

“Good,” I snapped. “Maybe I’ll bleed out and save you the trouble.”

That finally earned a reaction. His jaw tightened as he clenched his fists at his sides .He moved closer to me.

“Turn around,” he said.

“No.”

“Turn around,” his eyes narrowed as he repeated, voice lower.

I reached for the scissors.

The moment my fingers closed around the handle, he moved.

I lunged first.

I aimed for his chest with no  hesitation.I didn't think. I just wanted to see him bleed. I wanted him to suffer the same pain as me.

Hunter caught my wrist mid-strike, his grip tight .The scissors clattered to the floor, skidding away.

He didn’t release me.

Instead, he stepped closer, forcing my arm back until my shoulder protested sharply. His eyes burned into mine .

“Do it,” he said quietly.

I stared at him, breathing hard.

“What?”

“Pick them up,” he said, nodding toward the scissors on the  floor. “Try again.”

My heart slammed against my ribs bearing faster by the second.

“You think this is funny?” I demanded.

His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me he could.

No,it's not I want to see if you’re capable.”

I yanked against his hold. “Let go of me.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned down until his face was inches from mine.

“If you wanted me dead,” he said, voice low and even, “you would’ve aimed higher. Or you would’ve waited until I was asleep.”

Anger burned hot and sharp, my cheeks turned red.

“I should have,” I said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “You should have but you didn't.” 

That caught me off guard.

His eyes searched my face, unreadable. There was no mockery there. No triumph. Just something heavy, something restrained.

He released my wrist.

I didn’t move to attack him again. The moment had passed, adrenaline bleeding out of me, leaving behind exhaustion and pain.

Hunter bent and picked up the scissors himself.

He turned them in his hand once, then set them on the table,out of my reach.

“You’re hurt,” he said.

“You think?” I shot back.

He ignored my snarky remark and gestured toward the bed. “Sit.”

“No.”

“Annalise.”

I flinched at my name.

He noticed.

“Sit,” he said again, firmer.

I hated that my body listened before my mind did. I sat, my body rigid.

Hunter reached for the cloth in my hands.

“Don’t touch me,” I warned.

“I’m going to clean the wounds,” he said. “You can stab me afterward if you still want to.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

He took the cloth anyway, slower this time, giving me the chance to pull away.

I didn’t.

His fingers brushed my skin as he worked, careful but not gentle. Every touch sent a strange shock through my body….too sharp, too intense. My wolf stirred again, confused and restless.

“You enjoyed it,” I said suddenly.

He paused.

“The punishment,” I continued, staring at the wall. “You enjoyed watching me suffer.”

“I didn't,” he said.

I scoffed. “You didn’t stop it.”

“That doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.

“Then why did you do it?” I demanded, turning my head to look at him. “Why didn’t you believe me?”

His jaw flexed.

“Because if I had,” he said, “I would’ve had to tear my pack apart.”

“So instead you tore me apart.”

Silence followed.

He resumed cleaning the wounds, his touch more careful now.

“You challenged me,” he said eventually. “In front of everyone.”

“You ordered me whipped,” I snapped. “What did you expect?”

“I expected you to submit.”

I laughed humorlessly. “Then you don’t know me at all.”

His mouth curved slightly at that. Not a smile. Something else.

“I’m learning,” he said.

His hand lingered longer than necessary this time. 

My breath hitched despite myself.

I hated that.

I hated how close he was. How aware I was of him. How my body betrayed me even while my mind screamed at me to push him away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said.

“Probably not.”

“Your fiancée would love this,” I added.

That did it.

Hunter’s hand stilled.

“She’s not my mate,” he said flatly.

“She’s your future Luna,” I shot back. “She and her lackeys made that very clear today.”

He leaned closer again, his voice dropping.

“And yet,” he said, “ here I am tending to your wounds.”

Heat flooded my face.

“Don’t,” I warned.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked. “Like you’re mine?”

I shoved him.

He didn’t budge.

Instead, he caught my wrists and pinned them against the mattress, his body caging mine in without fully touching.

My breath stuttered.

“You hate me,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“You want to hurt me.”

“Yes.”

“And yet,” he continued, eyes dark, “your body still reacts to my touch.”

I struggled against him, anger and something else tangling in my chest.

“Get off me,” I said.

“Make me.”

My wolf surged, responding to the challenge, to the closeness, to the bond pulling tight between us. I could feel his wolf too, restless and pressing beneath his skin.

This was dangerous.

Hunter leaned down, his mouth near my ear.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he murmured. “You’re afraid of what this does to you.”

“Get out,” I whispered, my voice betraying me.

He didn’t move.

For a long moment, neither of us did.

The air between us was thick, charged, stretched almost to the point of breaking.

Then he pushed himself upright and stepped back.

“You need rest,” he said, his voice once again carefully neutral. “We’ll continue this conversation another time.”

I watched him move toward the door, my heart pounding far too fast.

“At least finish cleaning my wounds,” I said before I could stop myself.

He paused, then turned back.

Silently, he returned and finished bandaging my back.

When he was done, he stood.

“I won’t touch you again without your consent,” he said. “But don’t mistake that for distance.”

Then he left.

The door closed behind him.

I sat there long after he was gone, my body aching, my thoughts a mess, my wolf unsettled.

I hadn’t stabbed him when he had given me the chance to.

And that scared me more than anything else.