Zane | ✔︎

Chapter Eight | The Chair.

Storm never remembered being a talker.
From all the gathered glimpses from her memory of being in a pack, she always saw herself in the background.

Somehow, the spotlight never reached her, or so she thinks.

But when it did, she always gave a show.

She never minded the margin during her pack life. In a way, she was grateful for it because she never had collateral ties with anyone besides Veera.

She never minded the spotlight either. In her darkest, she lived on fear of others.

But she loathed the idea of being mated to him.

That is an ultimatum of drama.

The drama is not the worst. The mate bond is.

In this case, the alpha eater versus rogue eater. Because so far in her moments with him, it was all hot and cold. She was always at the receiving end. Him and his presence.

After the deal in his room, she felt a part of her life came to an end.

She belonged to him.

She didn't run when she could've.

She fucked up.

"Test the parameters before we start," Chase ordered on the other side of the mirror, checking all vitals and systems of the room, with the room of Storm enclosed and silent, yet herself cuffed to a cold table.

She sat in an eerie seating. She could not hear anything from what she gathered in G-17. Much to her dismay, the room smelled like nothing.

She dreaded this phase of the capture more than anything.

The interrogation.

"You won't get anything out of us here, kid," Chase smirked, seeing her stare blank in front of herself.

Storm crossed her arms, not answering.

"Your dreams of leaving should stop. You are bound to be never leave this pack now," Chase spoke with pity, but also with a satisfied smile, ticking off Storm as her lips formed into a snare.

"The sooner, the better."

Storm stayed silent.

"If you don't answer my questions, you see that chair you're sitting on?" Chase questioned, making Storm's eyes wander on the thint she sat on.

"That chair is going to hurt you," He continued, dimming the lights of her room. Storm held her stare. "Really," He sighed. "Good."

"That's not the worst." Storm whispered to herself, with caution. She dared to even shrug.
Before immediately flinching profusely from the rod of pain going up her spine that made her feel a burn, she cursed profanities. The sharp pain reached to the back of her head, burning the tips of her skin.

The pain left a residue of stings on her back and already injured neck, and that made a silent whimper escape her lips.

Oh, the pain was bad.

Diabolical.

It hit right where Beda was weak.

"That was 0.1," Chase coughed, looking at someone in the room wearily. He chose her words with a sagacious motive. "That can go up to 20."

Anyone who was to speak had to be careful not to take the interrogation too far.

He sat there, in the only chair of that room.

He compelled her, those brown eyes having red shades trap her again. She knew it, and for that, she avoided meeting his eye, ever. She started hating him, and he looked so cold to her. So controlling.