Page 39 of Unleashed

He gets in my face, his breath hot on my chin. I can almost see fire dancing in his eyes. I reach my hand to his face, loving the way the rough stubble’s grown a little thicker. I shiver.Yum.

"I detailed what punishment looks like, Anissa. Maybe I’ve changed my mind about going down to breakfast." He takes me by the hand and then, in one swift motion, lifts me into his arms, marches to the bed, and tosses me down.

"Rafail—" I go to protest, but in the next minute, my wrists are bound in front of me with white satin.Jesus. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching you your place,” he snaps, rolling me over to give me a sharp slap to my ass before he's gone in a flurry of temper and heat. The door slams shut behind him.

"Very charming!" I yell after him before I let out a scream of frustration. God, just when I think I'm starting to see a little side of his humanity, that there's maybe hope for the two of us? He pulls this shit.

Voices rise and fall in the hallway. Well, fine. He can tie me to the bed, therefore I can eavesdrop, dammit.

I recognize his voice, engaging with a female one, but I can’t tell if it’s Zoya—the one who’s quickly become my favorite. He’s protesting something, and from the sharpness in his tone, I can tell he’s telling someone off again. I haven’t even met his second sister yet. Yana?

The other night, in the bath, for a moment, I thought that there was hope. I thought that maybe there was a chance that my brutal husband… maybe wasn't so brutal.

Perhaps I was wrong.

Or maybe we need sex to bring out the humanity in him.

I stare up at the ceiling and assess my pain level. My leg does hurt, and so do the lacerations on my arm, but the medication he gave me is starting to kick in. The lingering memory of the dream I had last night is only that now—a memory. I can't remember the details, and I'm not sure I want to. There's something about it that was unsettling, something about it Ican't quite shake, though I'd be hard-pressed to even tell the details now. My stomach churns with hunger, and I definitely need some food. I need to settle my stomach, though, so I'm not sure food is what's going to do it for me.

I close my eyes. I’m still tired. Always tired. Maybe I can get some rest.

I need a purpose here, eventually. Obeying my bear of a husband or whatever it is he demands is hardly enough. I roll my eyes to no one.

When the door opens, Rafail stands in the doorway, glaring at me. “Fine,” he growls. “You can come to breakfast, but you’d better behave yourself.”

If by behaving myself, he thinks I need to keep my mouth shut, then I believe there are a few things my new husband needs to learn about me.

"Did somebody out there remind you to be human again? The full moon’s gone, and you can put away your werewolf?” I jerk my chin into the air.

His response is a low growl I feel in my bones. “Watch it. I came to bring you a present, and I’ll take it back if you sass me.”

Even when I’m mad at him, I love the sound of his voice. That's when I realize he has a pair ofcrutcheswith him. Whoever he saw in the hallway had these for me. My heart soars.

“You're sure you're alright with giving me some mobility? Thought you'd have me depending on you for life. Thoughtyou'dbe my crutch."

He smirks at me, and my belly swoops. I swallow hard, pretending he doesn’t have this hold on me. “No, baby," he says,leaning close to put his mouth to my ear. "I'm your husband. And when you realize what that means, you’ll see it’s all I need to be."

I forget his domineering tone as he unties me and helps me to my feet, then hands me the pair of crutches. I'm clumsy at first, and it's awkward with them under my arms, but I quickly make my way to the door.Yes. I can move, and faster than wobbling and feeling like I'm going to tumble over.

"Also, don’t forget you said I can talk to the doctor.”

“Yes,” he says distractedly but doesn't offer any details. “How are you going to manage the stairs?" he asks with another frown, holding back.

He holds the door wide open, and my heartsoars.I was so tired when I first came to this room that I barely paid attention to the details of his home. Now I’m struck with its beauty—high, vaulted ceilings, marble floors, and large windows that flood the space with light.

“This home isgorgeous,” I breathe, looking around like a kid in a candy shop.

He gets a sheepish smile and puts his hands in his pockets. “Thank you. They call it The Cottage.”

I snort. “The Cottage? I love how Russians have a dry sense of humor. This place isn’t quaint or small butenormous.At least it looks that way.”

I make my way toward the top of the stairs. He reaches for me and then holds himself back as if reminding himself to let me go.

“I’ve made sure it was safe and secure. My sisters are the ones who keep it… homey.”

I breathe and soak in every detail. Beyond the large windows are stone walls and intricately carved iron gates, lush gardens outside with greens and blooming flowers. The sprawling mansion seems to balance old-world elegance with modern charm.

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