Chapter 7 Mirabelle
Mirabelle
Ican’t stop shaking. It’s so bad my teeth are chattering together.
I tug my legs closer to my body, wincing as the open cuts scrape against the dirty concrete. Through the wild curtain of my hair, I can feel the massive, chained alpha’s dark eyes on me.
A soft growl vibrates through the air.
I shove myself backwards, away from him, as far as the chain around my ankle will allow. A whimper leaves my throat in response to the terrifying noise.
The room is still full of the overwhelming scents of all the other alpha handlers. I’ve never been around so many alphas in my life, let alone that many posturing alphas who were shoving their dominance at each other like they were brawling it out on the floor.
The mix of their scents almost makes me dizzy. Especially because my body seems to reject the majority of them.
There is one scent though that cuts through the scent of mold, manure, and spoiled milk.
The scent of fresh eucalyptus.
The alpha moves, his chains clinking menacingly, and I flinch backward again. The memory of his face, contorted with rage, sticks in my brain like tar.
All alphas I’ve met so far have proven themselves to be big and terrifying. This one is no exception.
But to my surprise, instead of lunging towards me like he did the other alpha handlers, he sinks back onto his heels, almost like he’s trying to make himself appear smaller. And not in a way that makes me think he’s preparing to attack me either.
He’s making himself seem like less of a threat.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he murmurs.
My gaze jerks up to his face, and I purse my lips, picking at cuticles nervously.
His dark eyes soften as they take in my assessing gaze.
I believe him.
“Okay,” I say, giving him a jerky nod. “Thank you.”
He seems surprised at my gratitude.
“’Course. I don’t hurt women.”
“But you do hurt men?”
He just shrugs, glancing away from me. “I don’t know if you want to hear the answer to that, sweetheart. Last thing I want is for you to freak out again.”
“You—you don’t like seeing me freak out?” I ask, my brows drawing down in confusion.
“Fuck no,” he snaps.
It makes my breath catch in my throat, but I do my best to steady my breathing and not flinch away from him.
“Why…why don’t you like seeing me freak out?”
“That’s a good question,” he huffs, shifting his weight so he’s sitting back against the wooden wall. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t sit right. Makes me twitchy. Like I need to cave someone’s face in.”
“Oh.”
His lips quirk with amusement at my single-syllable response, but seriously, I have no clue what to say.
“That’s probably a good enough answer to your question ‘bout whether I hurt men, though, huh?” He says, giving me a toothy grin.
On anyone else, it would probably seem menacing. But even though the look is still definitely predatory, there’s a handsome sort of charm that has me staring openly. My heartbeat picks up in my chest.
Despite the bruising dusting his cheekbone and the dark circles under his eyes, he’s really attractive. Almost breathtakingly so, in a masculine, could-rip-me-to-pieces-with-his-pinky-finger kind of way.
Now that the other four alphas have left, and it’s just the two of us, I can tell that the eucalyptus scent that caught my attention earlier is coming from this mystery man. The new fighting dog.
I can’t help but take a deep sniff, his scent washing over me like a soothing balm. The trembling that hadn’t gone away yet subsides.
His sharp gaze doesn’t miss the way my shoulders relax.
Oh wow. He smells delicious.
My strawberry shortcake perfume sweetens as it swirls in the air around us, almost like it wants to dance around and mix with his scent. I have the strangest impulse to make my way over to him and rub my face into his neck.
A low growl fills the air between us, making my gaze focus back on him.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low. “You’re playing with fire right now.”
“Wh—what?”
“Your perfume,” he grits out. “It’s driving me crazy here.”
His expression looks... hungry as he stares at me. My lower belly does a strange flip before I shake my head.
“O—Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, quickly trying to tamp down all my emotions.
But as my gaze trails down his body, it’s really, really hard to get my head on straight.
Not only is this man massive, but since he’s only wearing a pair of skintight boxer briefs, I can see the outline of everything.
Every hard plane of muscle, marred by bruises and welts from those scary-looking cattle prods. Every movement and flex of said muscles. Every twitch of something… more underneath his boxer briefs.
Oh. Oh my god.
He’s massive. And growing progressively harder, if the movement in his boxers is any indication.
My perfume explodes out of me as the anaconda hiding behind a single layer of fabric practically waves at me.
“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath.
“I—I’m sorry!” I squeak out, spinning awkwardly on my ass so I’m facing away from him.
The growl that leaves his chest makes my shoulders stiffen. It’s loud and almost angry-sounding.
When my perfume instantly sours, the growl stops, almost like he cut it off.
“Turn back around,” he grits out slowly. “Please.”
I do as he says, slowly turning back so I’m facing him.
“Sorry, I just—“ he shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to scare you there. Just don’t turn your back on me like that, okay?”
“Oh, okay,” I say softly, swallowing hard. “Why?”
“It makes me want to chase you. Like prey,” he mumbles, glancing away from me.
“The fuckers in charge of this place have been injecting me with a bunch of drugs. I think they’re supposed to make me fight better, but they’ve been driving me crazy.
It’s like all my alpha senses are going fucking haywire all the time. ”
“Oh.”
“You say that a lot, huh?”
“Should I not?” I ask, my eyes going wide.
“No, no, calm down. It was just an observation.” He pauses for a split second as if he’s contemplating whether he should say something before shrugging his shoulders. “I think it’s cute.”
“Oh.” I immediately purse my lips, a blush crossing my cheeks. I really do say that a lot.
He throws his head back, laughter spilling from his lips. I stare at him, awestruck. His laugh stops me in my tracks. It’s the kind of laugh that makes me think if we weren’t stuck in this terrible place, he’d laugh like that often.
When his gaze finally returns to me, he tilts his head curiously.
“What, something on my face? Why’re you looking at me like that?”
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the dazed expression from my face. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for something you don’t mean. There’s no need to apologize. Just tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I um... I like your laugh,” I say, tugging my knees closer to my chest and resting my chin on them.
He gives me a bright, toothy smile.
“Noted. Not sure how often you’ll hear it in this place, but with you around, it’ll definitely be more frequent.”
His words make me swallow hard, a shiver of unease travelling down my spine. Goosebumps have already risen on my arms from the chill of the early morning. This barn is pretty drafty.
His expression instantly sobers.
“What’s going through that pretty head of yours, sweetheart?”
I purse my lips and start picking at my cuticles again.
“What you just said made me think of something,” I mumble.
“Think of what?”
“I think I was brought in here to make you...” My voice trails off. I don’t know how to word it without making it sound terrible.
“Behave?” He finishes for me.
I nod slowly, glancing up at him through my lashes.
He lets out a deep sigh, his head thumping back against the wooden wall.
“Hey! Don’t do that!” I say, pushing myself up to my knees and shuffling closer to him.
“Hm?” He asks, lifting his head. “What, hit my head against the wall?”
“Yeah!” I glance up at where the cuffs lock around his wrist and wince at the blood dripping down from the open wounds caused by him struggling against them as hard as he was, earlier. “You’re already hurt.”
“You’re a strange one, you know that, right?”
“Strange for not wanting you to hurt yourself?”
“Something like that,” he shrugs. “It didn’t even hurt, I promise.”
“Still,” I huff. “It sounded like it hurt.”
“I’ve got a thick skull, don’t worry about it.”
I sit back on my heels, my hands resting on my hips before I sigh. His eucalyptus scent fills my nose, now that I’m even closer to him.
“And I picked up on what they were bringing you in for,” he says, leaning his head back against the wall, more gently this time.
“You did?”
“Yeah. And it fucking worked too. Played me like a fucking fiddle.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“What did I say about apologizing?” He huffs. “I’m not going to let an innocent girl get hurt by some psychopaths if I can stop it. Even if it means I pay the price.”
I glance between his clenched jaw as he faces the doorway and his bloody wrists. Back and forth. I swallow hard.
His gaze jerks back to me as I push myself up onto my feet, wincing slightly at the pressure I’m putting on one scrape I have on the ball of my right foot. I take an unsteady step forward, eyeing him warily, but he just stares at me.
So I take another step. And another.
The chain around my ankle clinks with each step, a stark reminder of the fact that even though I can move around a lot more than he can, I’m still a prisoner here. I’m pretty sure the length of this chain was made so I could walk around the entire room, if I wanted.
That was probably intentional, considering how Jett seems to have planned everything about my place here.
I stop in front of his right wrist, glancing down at him.
“May I?”
“Go for it, sweetheart.”
I’m not sure what I can do, but I reach out and brush my fingertips against his corded forearm, my eyes widening at the strength there. I didn’t know forearms could be that muscular.
With my other hand, I brush against the thick metal cuff, locked around his wrist by a heavy padlock.
“Can you lift your arm for me a bit?” I ask.
“Sure.”
He raises his arm, making the muscles in his shoulders ripple and flex. I have to swallow hard and refocus myself. Now that there’s a bit more give, I’m able to slide the cuff about an inch higher along his wrist, revealing angry broken skin that’s slowly weeping blood.
It looks like it hurts. A soft, sympathetic noise leaves the back of my throat as I lift the hem of my borrowed t-shirt and wipe away some of the blood.
He lets out a soft growl that has me stopping in my tracks.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he growls, his voice sinfully smooth. “You’re giving me a show right now.”
I instantly drop the shirt and take a step back, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
He had a front-row seat straight up my shirt, with the angle he’s sitting at and with how high I had to lift the shirt to actually reach his wrist because of how tall he is. Even sitting down, his head almost comes to my chest.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say sorry, but I know he doesn’t like that, so I clamp my jaw shut.
“My—my bad,” I say, after taking a second to collect myself.
I fist my hands in the fabric of the t-shirt, pursing my lips and glancing back and forth between each of his wrists.
I crouch down, gripping the fabric and tugging with all my might.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asks, sitting straight up. “Just ‘cause I accidentally saw up your shirt doesn’t mean you should just go and rip it right off!”
“I’m not trying to rip it off,” I huff, dragging the hem of the shirt up to my teeth since just tugging it doesn’t seem to do anything. Once I tear past the hem, it’s a lot easier to tear a strip off.
He eyes me, his eyes sparking with approval.
“Smart girl,” he says.
The compliment makes a bright smile appear on my face as I step back up to his right arm. He lifts it without me having to prompt, and I use the strip of fabric to gently wipe away the blood.
I grip the cuff and push it up, towards his hand, exposing the worst of the gash before I tie the strip of fabric around it like a makeshift bandage. At least this way, the cuff won’t dig into his skin as much.
“Tada!” I say, taking a second to admire my handiwork.
As he relaxes his arm back down and the cuff settles back into its previous place, he lets out a soft sigh. “Thanks, sweetheart, that actually feels a lot better.”
“I have a name, you know,” I say, before crouching down and tugging another strip of Rowan’s t-shirt with my teeth. I’ll have to apologize to him for ruining his shirt later.
“Care to share with the class?” He says with a huff of laughter.
“What’s yours?” I ask, stepping up to his other arm and starting the same routine.
“Griffin.”
“My name is Mirabelle, but my friends call me Mira.”
“Do I get to call you Mira?”
I finish tying the makeshift bandage around the gash on his left wrist and hum contemplatively.
“I mean, I’ve seen your tits, so I—“
I let out a squeak and shove my hand over his mouth. His eyes widen slightly, as if he can’t believe I just did that. To be fair, I think I’m wearing a matching expression. I’m sure most people wouldn’t dare do something like that to an alpha as obviously powerful as him.
A mischievous glimmer appears in his eyes before his tongue darts out and licks the palm of my hand.
I jump backwards, wiping it on the back of my t-shirt.
“Ew! My hand is dirty! Why would you do that!”
“I dunno,” he shrugs, that toothy, almost foxlike predatory grin reappearing on his face.
“Well—well—I guess you don’t get to call me Mira yet!” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest.
I blink at him in even more shock as his expression shifts again.
He’s... pouting?
And wow.
He looks adorable.
If a massive, absolutely jacked alpha like him could be adorable.
“Aw man, guess I’ll have to win you over then,” he says, flashing me a blinding smile that has my breath catching in my throat. There’s just something about him... something about his scent, his protectiveness, his strength. It’s drawing me to him like a moth to a flame.
“Fine, we’ll see!” I say. It’s a lame comeback as far as comebacks are concerned, but I don’t think my brain is working at full capacity here.
He looks ready to shoot back another playful retort before his expression shifts completely, his head jerking towards the door.
“Get behind me,” he growls as he stands to his feet.
“Wh—“
“Now, Mirabelle,” he snaps. “Someone is coming.”