A growl echoed in my ears, followed by the sound of boots crunching toward me. I kept my cool, not bothering to look his way again. The mate bond screamed at me to go to him, but I shoved it aside. I’d rather die than let this bond trick me or make me weak. That’s what it does, it toys with our feelings, begging us to show vulnerability, but it was too late for that. I’d been through worse—rejection.
I’d been weak once before and it nearly destroyed me. This time, I was determined to be stronger than the mate bond, no matter what. He growled again, louder this time, and I took a deep breath, his scent was intoxicating. I almost gave in, his scent was like lavender after a rainstorm, pulling me into a heavenly trance.
“Look at me,” he growled, it was a command, but I chose to ignore it. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen, right? Suddenly, sparks danced across my skin as he grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. He was making me do it, I had no choice but to tell him. It was for the best.
“I reje…” I started, but before I could finish, a dirty cloth was shoved into my mouth. I groaned, both disgusted and angry. Nothing was going my way, it was infuriating.
He scoffed, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. “Kill the rest,” he ordered, marching away with me in tow.
I didn’t resist, or even try to, because that would show weakness. Instead, I let him drag me along, feeling his anger radiating off him. I was grateful my eyes weren’t covered this time, so I could see. We were in some sort of office. It was cool and tidy, making me feel even dirtier. I glanced around, noting a couch, a table, and a bookshelf filled with books. It reminded me of home.
“Why?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence.
I studied him. He didn’t strike me as the romantic type. So why was this hurting him so much? He’d just met me and already there was so much drama.
“Isn’t it obvious…I don’t need a mate. I don’t want a mate. So, what are you going to do now, force me to love you?” It would be so cliché if he did.
Suddenly, he didn’t look angry anymore. He exhaled and crossed his arms. “I won’t force you to do anything. You’ll work just like everyone else,” he said, studying me with those big blue eyes. If I wasn’t careful, I’d get lost in them.
I blinked rapidly to avoid staring at him. “Fine,” I said, relieved he wasn’t going to kill me. I had a feeling he was up to something. Whatever it was, I wasn’t planning on sticking around to find out.
Two men walked in and he smirked. “Follow them,” he ordered. I stood up, eager to escape his scent that kept invading my nostrils.
The men led me outside. We walked for a bit before a beautiful garden came into view. Women in simple white dresses were working diligently, seemingly unbothered by the dirt.
An older woman with dark brown hair noticed me and approached. She nodded at the guards and they left. She studied me for a moment before smiling. “You need to wash up,” she said, gesturing for me to follow her.
I did as she said, the other women didn’t seem to care about what was happening. The older woman led me to a makeshift bath. It was outside, in plain view, but most werewolves didn’t care about nudity.
She waited for me to undress and get in the bath. I did so without hesitation. The water was warm and comforting. The woman knelt down and poured a thick liquid into the water. It immediately started to foam and filled the air with the scent of roses.
She helped wash my back and hair. “You have such nice hair, it’s rare to see pure redheads around here.”
“Thank you,” I replied, unsure of what else to say. No one had ever been this kind to me without wanting something in return or out of fear. It felt strange, but nice, to be complimented by another woman.
After the bath, I dried off and she handed me a long white dress. It was simple, but comfortable.
“You can call me Ella,” she said, looking at me approvingly. She seemed to like how the dress fit me. It hugged my curves before flowing down to the ground.
I nodded. “You can call me Iris.”
She raised an eyebrow at me, amusement dancing in her eyes. “A rare name for a she-wolf. I’d expect names like Amara, Lilian, Maya, Rachel, but Iris! There’s something unique about you. You look like a leader,” she said, smiling.
For the first time, someone had said it. I was born to lead. My blood hummed beneath my skin, proud that someone had seen the real me—a leader.
