Chapter 5 - Dorian
The girl is brave enough to call her brother crazy, but it’s not enough to get Jackson to change his mind. Ever since he threatened to kill the entire Nightclaw Pack, I’ve been keeping my mouth shut.
Not only have I seen what his troop of rogue werewolves is capable of, but I know that Nightclaw isn’t prepared for a fight. Without their Alpha to protect them, the untrained werewolves out in Fort Smit are no match for Jackson.
I can’t forsake the lives of the innocent Nightclaw Pack if I refuse to go ahead with this circus act. It’s crazy that Jackson believes that this will work.
The only reason he wants me to mark the human girl is to force me to mate with her. He must believe that it’s how the marking works for werewolves. Except, the girl isn’t a werewolf.
She’s just human. No way that marking her as if she’s my mate would work. Neither will it work to plant a seed in her and expect her to carry a werewolf pup. She’s too weak, and would never survive the pregnancy.
Jackson really is crazy. It’s probably all my blood he’s been consuming, injecting it into his bloodstream for whatever sick and twisted reason he has.
That’s the only viable explanation for this madness. I can’t believe that he’d force his own sister to be a human incubator for a hybrid human-werewolf.
He has no heart. He’s deranged. He’s sick.
The only reason I’m going ahead with this is to buy myself some time to find a way to escape. Having no heart means he’s capable of wiping out an entire werewolf pack without batting an eyelid.
His sister stares at him in disbelief when he explains that I’ll have to bite her to mark her in the mating ritual. Bashfully meeting her eyes when she turns to me as if searching for an answer, all I can do is stare back blankly.
From what I’ve gathered so far, she had no idea that werewolves existed until a few minutes ago. Now she’s learning that I’m going to mark her the way I would a she-wolf, so it only makes sense that she’s full of dread.
My only consolation is that the mate bond won’t mean a thing. After all, she’s just a human, not a she-wolf who would have been capable of carrying my offspring. The mate bond between two werewolves is supposed to be a sacred union.
It will mean nothing between a human and me, even if Jackson is convinced that I’m agreeing to this willingly. All I need is to buy some time to escape and get back to Nightclaw before putting them in danger.
The ruse of a marriage commences with Jackson’s sister and me signing a legal marriage contract. I have no idea what’s the point of a legally binding contract that will only hold weight in the outside world when he’s keeping us prisoners here in the abandoned warehouse to act out his darkest fantasy of procreating a hybrid life.
Jackson is crazy, but he doesn’t seem to care. After another terse confrontation between him and his sister, she finally relents and signs the contract.
“Now, for the juicy bit…” Jackson announces, standing between me and his sister. “You know what to do, Dorian. Remember, aim for the scent gland.”
I grunt under my breath, my blood boiling to a dangerous temperature while I have no outlet to enact all the revenge I’ve been plotting in my mind. With the silver chains around my wrists and ankles and the wolfsbane in my system, I can’t shift right now.
All I can do is glare at my captor as I take a step forward, mustering up all the fury inside me to throw daggers at him with my eyes. For now, it will suffice, at least until I can find a way out of this mess and wreak havoc on the human and his rogue werewolf henchmen.
Turning my attention to the woman, her frightened squeals and whimpers are only audible now that I’m so close. With her head hanging, long tresses of jet-black hair form a curtain around her face, leaving only her trembling bottom lip visible from where I’m standing. She’s consumed with fear, her body shaking as she cries silently, and my heart squeezes inside my chest sympathetically.
I can’t believe Jackson is doing this to her. She’s as much a victim as I am, but she’s the man’s sister and doesn’t deserve to be collateral damage in his schemes. He’s clearly lost the plot and doesn’t care about anyone besides himself.
For a human, he’s the most heartless one I’ve ever met. I can’t put anything past him if he’s capable of doing this to his own blood. I have to tread carefully, not giving him a clue that I’m planning an escape. I have to be as believable as possible, so I clear my throat and lean down slightly, just enough to look into the woman’s face once I've drawn her attention.
She finally lifts her head, and our eyes meet for the second time tonight. Only this time, she’s so close, that I become stunned by how innocent her hazel eyes are, round and wide, full of tears that gloss over the light brown irises and amplify the brilliant shade. Behind her, the moon’s lustrous silver glow hangs above her head like a crown.
My breath catches in my throat when, for a split second, I marvel at how beautiful she appears, even if it’s the most inappropriate thought to have in a time like this. The natural pigmentation of her lips makes it appear as if she’s wearing cherry chapstick, her cheeks rosy where she would be wearing blush. I know she doesn’t have a lick of makeup on since I’m able to see every pore and blemish on her face, yet the imperfections only add to the allure.
She’s naturally beautiful, the perfect canvas for an artist’s brush, and her innocent eyes are the chasms I would choose to get lost in if we weren’t in this situation.
I catch myself quickly, brushing off the incongruous thought to focus on the task at hand. Gulping, I remember that we are in the worst situation possible, and it’s reflected in the terror written in her eyes. I force a feeble smile on my face as I stare into those eyes, hoping that I can ease her worries just until I can find a way out.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” I assure her, taking another cautious step forward and lifting a chained hand. To my surprise, she doesn’t flinch or coil away, just stares at me with her mouth agape.
“May I?” I ask gently with my hand hovering near her face. She nods timidly, her eyes not leaving mine even as I briskly move her hair aside and tuck the strands behind her ear.
When I take another step forward to close the little distance between us, I’m able to hear the way she breathes unsteadily. When my fingertips brush the smooth skin of her neck, she gasps but doesn’t move, allowing me to dip my head near the scent gland that I’m meant to mark.
Even though she isn’t a werewolf, and my wolf senses are reduced to nothing, I’m still able to catch her human scent as it pulses from her neck. There’s no better way to describe it, other than how human it is—warm but not too hot, faint and earthy but not as rich as a werewolf’s scent, and strangely inviting as I lean in.
“This might hurt a little,” I whisper, my voice low enough for her ear only. “But if I don’t do this, he’s gonna kill us.”
“Hm…” she murmurs tentatively, closing her eyes and keeping her eyelids pressed tightly as she waits with bated breath.
Poor girl… I think as I part my lips and allow my canines to sharpen and distend from my mouth. She’s never been exposed to the world of werewolves, and now she’s forced to be claimed by one.
Thanks to the silver and wolfsbane, I’m only able to expand my wolf teeth enough to make the slightest incision in her skin—not enough to rip the head of our captor from his neck. Without a second thought, I dive right in, sinking my sharp teeth into her and drawing enough blood to moisten my tongue. She shrieks and gasps, her body shuddering until I grab the small of her back to steady her. The sweet taste of her human essence trickles down my throat, and it must be my imprisonment that has me relishing in the taste for longer than I thought I would.
Letting my eyes drift closed, I sigh as I drink in more of her intoxicating blood, ensuring that the mark will be prominent and visible and that I have fully claimed my mate. The scent of her pheromones heightens, spreading throughout every nerve fiber in my being and igniting my soul with the affirmation that this woman is my eternal mate—
Stopping abruptly, my eyes fly open as realization dawns on me and has me pulling away in haste. My breath comes in hot pants as I pull back and stare wide-eyed at the woman I’d just claimed as my mate. My head starts pounding.
It shouldn’t have felt real.
But the longer I stare at her, the more my drowsy inner wolf stirs as if it wants to compel me to pull her into my arms.
I have to remind myself that this isn’t real. Why am I becoming deceived, losing sight of what’s really going on, and feeling drawn to the human woman?
No.
This can’t be happening.
When she winces and lifts a hand to her neck where I’d marked her, I’m disillusioned by the way she glowers at me.
Thank Goddess, I can dismiss the idea that she’s actually my mate now. It would be ridiculous to consider the human my true mate when that’s all she is—a measly human. As a cherry on top, she’s Jackson’s sister. I couldn’t possibly consider her my true mate when I plan on avenging this crime by killing the man myself.
Once I’ve found a way out of here.
“Congratulations, mi hermana!” Jackson rejoices with a clap before he wraps an arm across his sister’s shoulders. Unlike when I touched her and even bit her neck, she tenses now, her shoulders becoming stiff and her face contorting with disgust.
Something about her reaction springs me into action as if to save her from her brother. I take a step forward and lift my shackled wrists in front of Jackson. His eyes widen as if he suspects I’m about to attack him, but he removes his arm from his sister’s shoulders and clenches his fists at his sides.
“How do you expect me to impregnate her like this ?” I ask, gesturing to the silver chains. “I’ll be lucky if I can keep my eyes open with all this silver, let alone make a baby.”
From my periphery, I catch the way the woman frowns when I mention the silver and realize that she’s completely unaware of the laws governing werewolves. She doesn’t know that silver is the only metal in the world that can dampen a werewolf’s powers. She rubs her neck where I marked her, staring at me with accusing eyes. She has no idea that the marking is the most important ritual of a werewolf’s life.
It’s not that it was an important ritual now. It meant nothing.
“You underestimate me, Dorian,” Jackson chuckles nervously, appearing relieved that I didn’t strike him when he sighs. He glances at his men, who come forward when he nods.
“I might be crazy, but I’m not an idiot,” he continues pridefully as we’re pulled back into the building, walking down the candlelit path just as the candles are about to melt away. Jackson leads the way to the back of the warehouse where he unlocks a door and his men pull us into a metal box. I soon realized that this was the elevator that was used to transport me between the dungeon and the lab room on top when the elevator descended and the doors opened on the floor below.
I recognize the dungeon from the few times I caught glimpses of my surroundings, but Jackson doesn’t lead us toward the cell I’d been held in since arriving. Instead, we’re dragged in the opposite direction, where a thick sheet of metal spreads from wall to wall.
“This is your honeymoon destination,” Jackson mocks as he presses a hand on the metal sheet. It suddenly lights up like a green grid, a hidden keypad appearing on the metal. He keys in a sequence of six numbers, but I can only catch the first three before a bag goes over my head.
Fuck!
The same must have happened to the girl because she shrieks with surprise before we’re set into motion again when a loud beep goes off and the sound of metal on metal rings out. Before I interpret what’s happening, my shackles are removed and I’m kicked in the gut, the impact sending me to the ground before metal on metal rings out again.
I quickly pull off the bag with free hands and scramble to my feet, only to hit into solid metal that sends an electric current through me.
“The cage is made from silver, Dorian,” Jackson’s voice bellows through a speaker, his physical body nowhere in sight. “You know what you need to do. So get to it.”
A wave of defeat washes over me as I glance at the four corners of the metal cage made from silver. Jackson really doesn’t leave any stone unturned, and the cage is a prison without the need for chains to keep my arms and feet shackled.
Behind me, I can hear the woman sobbing into her hands, but I can’t bring myself to look at her. Deep down, my inner wolf claws at my subconscious, trying to get my attention.
Maybe it’s strong enough to shift while I don’t have silver on my body.
Closing my eyes, I attempt to shift and fail. Grunting frustratedly, I clench my fists while the need to do something, anything, ripples through me as if it’s my inner wolf trying to reach out.
It doesn’t help that the woman’s sobs grow louder, thrumming through my ears and making it almost impossible to think.
I can’t do this now. I can’t feel this incessant, nagging need to turn around and comfort her.
Why would I do that, anyway? Would it be that I’m living vicariously through her, comforting her while imagining that I’m soothing my own despair?
I scoff, pushing aside the hopelessness and needing to drown out the noise of her cries. With clenched fists not nearly strong enough to punch a rogue werewolf out, I drag my bare feet down the one line of the wall and sink to the floor behind the bed.
I need to calm down, but the human isn’t making this easy. If I’m calm enough, I can think. If I center myself, I can figure out how to get out of here now that I’m not bound to chains. There must be a way.
Closing my eyes, I try to dispel the sound of her cries and my strange, unwelcome need to go over and wrap my arms around her, offering a shoulder to cry on. With a few deep breaths, I’m able to drown out her sobs, only to enlighten a different sense when I stop focusing on my sense of hearing.
My sense of taste ignites, the traces of her blood still evident on my tongue. The sweetness draws my lips into a smile, and behind my eyelids, Amelia’s face appears as she smiles back at me.
My eyes fly open in shock. I blink fervently, trying to make sense of what this all means. Why do I care about her name? Why do I care that she’s still sobbing? And why do I feel drawn to her, the image of her smiling soothing my being?
She’s not my mate. She can’t be.