ZALE'S POV;
When Amora's eyes fluttered open, the atmosphere in the room was thick with tension, so palpable it was as though the air itself was suffocating. I could feel her fear before she even fully registered where she was—her pulse was racing, heart thudding wildly in her chest, echoing in the quiet space like a distant drumbeat. She had no idea where she was or what had happened, but it was only a matter of time before the memories started to flood back.
The woods. The rogue. My wolf.
Lace had terrified her, as I knew he would. No human could witness a Lycan's transformation—let alone my wolf's overwhelming size and strength—and remain unaffected. She had fainted as soon as her eyes met Lace's silver fur, collapsing onto the ground as if the weight of the revelation had crushed her entirely. A part of me had anticipated that reaction. I knew she wasn't ready for this world. She wasn't ready for me.
But none of that excused her disobedience.
She had tried to run, and for that, she would face the consequences.
The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of her uneven breathing as she slowly came to. I stood by the door, my arms crossed over my chest, watching her every move. I made no effort to hide the anger coursing through me. She needed to feel it. She needed to understand the gravity of what she had done. Running from me wasn't just foolish—it was dangerous. And in this world, danger was a lesson learned through pain.
"I warned you," I finally spoke, my voice low, a harsh rasp that filled the room. I didn't mask my fury, didn't try to temper the cold edge to my words. She had to hear it, had to know I wasn't playing games anymore.
Her body tensed at the sound of my voice, her eyes fluttering open fully now, blinking as they tried to adjust to the dim light. I could see the confusion in her gaze, the fear still lingering in the depths of her wide, dark eyes. She was fragile in that moment, trembling as she tried to sit up, as though movement might somehow anchor her back to reality.
But there was no escaping what had happened.
"I told you what would happen if you ran," I said again, each word dripping with barely contained rage. I took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance between us. I wanted her to feel the weight of my presence, to know that there was no escape from me, not now, not ever.
Her lips parted, and for a brief moment, she struggled to speak, her voice weak and shaky. "You... you saved me."
Saved her?
I let out a sharp breath, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. She thought I had saved her? She had no idea. She didn't understand the real danger wasn't the rogue—it was me. It was the entire world she had stepped into the moment she became mine.
"Saved you?" I repeated, my voice mocking, cruel. "No, Amora. I didn't save you. I saved you from making a mistake that would've cost you far more than your freedom."
She flinched at my words, her eyes widening as she slowly pieced together the truth. She had no idea of the enormity of the situation she was in. She thought she could simply run from me, from this life I had bound her to. But running wouldn't solve anything. It would only make things worse—far worse.
Her body shifted again, a feeble attempt to pull herself together, to sit upright. I allowed her that moment, let her feel the illusion of control for a second. But it was fleeting. She didn't realize how powerless she truly was, not yet. But she would soon enough.
I stepped forward again, my boots heavy against the cold floor, each step a deliberate reminder of my dominance, my control. As I loomed over her, I could see her breath hitch in her throat, her entire body trembling beneath the weight of my gaze. There was nowhere for her to hide, nowhere for her to go.
"You disobeyed me," I growled, my voice dangerously low, reverberating with suppressed rage. "And now, you're going to learn why that was a mistake."
I reached out before she had time to react, my hand gripping her chin firmly, forcing her to meet my eyes. Her skin was soft, delicate, trembling beneath my touch. She tried to pull away, but I held her fast, my fingers digging in just enough to remind her of the power I held. She wasn't in control here. I was.
Her wide, fearful eyes met mine, and I could see the confusion and terror swirling within them. She didn't understand, not yet, but soon she would. Soon she would know exactly what it meant to defy me.
"You're mine now," I said, my voice a low, dangerous whisper. I leaned in closer, my grip tightening on her chin as I spoke the words she needed to hear, the words that would shatter any remaining illusions of escape. "Running won't change that. Nothing will. You belong to me, Amora, and you're never getting away."
Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps as she absorbed my words, her fear so palpable I could almost taste it. She tried to avert her gaze, but I wouldn't allow it. I forced her to keep looking at me, to face the reality she had tried to run from.
"You think you can escape me?" I asked, my voice growing darker, more menacing with each passing second. I let go of her chin abruptly, my hand moving to her shoulder, gripping her firmly as I leaned in even closer, our faces mere inches apart. "Do you have any idea what you're up against? What it means to be bound to someone like me? You think running will save you?"
Her lips parted, but no words came out. She was trembling now, fully aware of the precarious situation she was in. The gravity of it all was sinking in, slowly but surely. I could see it in her eyes—the moment of realization, the moment when she finally understood that there was no escaping me.
I leaned back slightly, giving her just enough space to breathe, but not enough to feel safe. I wasn't going to let her feel comfortable. Not yet. Not until she understood the full weight of her disobedience.
"You want to run?" I asked, my tone softening into a deadly calm. "Then go ahead. I'll let you try. But understand this…" I paused, my hand moving from her shoulder to brush lightly against her throat, just enough to remind her of the power I wielded. "The next time you run, I won't be as lenient."
Her body froze, her eyes widening in fear and shock. She understood now. She knew the threat was real. She knew that I wasn't just talking to scare her—I meant every word. Running wasn't an option. It would never be an option.
I straightened, pulling away from her completely, giving her space to process what I had just said. I could see her chest rising and falling rapidly, her mind racing as she tried to comprehend the full weight of my words. But I wasn't done with her yet. Not by a long shot.
"You think this is over?" I asked, my voice cold, detached. "You think running was the worst mistake you made today?"
Her gaze flicked back to me, fear and confusion swirling in her eyes once again. She didn't know what to expect. She thought I would lash out, that I would punish her physically, but I had something else in mind. Something far more effective.
"Your punishment," I began, taking a slow step back, my eyes never leaving hers, "isn't pain. No. Pain would be too easy for you. Too simple." I paused, watching as she tensed, waiting for the blow that would never come.
"You'll stay in this room," I continued, my voice calm, methodical. "Alone. No food. No water. No one to talk to. Nothing but silence."
Her eyes widened in shock, her body going rigid as the realization of her punishment began to settle in. This wasn't a physical punishment—it was psychological. The isolation, the deprivation, the suffocating silence. It would break her in ways that no physical harm ever could. She would be left alone with nothing but her thoughts, with the crushing weight of her own mind. And that would teach her. That would show her the price of defiance.
Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked toward the door. I could feel her fear, her panic, rising behind me, but I didn't look back. She needed to understand that I was in control. That running wasn't an option. That her disobedience would come at a cost.
The door closed with a soft click behind me, but the finality of that sound would echo in her mind for hours, maybe even days. She would be left alone in that room, with nothing but the crushing silence and the weight of her own thoughts. And when I returned—when I finally allowed her to leave—she would be a different person. She would know her place. She would understand what it meant to belong to me.
As I walked down the hallway, I could feel the lingering tension in my muscles, the remnants of my anger still simmering beneath the surface. But it wasn't enough to cloud my judgment. I had done what needed to be done. I had shown her the consequences of her actions.
But this was only the beginning.