The days in the cell blurred together, the cold, damp air seeping into Lyra's bones as time dragged on. Every moment was a test—of her patience, her strength, her will to survive. Kael hadn't returned since that first brutal encounter, but she knew it was only a matter of time. He was watching, waiting for her to crack.
It didn't take long.
The door to her cell swung open with a creak, and Lyra's eyes snapped up. Kael stood in the doorway, his gaze piercing, dark and predatory. His presence filled the small space, making the air feel thick, suffocating.
"Get up," he commanded, his voice cold and sharp.
Lyra's body ached from days spent on the stone floor, but she forced herself to stand, refusing to show weakness in front of him. The chains rattled as she moved, her wrists raw and bruised from the constant pull of the restraints. She met his gaze with defiance, her chin lifted despite the exhaustion weighing her down.
Kael's lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "Still fighting, I see," he said, stepping into the cell. "Good. I prefer it that way."
He circled her slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, his eyes never leaving her. Lyra tensed, every muscle in her body coiled tight, ready for whatever he was about to throw at her. She had to stay strong. She had to keep her head above the swirling storm of fear and rage that threatened to consume her.
But Kael was relentless.
He stopped in front of her, his gaze dark and unreadable. "Do you know why I haven't killed you yet?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
Lyra clenched her fists, the chains pulling tight against her wrists. She didn't answer.
Kael stepped closer, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch was deceptively gentle, but the power behind it was undeniable. "Because breaking you will be so much more satisfying."
Lyra's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest as his fingers lingered against her skin. There was something dangerous in the way he touched her, a possessiveness that sent a shiver down her spine. She wanted to pull away, to fight him, but the chains held her in place, leaving her at his mercy.
Kael's eyes roamed over her, taking in the bruises, the dirt, the defiance that still burned in her gaze. "You're mine now, Lyra," he murmured, his voice soft, but the threat in his words was unmistakable. "Whether you like it or not."
Her pulse quickened, a mix of fear and fury swirling inside her. She hated him—hated the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her as if she was something to be owned. But there was something else beneath the hate, something dark and primal that she couldn't quite shake. The way his eyes burned into hers, the way his touch lingered on her skin—it made her stomach twist in ways she didn't want to understand.
Kael's hand dropped from her face, but he didn't step back. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "I'll give you a choice. Submit to me willingly, and I'll make this easier for you. Fight me, and I'll enjoy breaking you piece by piece."
Lyra's heart thundered in her chest, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a vice. Submit? To him? The very thought made her blood boil, but she knew what he was capable of. She had seen the way he ruled his pack—with ruthless control and violence. If she fought him, she had no doubt he would take pleasure in making her suffer.
But she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of her submission.
"I'd rather die," she spat, her voice laced with venom.
Kael's eyes darkened, his smirk widening into something more dangerous. "That can be arranged," he said softly, his hand closing around her throat. He didn't squeeze, didn't cut off her air, but the threat in his grip was clear. "But not yet. Not until I've had my fun."
Lyra's pulse raced beneath his fingers, but she refused to look away, refused to let him see the fear swirling inside her. She would not break. Not for him. Not for anyone.
Kael's grip tightened for a moment before he released her, stepping back with a look of satisfaction. "I'll give you some time to think about it," he said, turning toward the door. "But make no mistake, Lyra—you will submit."
He left the cell without another word, the heavy door slamming shut behind him, leaving her alone once more in the suffocating darkness.
Hours passed, or maybe it was days—Lyra couldn't tell anymore. The ache in her limbs had become a dull throb, and her throat was dry from the lack of water. She tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she felt Kael's hand around her throat, heard his whispered threats in her ear.
She couldn't get him out of her head.
The door creaked open again, and Lyra's eyes snapped up. But this time, it wasn't Kael. It was Marcus.
The Beta sauntered into the cell, his lips curled in that same twisted smile she had seen before. He took his time looking her over, his eyes lingering on the bruises, the cuts, the chains that kept her bound.
"Well, well," Marcus drawled, circling her the same way Kael had. "Looks like the Alpha's pet is still defiant."
Lyra glared at him, but said nothing.
Marcus stepped closer, his fingers brushing over the chain around her wrist. "It's a shame, really," he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Kael could have broken you quickly, but he likes to play with his food."
He leaned in, his breath hot against her neck. "I, on the other hand, am not so patient."
Lyra tensed, pulling against the chains, but Marcus grabbed her by the throat, his grip tight enough to cut off her air. "You know, if you were mine, I wouldn't be so gentle."
Her vision blurred as his grip tightened, her lungs burning for air. She tried to push him away, but the chains kept her bound, helpless.
Just as her vision started to fade, Marcus's grip loosened, and he stepped back with a smirk. "But you're not mine, are you? You belong to Kael."
He stepped back, letting her collapse onto the stone floor, gasping for breath.
"I'll be back," Marcus said, turning toward the door. "And next time, I won't be so gentle."
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Lyra alone once more, her body shaking, her heart pounding in her chest.
She hated them—both of them. But as she lay there, bruised and broken, a dark thought crept into her mind.