I don't get up from off the floor. I'm trying to process what just happened. How did I let this happen?

If anything, I've only proved how much my body craves him or perhaps how much I crave him. What he did felt so good. Just by fingering me, he gave me pleasure that I have never ever experienced with Daniel. With the thought of Daniel in my head, I feel guilt and then I, all at once, feel violated.

I find my way back into the wing, take a boiling hot shower to scrub myself clean, until my skin turns red. I spend the rest of the evening obsessing over what had happened, unable to process how good it felt. I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that I wanted him to do it again. I wanted him to do much more. It made me feel like an imposter. I wanted the things he made me feel yet kept trying to get away from him. Was I denying to myself that I wanted him?

But I brush those thoughts away, when I begin to think about the isolation days, the way he killed the rogue in the cells, the way he mercilessly spanked me until I submitted to him. I had to remind myself these are the things about Zyon, I had seen after only spending a week with him. And I was horrified with these things within a week. What about the things I uncovered when I spent two weeks, a month, a year with him? Would those be things I'd be able to accept?

With these thoughts in mind, I made my way out of the room, wandering around different parts of the building. I decided to revisit the places where my memories of Zyon weren't good, places that would strengthen my resolve. I found myself standing on the floor where Harvey was tortured. It's currently unguarded. Probably because there weren't any current prisoners being kept in the packhouse. I find my way inside into the room, they dragged Harvey into and am completely shocked and flabbergasted by what I see.

It's a nightmare of a room. Torture devices, whips, chains, knives, and a single chair that could bound you to it with leather straps. I'm horrified to think about what they could have done to Harvey in here. My hands brush upon the chains, until they find a pair of handcuffs. My hands burn when I touch it, and I recoil my fingers from the pain.

The room does serve its purpose. Strengthens my resolve. I'm more determined than ever to broach the subject with Zyon again, but I need to maintain distance from him this time. The room gives me an idea, albeit a little evil, but my defense I would just see it as revenge for when he spanked me and threw me in isolation. So, I take off my jacket and pick up the silver handcuffs with it. Wrapping it up, I briskly walk back to Zyon's room, and hide it behind my pillows.

My routine towards the end of the days is starting to become monotonous. Lita and Rita help dress me for dinner and then I walk down to the dining room to join the pack. The pack is already seated as I take my place next to Zyon, though unable to maintain eye-contact with him as thoughts of what happened today begin to invade my mind.

Almost as if he knows what I'm thinking, he plants his hand firmly on my thigh and moves it upwards, higher than necessary. I don't move pretending that his hand doesn't bother me, doesn't impact me, doesn't make me feel anything.

I take in my surroundings to see that we still only dine with the pack's top warriors, the beta, the Gamma and everyone's respected mates. I reckon that's because Zyon does not want me causing any havoc in his pack before he's made me completely submissive to him. I wonder if my causing any sort of disturbance will drive him away from me, but I push those thoughts away shuddering at the thought of another two-day isolation period. My defiance will, if anything, strengthen his resolve to break me.

My thoughts are interrupted by one of the warrior's, Ash, who says,

I feel Zyon's hand hold onto my thigh a little harder.

My head snaps back to Zyon, who stares at me straight in the eye. His hand, holding my thigh in a bruising fashion, warn me not to create a scene. But have I ever been one to listen to warnings?

I scoff.

Collective gasps are heard around the table. I see Zarah pinching the area between her two eyebrows. The girl is legitimately stressed about what's going to happen to me. Zyon's hand has pretty much transitioned into a claw that's digging into my skin, but his facial composure never breaks.

He just smirks and says, He says raising an eyebrow suggestively.

The entire table breaks out into awkward giggles, as a familiar warmth returns to my face. To say I was fuming would be an understatement. I don't know what else I could say.

As chatter on the table picks up again, and people begin to redirect their focus back to their plates, I pick up my fork on the table, and before anyone can see, I jab it hard, into his hand that's planted on my thigh.

He flinches slightly but doesn't let out a sound. His eyes flickering gold, he uses his other hand, to pull out the fork. All this while, he doesn't let go of the grip on my thigh. As he pulls out the fork, blood begins to pool out of his hand. At the smell of blood, everyone's eyes turn to us as Zyon places a bloody fork on the table.

Everyone's faces on the table practically drop. Zarah's mouth drops open, as she hisses out,

Before Zyon has time to react, Zarah's jumped out of her seat and is by my side holding onto my arm harshly.

She pulls me up, but my eyes are focused entirely on Zyon. I don't look away, challenging him, telling him that I would not back down. But our eye contact is broken, as Zarah hauls me out of the room and violently shakes me back and forth.

With that, I just leave, to go back to my room.

Though my second shower of the day, I once again scrub at my body, scrub my frustrations away almost. I wasn't able to get on board with the marking, and now he is supposedly going to mate me too. That also by surprise.

I get out of the shower, dry myself off and put on a lacy pair of black undergarments. Feeling a slight chill, I wrap my towel around my body, and leave the bathroom to find my nightwear. I walk straight to the cupboard, pulling out a pair of Pj's and a tank.

As I turn around, I jump back in fright. Zyon sits on the edge on my bed, eyes gold, and twirls a fork in his hand. I gulp.

I clutch my towel close to my chest. Zyon makes slow predatory movements as he stands up from the bed. His eyes never leaving mine. But the minute he gets up, I make a sharp beeline for the bathroom door.

Before I can open it, it's pulled close and he's standing behind me. I'm pulled away from the door and slammed against the cupboard doors, as he cages me in. I take a deep breath and keep my eyes locked with his.

My five seconds of a flight reaction are over. As soon as he caught me, my response turned to fight. He moves my hair away from my shoulder as he says,

He uses the fork to scrape up my leg. It leaves behind little scratches and I flinch from the feel.

He continues.

I say, as I push the fork away from my body.

He says sharply, and then a smirk overtakes his face.

My mouth drops open, as my hand flies towards his face, but he catches it easily, and then yanks my towel away from my body.

I stand in front of him, hair dripping wet, in just my undergarments, as he tosses my towel away from me.

I spit out.

He drags the fork over my stomach, again leaving little scratches.

I'm completely repulsed by his words as I push on his chest but to no avail. I stop and just look at him. I don't think he's paying any attention to what I'm saying. Instead he's just staring at my body, and dragging that stupid fork around on me.

I sigh and try to move away from him. But his eyes snap down to me, and within a split second he slaps his hands down under my thighs, lifting me up. My arms automatically slam down on his shoulders to avoid falling. He walks straight out of my room, into his own, as I begin to panic.

He throws me down onto the bed, and places himself on top of me,

My hand once again flies up to slap him, but he catches it, and holds it down to the bed. I stutter to find the right words,

He spits out.