Page 9 of Alpha's Revenge Luna

Fear and desperation surge through me as I’m hauled back to the car, dragging my feet, my pleas ignored.

Dion has an eerie calm look etched on his face.

He growls, his arm wrapping around my waist before he tosses my thrashing body over his shoulder.

I twist and kick my legs when he snarls angrily, his hand slamming down on my ass.

“Enough,” he growls, and I fall silent, feeling his movement under my dress. His hand rubs up over my cheek, his thumb pressing between my legs. I gasp, feeling his thumb placed over my core. “Keep thrashing and I will knot you here and let you bleed out,” he threatens.

“Pop the trunk,” he orders one of his men.

The cold realization of what’s about to happen grips me. The claustrophobia I’ve lived with for as long as I can remember surges to the forefront of my mind. My protests fall on deaf ears as I’m tossed into the confining space of the car’s trunk.

My deep-rooted fear of confined spaces has been embedded in me since the first time I disobeyed my father. He locked me in the closet for three days after I was caught trying to play with another girl at the park across from the pack house.

I’d snuck out; she was the daughter of another Alpha who was visiting.

She kept throwing stones at my window until I shimmied down the vines to play with her.

I was my brother’s age at the time. Those were the longest three days of my life.

That was the first of many trips to that dreaded closet until eventually, I gave up trying to have any semblance of a normal life.

Alpha Dion tosses me into the trunk, despite my protests and pleas. I try to get out, my hand gripping the opening, when he slams the lid shut, my fingers crushed.

My scream is deafening when the trunk opens.

Alpha Dion backhands me, causing me to see stars momentarily.

I can taste blood filling my mouth. Darkness swallows me whole, my heart pounding against the confines when my consciousness wanes.

Waking up, it’s pitch black, the scent of my blood is heavy in the air.

I wipe my eyes, trying to remember what happened, and sit up.

Only my head collides with something. It takes me a few seconds to realize everything that happened was not a nightmare my mind conjured up but is reality.

“Hello?” I stammer, banging on the trunk, praying someone hears me as panic slowly sets in. I get no answer when we hit a bump, and I am tossed back.

I kick and scream, my cries echoing in the tight space. Panic closes in, pressing in on me from all sides. It’s twenty minutes of sheer terror before the car pulls over. The trunk opens, and Dion’s face appears above me.

“Knock it off,” he growls. But as I sit up, attempting to escape the suffocating space, something in his eyes shifts. He moves, gripping my shoulder and shoving me back down.

“No… wait. Please.” He slams the trunk shut.

“No!” I boot the trunk again, my air seizing in my lungs, and I start feeling lightheaded when I hear a growl. The trunk pops open, and he grabs my dress.

“I said stop.”

“I’m claustrophobic!” I blurt, feeling like an idiot.

“You’re claustrophobic?” His question is almost casual, belied by his careful scrutiny. When I nod, tears glistening in my eyes, he sighs. “Why are you claustrophobic?” he asks.

My face heats, but I don’t answer, too busy amidst gasps for air, my hands gripping the edges of the trunk. He seems to watch me for a second. “You’re lying,” he accuses, about to shove me down, but I grip his suit.

“No, please,” I beg, pouncing out only to crash into him. He grabs me, holding me against him, then moves to force me back into the trunk, but I wrap my legs around him, my grip on him tightening.

“Not the trunk, not the trunk, I’ll behave,” I scream.

Then, unexpectedly, he stops. His face pulls away from me, but my eyes are on the open trunk still.

He grips my chin, forcing me to look at him, his other arm sliding under my ass when he shocks me by hoisting me higher.

His face is so close, just an inch closer, and our lips would meet.

“If you want out, I want to know why you’re scared of being in there, be honest, little mate.” He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear.

“You’re safer in there than with me in the car,” he warns.

I swallow at his words, but my legs tighten around him, worried he’ll use that as an excuse to place me back; I would rather take my chances in the car with him.

He chuckles in my fear, which he can no doubt smell.

He buries his face in my neck, his nose skimming across my jaw to my chin.

I see him smile darkly, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. His lips are that close.

“Fine. But if you disobey me again, you’ll go right back in,” he warns before trying to set me down. But I refuse to let go. “Emery, let go,” he tells me.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, eager to be away from the suffocating darkness. “Shut it first, I don’t trust you,” I panic.

He shakes his head, slamming it shut. Only then do I unwrap myself from around him and slide down his body. Dion seizes my arm, leading me back to the limo. He opens the back door and pushes me inside roughly.

“You sit with me,” he orders, patting his lap. I hesitate. “Or the trunk, your choice.”

The thought of going back in the trunk makes my heart pound. Humiliated and cornered, I slowly approach him.

“Can’t I sit beside you?” I ask.

His eyes flash dangerously, and he taps his lap. I move a step closer when he speaks again. “No, I want you to face me.”

I freeze, trying to understand what he means; surely he doesn’t mean for me to straddle him? “You want me to… face you?” I stammer.

His smirk is devilish, a predator toying with its prey. “That’s what I said.” My face heats when he confirms what I thought he said. Standing between his legs, I can feel his gaze on me. I step closer until there is no room between us.

He raises an eyebrow at my hesitation. “You’re acting like you’ve never sat on a man’s lap before,” he mocks, his arm moves wraps around my waist and he pulls me onto his lap.

“That’s because I haven’t.”

His laugh is low and cruel, a sound that makes my skin crawl as he pulls me around, so I am straddling him. He grasps my hips, and I come face-to-face with him. I grip his shoulders, trying to keep my weight off him. Now that I am close to him, I can see his every feature.

His eyes are dark grayish with red, so dark they are almost black.

His brows furrow together, watching me as if he is trying to decide whether to bite me or toss me off his lap.

I can’t understand how he can be so cold when he feels so warm, how the warmth of his skin can be so at odds with his icy stare.

“You’re serious?” he murmurs, regarding me carefully before pushing me down on his lap so I am seated on him; my torn dress rises to reveal my underwear, and I try to pull it down, but it’s shredded and barely covering anything at this point.

I am surprised it’s still attached to me, to be honest. Only one strap remains, the silk filthy.

He smells so good, which only heightens my unease—especially when his eyes light up mischievously like he knows something I don’t.

His hand moves from my back down to my waist, where it lingers for a few seconds before settling on my thigh—just above the knee—much too intimate for comfort. His fingers start curling beneath the fabric of my dress, sending warmth throughout my body.

He grins at me darkly, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth and a devilish glint in his eye that sends another wave of heat through me despite myself.

His gaze never leaves mine as he speaks, not missing a single emotion flickering across it.

“I’m sure you realize by now you’re not getting out until we reach our destination,” he announces, silencing any protest when he slowly reaches a hand around behind me and pulls down the zip of my torn dress.

I clutch the front as it begins to fall, my heart hammering in my chest. I can feel his eyes on me, cold and assessing.

His hand raises, and I flinch instinctively.

But he doesn’t strike me. Instead, Dion hooks a finger under the remaining strap of my dress, his claw slipping out of his fingertip, slicing through the fabric with an ease that makes my blood run colder.

I gasp as he grabs my wrists. His gaze locks onto mine with a cruel smile.

“Let go,” he warns. His eyes are a deadly calm, the storm within them threatening to break loose any moment. Reluctantly, I release the grip on my dress, feeling the last thread of my dignity slip away.

The fabric pools around my hips, leaving me in nothing but my bra.

He appraises me, his gaze roaming over my exposed skin.

My face heats, my chest tightening. I can’t look at him.

I turn away, the shame making me wish I could disappear.

A second later, his finger hooks beneath my bra, undoing the clasp at the front.

A whimper escapes and I hear him suck in a breath.

His hand runs between my full breasts that are on display, the chill in the air making my nipples harden.

Without a word, he reaches back and unbuttons his jacket, tossing it aside.

The fabric lands with a thud on the floor.

He leans in, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are a storm of emotions—arrogance, amusement, and something else.

He’s so close, his scent hits me. He smells of fire, smoke, ash, and his clothes reek of his scent, but they smell of something else, like life and death. Yet oddly intoxicating and exotic, too.