Page 9 of Wolf Proclaimed

He responded with a chuckle that resounded off the cabin's walls. It was a rich and annoying laugh—the product of a man too used to his own jokes.

Bastian began to pace the room with a casual, familiar air as if this were his personal chamber and not my newly minted prison cell. "This will be your room," he stated, gesturing around the cramped, austere space that lacked even the comfort of a fireplace, only a small wood stove huddling in the corner.

"You are not to leave unless accompanied by one of my guards. You can spend time outside, but only under their watch."

His words settled in the room like a shroud. Each syllable was a harsh reminder of my defeat, of my confinement.

"Generous," I mocked, laughing in a bitter attempt to hide my frustration. My old room, his room, had the fireplace, the one thing I'd briefly had as a weapon.

He watched me carefully, gauging my reaction, scrutinizing my performance of disregard. The flicker of uncertainty I glimpsed in his eyes fueled my satisfaction.

"We'll have fight training with the pack after breakfast," he added abruptly, shifting the subject away from the boundaries of my new captivity. "And no funny business, Mira."

I pivoted to face him, answering his gaze with a defiant stare. "I have no idea what you're insinuating," I replied, my voice brimming with fake innocence.

His face hardened momentarily, and I thought I'd managed to ruffle his seemingly imperturbable feathers. But then he shook his head, sighing with what seemed like a mix of resignation and... was that fondness?

"Mira, Mira," he uttered almost affectionately, "Let's not make this more difficult than it needs to be."

The door's closing reverberated in the room, leaving me alone once more with my thoughts. Yet, they weren't just filled with anger and resentment this time. A glimmer of anticipation, a spark of rebellion was beginning to ignite.

Bastian had set the rules, but I was ready to challenge them every single one. He may have reclaimed his room, but he was yet to reclaim control.

I hadn't realized how desperately I craved control until it was all stripped away from me. The revelation manifested itself in the most mundane of ways. The first time was over food. I'd always enjoyed cooking—a small fact about me Bastian likely didn't know. He'd probably expected me to graciously accept the meals his guards brought like a damsel grateful for the scraps tossed her way. But I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

"I want to cook my own food," I declared, standing in the kitchen doorway as a flustered guard attempted to serve me breakfast. He blinked at me, taken aback by the request. "I don't trust any of you to do it for me."

"But Miss—"

"No 'buts.' Just bring me the ingredients. And don't even think about poisoning them." My tone was laced with a threat. The guard seemed to understand, given his hasty exit.

Bastian's response came in the form of a steely glare across the breakfast table as I triumphantly devoured my self-prepared meal. He didn't say anything, but I could see his mind working, calculating my rebellion and what it meant for his control. Good. Let him stew.

My defiance didn't end there. Oh, no. After breakfast came the training, and that was where the real fun began. Donning the clothing Bastian had brought for me, I emerged onto the practice field. A plain white shirt and pants, both too big for my slender frame, seemed to be his idea of 'appropriate attire.' It was another one of his power plays. Make the girl look small, weak, and vulnerable. I rolled my eyes. Like that would ever work.

The pack was already there, some still finishing up their meals as they prepared for the session. I strutted in, chin high, eyes gleaming with mischief. I could feel their eyes on me — the newcomer, the enemy. But I didn't care. Let them stare.

They were all so easily riled, so quick to react. It was amusing. The minor insult, the slightest challenge, and they were practically frothing at the mouth. I wasn't about to waste such an opportunity.

Each training session became a theater of humiliation—their humiliation, not mine. I was the director, and they were my unwitting actors. It was a little power, but I would take any I could in a situation like this

Bastian watched it all unfold from the side, his face a stony mask. I could tell it irritated him, and that pleased me. Each day, my antics escalated. From tripping unsuspecting pack members to making snide comments about their fighting styles, I did everything I could to get under their skins.

"Bastian," I cooed one day as he approached, "aren't you going to teach your puppies some manners? They can't even handle a little criticism."

His blue eyes met mine, hard and unyielding. "They're not the ones causing problems, Mira," he stated, voice dangerously low. But all I did was smirk, turning to strut away from him. Let him see the defiance in my steps. Let him stew.

By the next day, I had done what I could to the ridiculous clothes Bastian had given me. The pants were now shorts, hemmed just above my knees, and the oversized shirt had been discarded in favor of one of Bastian's old t-shirts I had stashed away when I moved out of his room.

It was far more comfortable than the tent of a shirt he had provided, and wearing his clothes gave me a strange sense of satisfaction. They were a piece of him that I could control, something I could twist and alter to my whim, just as I intended to do with the man himself.

I felt a little more like myself when I walked out onto the training tent. The pack members glanced my way, eyes drawn to the changed attire. Bastian looked at me, too. I could see the slight furrow in his brow, the tightening around his mouth. Was it anger? Surprise? I smirked, reveling in the small victory.

With the whole pack gathered around, I sauntered to Bastian, my every move calculated to draw his attention and challenge him.

"Bastian," I said, my voice carrying across the silent field. He turned to face me, an eyebrow raised. "Aren't you going to spar with me? Or are you afraid you'll be bested by a girl?"

A ripple of surprised whispers ran through the pack, but Bastian remained silent, his gaze locked with mine. I could see the glint of curiosity in his eyes, the question he silently asked. Did I really want to spar with him? Was I that desperate to get my hands on him? To strike him down?

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