Page 41 of Alpha's Revenge Luna

The room is filled with a soft, muted light, and my eyes flutter open to an unsettling silence.

As consciousness seeps in, a sharp pain radiates from my neck.

I raise my hand to touch the tender spot and hiss at the discomfort.

The events that led to this moment swirl in my mind; Dion, the forest, the chase…

everything is hauntingly replaying in my mind.

My entire body aches as I try to sit up, and that’s when I feel it—a cold, metallic grasp around my ankle.

Panic surges as my eyes dart down to a chain.

I’m chained to the bed. I pull at it, the sound of metal clinking fills the silent room, echoing loudly along with my breath as panic courses through me.

He knows I hate confinement, the dungeons almost sent me mad.

Still, I’m his prisoner, he got what he wanted, he marked me.

“Don’t.” Dion’s voice cuts through my panicked motions.

I jump startled, not even registering him in the room.

My eyes find him instantly. He’s by the mirror, getting dressed in a suit that does nothing to hide the predatory grace in his movements.

“You’ll only hurt yourself.” His eyes meet mine in the mirror, but he doesn’t turn around; he fixes his button and cuff links.

My heart is pounding, a mix of terror and rage filling my veins. I yank at the chain again, desperate to free myself from this prison he’s created.

“What the hell is this?” My voice is a blend of fury and fear as I gestured wildly to the metal links that bound me to his bed. “You’ve chained me to the bed?”

Dion’s expression remains unreadable as he looks at me. “It’s for your own good, Emery.”

“My own good?” I scoff in disbelief. “You have me locked up like an animal!” Each word drips with venom as I spit them at him.

Dion steps closer, each step a calculated dance of power and control. His eyes flash with something dark as he stands over me menacingly. “You brought this on yourself,” he said coldly.

“Everything you need is in this room. The chain is long enough for you to use the bathroom and shower.”

“And what if I want more than this room?” The desperation and confinement are closing in; walls of imprisonment, walls that offer nothing but silence.

His eyes darken; a storm of emotions I can’t decipher. Dion tries to kiss me. Revulsion and anger intertwine, and I pull away sharply, my breaths coming in ragged gulps.

His growl is a low, dangerous rumble in his chest. Swiftly, he grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze as his lips crush against mine; a show of dominance, of possession.

“Behave,” is his final word before he moves toward the door.

“Wait! Where are you going?” I demand, my voice laced with the blend of emotions threatening to consume me.

“To the funerals of the men you got killed!” he throws the words at me like they could physically inflict pain, and they do. Each syllable cuts deep, drawing blood and guilt from wounds I hadn’t known existed.

A tsunami of guilt crashes over me, drowning my protests. “I didn’t mean for anyone to die,” I whimper, the chains rattling with my trembling. “I just wanted my brother and grandmother to be safe.”

But the slamming door is his only response, leaving me in suffocating silence, a prisoner.

Hours stretch into an eternity, and as the sun rises the room grows hotter.

I try the windows, but I find he has nailed them shut.

In the heat of the room, I continue to struggle against my restraints.

I yank at the chain, desperately trying to find some kind of weakness in its sturdy steel.

Eventually, out of sheer desperation, I turn to the windows that line one wall once more. But when I try them, they don’t budge.

I sink to my knees in defeat and exhaustion, hot tears falling freely down my face as hopelessness seeps into my bones. How did I ever get myself into this situation? How can Dion be so cruel?

The room is a furnace, a suffocating mix of heat and silence, the unreachable air conditioner remote teases me as it sits on the wall by the bedroom door.

Getting up, I move as close to it as the chain allows, stretching and contorting my limbs, fingers outstretched as I reach for it.

I grasp nothing but air. I’m chained to the damn bed, and I’m not allowed near the door.

Where does he think I’m gonna go with the chain?

It’s not like I can drag the bed with me!

Giving up, I move toward the bathroom again. I’m sweating worse now since I took the Belladonna; the heat had seemed to intensify after it. Instantly regretting the pill, my stomach turning and nothing to wash the taste of it that lingers in the back of my throat.

I turn on the shower and step in to shower quickly.

When I’m finished, I wrap a towel around my body before brushing out my hair and staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale and drawn; exhaustion showing in every line on my face.

Cupping my hands under the water in the sink, I drink from the tap. I’m caught mid-sip in the bathroom sink, my desperate attempts for a drink after finding the fridge hidden in the wall empty. His voice, tinged with a mix of relief and irritation, startles me.

“Emery, what are you doing?”

“I’m thirsty!” I snap, my voice raspy from the burning belladonna I took earlier and the dryness of my throat in this furnace of a room. “You left me with nothing to drink.”

“Crap! Sorry, I forgot. I will get you some drinks, and bring your dinner up,” he apologizes, but I ignore him the moment he tells me he’ll bring it to me.

In other words, I still cannot leave. I retreat to the bed, since it is the only place I am allowed, apparently, while Dion quits his apologies and heads for the door.

I hear the soft click but don’t bother checking the door since I can’t reach it even if I wanted to.

An hour later, he returns with beef stew and bread rolls, along with a bag of drinks. My stomach growls hungrily at the delicious scent, and I sit up. He sets the plate on my lap and I snatch the spoon, earning a growl from him, but the Belladonna lingers on my tongue and stew offers to remove it.

I instantly start scooping it up and almost moan at the delicious taste, also because I didn’t realize how hungry I actually am until the first mouthful.

Dion sets a can of coke on the bedside table and cracks it for me, and he loads the small fridge with juices and water and a few fizzy drinks.

When he stands back up, I grab my drink and move over on the bed, so he can eat his dinner when I notice his plate isn’t here.

I am about to ask him if he is eating too when I see him walking back to the door.

“You’re not staying?” My voice, fragile and desperate for human interaction.

He pauses for a second but doesn’t turn around. “I have obligations to my pack,” he replies.

Desperation, raw and biting, fuels my next plea. “I’ll come with you.” I tell him, setting my food aside to rush to the closet.

But freedom is not just a physical entity; it’s a mind unburdened, the offer of fresh air.

“No, you stay here,” he says as I reach for some fresh clothes. I peek out at him, wondering why when he’ll be right beside me, but he is already turning for the door.

“Wait!” I call out, rushing to the bedside table, he growls but does stop, and I snatch the handcuffs out of the drawer where he keeps them.

The metallic clink of the handcuffs is my next plea… “I’ll wear them,” I offer. Silence greets my words, then a heavy sigh.

“I’ll be good!” I promise him, desperate to go with him.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, but promises are just another way to say no in this situation for him.

“Please?” I beg. “Five minutes? I just need to see Tara, to apologize to the pack... I need fresh air.”

The conflict in his eyes mirrors my internal battle. Freedom I know is something he won’t offer. He turns, moving toward the door.

“No, please. Five minutes, just five minutes? Tara is probably worried,” I plead, reaching out and clamping the handcuff on his wrist. He growls, but I quickly clamp it on mine. “See, I’ll wear it,” I tell him desperately, the chains rattling with my silent sobs.

He grabs my hand, stomping over to the dresser. He rummages around in the top drawer, producing the key and unlocks our wrists.

“No… Please, I haven’t seen anyone in days, you kept me locked in that dungeon for God only knows how long, and now here. You marked me!”

“It didn’t stick. Don’t lie to me and tell me you haven’t noticed the bond is no stronger than before,” Dion says.

“Can I at least see Tara, maybe in the hallway? Just leave the door open?” I beg when he grabs my face in both of his hands.

“She doesn’t want to see you. You killed eight people, Emery. It’s best if you stay here.” His words are harsh, and take me by surprise. I choke on his words, they cut deeply. She would rather not see me?

The icy kiss of his lips against my forehead makes me shudder as he turns and walks away, leaving me alone once more. Walking back to my bed, I sit on the edge.

My appetite vanished before I could even think about grabbing my spoon and stew. Instead, I slip into bed, praying Dion will return soon.

I’m awakened by Dion’s return. The scent of alcohol clings to him.

The odor of his booze-filled breath invades the space around us as he climbs back into bed, pulling me close. I want to fight him off, but my energy is drained. So I just lay there limp, slowly fading into a deep slumber.