Chapter 3

Samara's POV

I came awake to scuffling heavy boots against the ground, arms clamped behind my back and a heavy rough bag over my head. I kicked against them, my heart racing crazily in my chest.

"Let me go!" I shouted muffled and hoarse. "Who are you? What do you want?”

They didn't answer, their hold instead just tightening as they pulled me along. The scent of pine and earth grew weak, replaced by the chill, sterile air of stone walls. A door creaked, and the sound of its slam behind us resounded across the wide expanse.

Suddenly, the bag was snatched off my head.

I blinked hard against the harsh light; my vision finally focused. And when it did, my blood ran cold.

Before me stood Michael, his silver eyes locked with mine, filled with authority and something darker, something dangerous. He was every inch the Supreme Alpha, commanding, unyielding.

“You,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. My mind was racing, trying to piece together what was happening. “Why am I here? What is going on?”

Michael didn't blink. "Samara," he said, his voice even but with a hint of something beneath the surface. "I need your blood."

The words hung in the air, heavy and absurd. I stared at him, trying to comprehend what he had just said. "You... What?”

He repeated with equanimity, "I need your blood."

I laughed, it was a hollow, disbelieving sound. "You've lost your mind," I told him as I backpedaled. "Why in the world would you need my blood?"

His jaw tautened. "It's not something I can explain right now, but it is necessary. You're going to help me."

“Necessary?" I shot back, my voice rising. "You attack me, kidnap me, and now you expect me to just roll over and bleed for you? Are you insane?"

Michael's face had darkened now, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I didn't want it to come to this," he growled in that dangerous low. "But I do need you to cooperate.”

"Cooperate?" I spat, finally reaching a boiling point of anger. "You are unbelievable. You're just a detestable, egotistical monster."

His eyes flashed down, thick with menace. "Careful, Samara," he said with cold, calm deliberation.

"Or what?" I blazed back at him, my fists clenched. "You'll force me? You'll take what you want like the monster you are?"

That did it.

Michael's lips thinned into a tight line, quivering with anger. He nodded once.

"Take her."

The next thing I knew, two guards had grabbed me, their clutches as strong as iron clamps. "Let me go!" I screamed, fighting their grip. "Michael, you can't do this!”

He did nothing but keep quiet. Ston-faced, he watched me struggling, his eyes unreadable.

I was dragged across the room toward a table and thrown into a chair. Guards had my arms, pinning them down. My heart raced as I was quickly overcome with panic.

There was a woman in a white coat coming forward, holding a syringe. "No!" I screamed, fighting against my captors. "Don't touch me!”

"Hold her still," Michael ordered, his voice low and intense.

The guards held me tighter, and the needle stung my skin as it pierced through. I could feel my blood surge in through that needle, filling the syringe with its crimson contents. A wave of nausea heaved up inside of me, my stomach rolling with the revulsion.

When it was done, the guards released me and I pitched forward, my body shaking with rage and inadequacy.

Michael drew closer and loomed over me. "This needn't have been complicated," he said in a low, steady voice.

I looked up at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "You're a monster," I spat, my voice trembling with rage. "I thought-" My voice broke and I swallowed hard. "I thought you were better than this.”

It flickered across Michael's face but he quickly masked. "You'll learn in time," he replied, though even his voice carried little conviction.

"I don't want to learn," I snapped. "I want nothing but to be free of you."

His jaw hardened then, and for a little while, he said absolutely nothing. Then, by some mere nod, he turned around, facing the guards. "Throw her in the holding cell.”

"No!" I shrieked, struggling against them as they seized me again. "You can't do this! Michael!"

But he didn't turn around.

The room they took me to was small and dark, the stone walls cool and forbidding. The thick door shut behind me heavily, its bang an echo of a knell.

I ran to the door, pounding on it with my fists. "Let me out!" I screamed, hoarse and desperate. "Michael, you bastard! Let me out!"

But nobody answered.

I kept pounding until my fists were sore, growing weaker. Finally, exhaustion overcame me, and I slid to the floor, leaning my back against the door.

My knees drew up to my chest, and I buried my head in them. The tears came then, hot and unstoppable, spilling down my cheeks as sobs wracked my body.

"I hate you," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I hate you, Michael."

They were futile words, and yet to somehow mute the hurt with them, I spoke them out. "I hate you," I whispered again mantra by now.

Yet beneath all that anger lay an altogether different emotion-a deep pang, like a throbbing somewhere deep within me. I had given my trust and felt for him an emotion in words not explained. Now it lay smashed.

“Why?” I asked in an undertone. "Why did he do such a thing to me?"

That was it, all the queries without answering. Inevitably my tears, running along, reached their full drop, one by one; my cheeks began wet. A kind of exhaustion tugged and lugged me downward into unresting slumber.

Yet there was still the man's cruel, vengeful image hovering even behind my slumbering self.