THE CAPTIVE'S LOVE CHAPTER 3

Emereah leaned forward a small distance, lips against the ear of the man beside her as she breathed a soft reply, "Then do it." Tension stiffened his body. For a moment, his control cracked. And then—a slow, dark laugh. Sinister. "You are playing a very, very dangerous game, little wolf." Emereah smiled. "Then play with me." His eyes darkened. A cruel, unbearable silence bloomed between them. Then, without notice, he let her go. The sudden loss of his touch sent her stumbling, but she refused to give way to weakness. She stood tall, chest rising and falling from the tension still heavy between them. Vladimir simply regarded her, his face unreadable once again. "You mistake my patience for kindness," he breathed, taking a slow step back.

"But don't worry, Emereah. I'll remind you what pain truly feels like." He turned, walking for the door. As he departed, he caught her eye over his shoulder.

"Enjoy your last few nights of rebellion, princess." A smirk. "Because once I'm done with you… you'll be the one begging." Then he was gone. Leaving Emereah gasping, burning, and hating the way her pulse still thundered.

The courtyard was coldly silent, except for the crackling torches that lined the stone walls. There were hundreds of them, their faces a mixed arrangement of curiosity, fear, and cruel amusement. At the heart of it all sat Vladimir Crown on his raised throne, his golden eyes cold. Alexandria sat beside him, her red lips curled in wicked satisfaction. And at the heart of the courtyard knelt Emereah. Her wrists were bound above her head, her back laid bare to the cold night air. Her tattered dress barely clung to her shoulders, leaving her open to the punishment that awaited. The guards stood at attention, whip in hand, waiting for their Alpha's command. Vladimir leaned forward, cold, calculating.

"This is the cost of rebellion," Alexandria's voice rang out in the courtyard, dripping with sadistic pleasure. A murmur went through the gathered wolves. Some turned their faces away. Others stepped forward, eager for the spectacle. But Emereah? She stood firm. Indomitable. Unbroken. Even when the whip flashed in the light of the torches, her silver eyes flamed with unyielding defiance. Vladimir saw it. And it enraged him with fury.

"Begin." The first lash landed. Crack! A burning agony ripped through her back, but she did not make a sound. A second. A third. Crack! Crack! Her body convulsed, her breathing quickened, but her lips remained sealed. The pain was agony, a wildfire burning through her skin. Warm liquid trickled down her back, collecting at her waist.

The whip cracked again. The stench of pain lingered in the air. "Please!" a voice suddenly burst through the silence. A young girl, barely sixteen, hurled herself forward, tears streaming down her dirt-smudged face. "Take me instead! Please, my lady does not deserve this!"

The guard shoved her back roughly. She fell to the ground, sobbing. Another voice arose. Then another. "Punish us instead!" "We will take her place, Alpha!" "She is not the only one who disobeyed you! Let us suffer her pain!" Vladimir's face did not alter. He merely watched as the slaves, those who had lost everything, dared to stand up for her. Alexandria laughed, folding her arms. "Pathetic." A whip flashed through the air once more but this time, Emereah's voice cut through the silence. "No!" It was not a wail of pain. It was a command. She raised her head, her silver gaze sharp and unwavering despite the agony coursing through her body.

"Do not beg for me." The girl who had spoken first trembled. "My lady."

"I am no lady." Emereah's voice was harsh, but there was fire behind it that could not be extinguished. Her chin rose, a small, cruel smile twisting at the corner of her mouth. "And I will not break for him." Silence. Then a slow, cold laugh. All eyes turned to Vladimir, who had not moved an inch. And yet something in the air had shifted. His fingers drummed lazily on the armrest of his throne. His lips curled into something unreadable, half amusement, half something darker.

"You still have strength to speak?" His voice was honey-smooth, but cold as steel. He rose. With slow, measured steps, he descended from his throne. The crowd held its breath. Even Alexandria jerked slightly, sensing the shift in his mood. Vladimir halted before Emereah, looming above her like a shadow. Towering. Choking.

Then, in a slow, deliberate movement, he knelt. Their eyes clashed,silver against gold. Fire against fire. He reached out, fingers brushing against her jaw in mock gentleness.

His touch was featherlight, almost reverent. A cruel contradiction to the agony he had inflicted. "Still so proud, little wolf?" Emereah's breath trembled, but not from fear. She lifted her chin higher, despite the pain, despite the agony. "I'll die before I bow to you." A beat of silence.

Then, his smirk deepened. "Such bold words," he murmured. His thumb traced the corner of her lip, his voice dropping lower.

"Should I test them?" The way he said it low, teasing, dangerous sent a shiver down her spine. Not in fear. Not in disgust. Something else. Something she hated. He leaned closer. Close enough that the warmth of his breath caressed her skin. Close enough that the scent of power and mastery hung about her like a cloud. Emereah didn't falter. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Vladimir laughed low. "You are fire," he whispered, fingers tracing the line of her throat. "And fire is beautiful… until it burns." She gazed into his eyes, challenging. Unbreakable.

"Then let's burn together." A glimmer of something crossed his golden eyes. A fissure in his control. Then just as quickly it vanished. His hand dropped. His face cooled. Hollowed. And when he spoke again, his voice was back on its cruel edge. "Untie her." The guards hesitated. Vladimir's eyes flashed up. Sharp. Deadly. "Now." Instantly, the restraints were loosened. Emereah's arms fell slack at her sides, her body drained of pain, yet still, she didn't kneel. She would never kneel. Vladimir rose to his full height, towering over her once more. His eyes ran over her body, taking in the wounds, the destruction he had created. Then—he smirked. Not with pleasure. With satisfaction. "Enjoy your little victory, Emereah." His voice was low, but full of warning.

"Because next time, I will not be so lenient." Then he turned. The crowd parted instantly before him as he walked away, leaving only silence in his wake. Emereah still stood, barely keeping herself upright. Her body ached, but her spirit didn't shatter. And as she watched Vladimir's receding form, she made a silent vow. She would make him wish he'd never dared to think he could take her.

And if he wanted fire. She would give him hell. The night was thick with silence, only the darkness broken by the crackle of the still-smoldering torches in the courtyard. The acrid scent of smoke and raw agony clung to the chill air, a reminder of the punishment meted out hours prior. The interior of the dark stone room, Emereah on the edge of a cot, her body aching with pain, her back raw and sensitive from the lashes.

The ripped dress clung to her skin, and breathing hurt her. But she would not sleep. Would not yield. The door creaked open. She braced herself. A young female servant stepped inside, carrying a small tray with damp cloths and vials of healing balm. She trembled under Emereah's stiffened glare. "D-Don't be afraid," the girl stammered.

"The Alpha… he sent me." Emereah's entire body tensed. Vladimir? The monster who had ordered her whipped? The cruel, heartless bastard who had smiled as she bled? Why would he do this? The girl placed the tray beside her and knelt.

"H-He said your wounds needed to be treated," she whispered uncertainly. "If I don't, I'll be punished." Emereah ground her jaw. How… dare him. He would order her pain and then send a servant to heal what he broke? A harsh laugh escaped her lips, bitter and humorless. "Tell your Alpha I do not need his mercy." The girl's face went white.

"P-Please… he—he doesn't take refusal." Emereah huffed out a harsh breath. She knew the girl was just a pawn in Vladimir's game. Fine. Let him think she had accepted his mercy. Let him believe she had submitted. She would let the servant treat her wounds tonight—so she could fight tomorrow. "Do it quickly," Emereah growled. The girl nodded and set to work, applying the deep, pounding wounds. The sting burned across her skin, but she did not flinch. Her mind was elsewhere already. Vladimir. The man who had had her torn apart… and then had sent her medicine to mend. What in the name of all sanity did he want?