The Hunter's Wolf

Held in Captive (2)

Held in Captive (2)

One moment he is avouching his governs, declaring bluntly where I should stand during the time I remain in his premises, and the next he has his face tilted to the side, his eyes wide and dumb-founded by what has happened.

I slapped him.

I don't even realize my hand had moved until I feel the stinging pain on my palm.

Gradually, he recovers from his misery and his head turns to glare at me. His orbs have turned to slits, the pupils thin and slender, and the charcoal black stirs with malice, where I feel my conscious thrown into the bottomless abyss, a void where the darkness prevails. The atmosphere around him has turned to a deadly serene, but something tells me I know all too well that the calm is always before the storm.

I muster up my courage and hiss, "I am not your prisoner."

"The moment you took the life of my pack mate, without my consent, you have branded yourself as an outlaw," several voices speak in synchronization, an animal-like sound that mixes along with his humane voice, the eloquent animosity concealing itself behind his constrained one. "You are under my command, regardless of what you have to say."

My body freezes.

This is his wolf.

"That still doesn't give you the authority to enforce your mandatory clauses on me," I give a remark, "You can't dictate where my place is or its validity as you wish."

There is a belligerent look on his face as he narrows his eyes toward my protestation. He rumbles, "Oh, can I ?"

He says ominously, smoldering, "Do you know how lucky you are to be breathing before me, despite your ignorant of a manner ?"

He emits a growl when I maintain the eye contact, a gesture of dominance and my unwillingness to submit. His hand shoots up and takes my chin into his hold roughly, my neck already craning up just so I can peer into his eyes. He leans his face closer and my body stiffens almost immediately, jazzed by his sudden movement, for the slightest movement can result in calamity.

Our lips are merely centimeters apart, and I find it difficult to breath in this distance, especially with the musky smell of ambrosial and redolence, with a tint of after rain and pine needles invading my nostrils.

The smell of the wild.

It gives off an enigmatic aura that exults his masculinity and vigor. His scent bewitches me, fogging my conscious away, luring me deeper and closer, until I exert no resistance towards it.

My heart gallops in anticipation, opposing what the mind says, and as I try to stabilize my racing pulse which only seems to be impossible, he purrs, his beast showing pleased ambiance upon noticing that he has an effect on me, and I have acknowledged his scent.

"Submit to me," he steers, with eyes clouded with lust, and voice blanketed with hunger.

Still in a sort of trance, I manage to pull my lips to a mocking grin, "I don't bow to the likes of you."

That being said, he gets peevish for my disconcerting words, the distance between us shifting for an inch, and I say further, holding our eyes together, "Respect is something you can't get by force, Alpha. If you want my respect, then earn it."

Indignant, he chuckles deeply, but it does not sound right at all. His fingers under my chin uncurl and his fingertips trace down the curve of my neck, pausing in the place where he can feel my pulse's thumping rhythm, as his calloused hand, rough and a bit warm, feels like sandpaper or perhaps stone rubbing against my skin, steals the heat from my body.