Page 6 of Wolf Proclaimed

At that moment, my anger evolved into something sharper, more dangerous—despair.

Much as I loathed admitting it, a part of me had yearned for a response from my erotic dance, a hint of the desire I knew I could elicit from men. But Bastian was not just any man. He was an enigma, an unsolvable puzzle that seemed to reshape with every piece I thought I'd managed to place. And I found myself captivated by this puzzle, even as another part of me screamed to run away.

My words hung in the air like the smoke from the fire, thick and heavy, yet they seemed not to affect Bastian. His calm demeanor and unblinking gaze were like throwing stones into a vast, undisturbed lake, watching them disappear without a ripple. It only fueled my anger, stoking the fire that was blazing within me.

"You're an arrogant, unfeeling bastard!" I hurled at him, my voice ringing out in the small cabin. The words, raw and acidic, reflected the turmoil swirling inside me. "You think you can dismiss me? Make me feel small and insignificant?"

I stepped towards him, my fingers curling into tight fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palm. My inner wolf bristled, her hackles raised, teeth bared. I could feel her anger blending with mine, the line between us blurring. We were one, in rage, in hurt.

"Look at me, Bastian!" I screamed, my voice breaking in the stillness of the room. The scent of my sharp and bitter anger mingled with the earthy smell of the cabin, the wood, and the fire.

But Bastian didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He simply watched me, his gaze steady, almost calculating. It was as if he was waiting, biding his time, watching the storm rage and waiting for it to pass.

"I see you, Mira," he said, his voice quiet, almost drowned by the crackling fire. "You're not insignificant. You could never be."

His words stung like ice against a fresh burn. They were supposed to soothe, to comfort, but all they did was fuel my fury further. I was a witch, a wolf. I was powerful, wild, and untamed. And he dared to brush me off like a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

"You're a damned alpha!" I spat; the insult laced with the venom of my anger. "But your title means nothing to me. You're no better than the men who cower at my feet, begging for my attention!"

He sighed a long, weary sound that seemed to fill the room. "I'm not begging for anything, Mira," he replied, his voice steady. "And I'm not trying to control you. I'm just trying to help!"

The words echoed in the silent room, a stark contrast to the chaos inside me. I looked at Bastian, really looked at him, his calm demeanor, his unflinching gaze. At that moment, I felt the tug of the impossible. A pull towards this man, this alpha who had rejected my advances, seen me bare and vulnerable, and offered nothing but respect.

But respect was not what I wanted. Not then. And so, with a final, seething glance, I turned and stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind me a fitting end to the tempest that had just swept through the cabin.

After the door shut with a resounding slam, I panted in the dimly lit corridor. My heart pounded like a war drum, the adrenaline from the heated argument still singing in my veins. A roar echoed within me, the wolf and the witch protesting the humiliation and the burgeoning, unwelcome interest in the infuriating alpha.

Barely a moment passed before hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway. I turned to see two burly figures approaching. They were Bastian's guards—I recognized them from my brief encounter at the entrance. Their eyes were wide, alert, taking in my disheveled appearance, the flush in my cheeks, the unmistakable signs of anger.

My exit drew Bastian's guards, their faces marked with worry. The sight of me—disheveled, furious—must have alarmed them.

The door opened as one began to speak, and Bastian stood there, his face composed. "It's alright," he interrupted, his voice calm and dismissive. "Just a small disagreement. Nothing to worry about."

The guards exchanged glances before muttering apologies and leaving. Bastian cast a final look my way before disappearing back into his room. The quiet was short-lived. He soon reappeared at the door, his frame dominating the narrow doorway. "Come in, Mira," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for arguments. "You need to eat!”

Something about the finality of his words, the authoritative dismissal of my anger, sparked a fresh surge of defiance within me. I was not some pet to be ordered about. I wasn't captive to be controlled. I was a free spirit. Yet here I was, being boxed into a corner, my wings clipped, my voice stifled.

"No," I retorted, my gaze never leaving his. "I'm not hungry."

His brows furrowed at that, a silent reprimand that riled me up even more. In a surge of frustration, I reached for the water glass he'd set on the table earlier, the cool touch soothing against my heated skin.

With a raw scream, I hurled it at him, my heart pounding as I watched it fly. Shattering glass echoed through the room as it hit the wooden doorframe just inches from his face. Water droplets splattered against the wooden floor, the tiny droplets shimmering in the dim light as if mocking the chaos of my emotions.

For a moment, Bastian simply stood there, the shock of my actions visible on his face. Then, his features smoothed over, his gaze hardening as he looked at me. "Enough, Mira," he said, his voice so low it was almost a growl.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the dimly lit room. The sound of the door closing was a physical blow, a stark reminder of the cage I was trapped in. I could hear the distinct click of the lock, the finality of it echoing in the hollow room even as I seethed in anger, a sliver of fear twisted within me.

And here I was right back where I started—a captive!

Chapter Four

The Allure of Deception

Mira

I had always been good at playing roles, and the character of a well-behaved captive seemed to be my latest part. Staring at the untouched tray of food outside the door, I swallowed hard. It had been a day since I'd last seen Bastian. The smell of the food taunted me, but I refused to eat, an act of rebellion against my imprisonment.

I approached a large, nameless guard who stood at the door, watching me stoically like a caged animal. I smiled sweetly, pushed my tangled hair off my face, and gazed up at him. "May I please speak with Bastian?" I asked, attempting to sound submissive and hopeful.

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