Chapter 8

Kestrel’s POV

I grimace as my bandaged thigh receives a gentle pat from what I assume is one of the pack physicians.

“In a few hours, you should feel brand new,” the middle-aged man mutters before jotting something down in his file.

Knox rises from his seat in the corner of what I suppose is my room, though it resembles an upscale prison more than a bedroom.

“What caused this?” he asks with a frown as the doctor neatly closes his file.

“Well, Kestrel here seems to be resisting the shift. I could be mistaken, but I’ll confirm my suspicions once I’m done with the test,” he rambles, adjusting his glasses.

“And what are your suspicions?” Knox asks, stepping closer. His hands rest casually in his pockets, his expression focused and stern.

Just like every other time I’ve seen him, he’s wearing a black T-shirt and dark trousers.

“Her blood, instead of surrendering to the Alpha mark, is resisting a complete transformation.”

I have no idea what the doctor is implying, and I don’t dwell on it either as my eyes linger a bit too long on Knox’s shirt.

Because why would you allow your shirt to be that tight?

I mean, it looks just about ready to rip in two.

“You may leave.”

At the sound of Knox’s dark tone, I sit up, now keenly aware of my surroundings. Knowing precisely how ruthless werewolves can be, I brace myself for the worst.

The doctor bows briefly and leaves without question. And then it’s just the two of us.

I remain silent, watching him turn his gaze towards me. With muscles as thick as his, he could certainly crush my head with a single arm, but does that frighten me?

Of course not.

His presence effortlessly dominates the room.

“You survived,” he says with an impassive expression as he saunters over. “How unfortunate,” he adds, his tone laced with disappointment.

The jerk!

Meeting his gaze, I reply, “What? Did I ruin your plans by not expiring on your floor like a good little mutt? Are you afraid everyone will witness how their Alpha failed to bring the huntress to her knees?”

“Soon enough, pet. You’ll be kneeling for me in more ways than one.” He smirks.

My hands curl into tight fists as I jump off the bed, ignoring the pain shooting up my leg.

“Over my dead body,” I spit, loathing the smug expression on his face.

His eyes drop to my thighs, and considering I’m only wearing the flimsy gown those maids provided, I must look like a pathetic sight.

Just as quickly, he looks back up at me.

“If you were going to take your life, Kestrel, you should’ve aimed higher. Go for the artery. Straight to the heart. A hunter ought to know where to kill a wolf.”

“I’m not a wolf,” I snarl, my jaw painfully clenched. “I am not, not, a damn wolf. I’d rather perish than become one of you heartless beasts.”

He tilts his head as his hands return to his pockets.

“Keep lying to yourself. It won’t alter the way your biology changed the moment I marked you. You are one of us, whether you believe it or not.”

“I will never be one of you. Never!”

“You were given to me,” he continues, disregarding my rage. “And I don’t waste what’s mine,” he adds, his voice as unyielding as granite.

“You don’t own me,” I declare fiercely, hating how my skin prickles with discomfort. I want out. I refuse to remain in the same space as this vile beast.

He chuckles darkly, the sound devoid of amusement.

“You wear my mark, pet. You belong to me.”

My body shivers at his tone, but I refuse to dwell on it, ignoring the way the mark on my neck burns as he takes a slow step closer.

“You have a lot to learn. You think you are bold, but I will break you.” His eyes hold mine as he steps even closer. “Bit by bit,” he continues, his tone matching the steady rhythm of my heartbeat. “Until you learn to submit to my every command.”

Suppressing every trace of fear, I meet his gaze without flinching.

“You’ll have to kill me first.”

He shakes his head.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

“Weakling!” I curse, feeling a flicker of satisfaction when his face contorts with fury at that word.

I limp closer.

“When my father comes for me, when he breaches your defenses, I’ll rip out every single one of your throats. I’ll paint this cursed pack in your blood.”

Knox’s voice takes on a deadly tone, dark, calm, and petrifying.

“You’re still waiting for him?” he asks, sounding genuinely incredulous, as though only a fool would hope for rescue in a situation like this.

“Even now, you think he’s coming?” he continues, and my heart stutters.

Don’t listen to what he says. He doesn’t know them like you do.

Knox leans in.

“He left you. Ran like the coward that he is. Abandoned you to rot. Surely you must have realized by now that you weren’t worth rescuing.”

At that, something inside me snaps.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve thought those exact words myself… or because of how plausible they sound. Whatever the reason, his words sting, and I strike.

Ignoring the burning pain in my thigh, I charge at the towering beast before me.

Knox barely allows me two steps before seizing me and slamming my back against the cold wall with brutal force.

My eyes widen in shock, the air instantly knocked out of me.

“Let go of me, you bas—”

His hand wraps tightly around my throat, cutting off my words. It’s not life-threatening, but it’s enough to ignite a fresh wave of rage within me.

But just as quickly, confusion sets in.

I swallow hard, freezing in place as I become suddenly hyper-aware of his leg pressed between mine.

Suddenly, my body aches fiercely for an entirely different reason.

“Know your place, Kestrel,” Knox seethes.

I close my eyes… in pain? Fury? Pleasure?

Good grief, what is happening to me? I can’t possibly—

…don’t want this!

He presses harder against me, and I suppress a groan. A tiny fraction of that sound escapes, emerging as something dangerously close to a whimper.

Knox’s gaze drops.

He heard. I just know it.

The thought fills me with shame and fury.

“You don’t hate me nearly as much as you think you do,” he murmurs darkly, his mouth far too close to mine.

“I do,” I growl, hating how my voice wavers.

What the hell!

I do despise him… with my life.

Whatever dignity I’ve been trying to salvage crumbles the moment his fingers slide into my hair and yank my head back.

A tortured moan escapes my throat as I struggle against him, my chest rising against his.

I grimace as shame overwhelms my pride, imprisoning it.

Knox growls deep in his throat, his fingers tightening in my hair as his pupils dilate.

Don’t touch me, you monster!

His lips part, and for the life of me, I can’t tear my gaze away.